#that wasn’t supposed to happen series

[mossflower]

lets watch all 874 episodes of doctor who together <3

[roaringroa]

i am devastated, i read a book today and didn’t realize it was part of an ongoing series until like halfway through this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me

[pulchritudinous-plants]

steep

have some post book six finn angst? i guess? that’s been in my drafts unfinished for months. mainly inspired by the fact that finn literally stabbed one of his best friends from childhood and it got kinda waved away??? therapy and meds are good but not that good. this is very rough very unedited but it’s 2 am so ya know.

His skin is red from the heat of the shower; scrubbed raw until tender. The water long stopped running pink but it doesn’t matter. He can still feel the blood on his hands, under his nails.

He should get out. Go to the infirmary, Philby and Maybeck were still out of it, after all, talk to the girls. Talk to security.

Are they going to send security after him? They probably should. He did kill someone, after all.

His knees give out at the thought. God, he killed Dillard. He’s sitting on the floor of his stateroom shower because he needed to wash off his best friend's blood before he could do anything else.

What is he supposed to tell his parents?

What is he supposed to tell Dillard’s?

His stomach rolls dangerously. Do they even know where their son is? He wasn’t supposed to be on the boat. He wasn’t supposed to be involved.

He isn’t supposed to be dead, either, though.

He buries his head in his knees, hands fisting his damp hair. Jesus Christ. He never should’ve come on this cruise. He never should’ve become a DHI. Screw his friends, how on earth could they be worth this? He never should’ve met Wayne.

Wayne. Anger flares inside him, but it’s muted. Wayne got them all involved in this. He’s the one that decided children could end a war that adults had been fighting for years. He’s the one that made Finn a Keeper. He’s the one that made Dillard a martyr.

Someone’s knocking on something far away. Everything sounds like he’s submerged in a swimming pool; white noise echoing in his ears. Someone is breathing loudly in the next room.

The door opens, light pooling in from the bedroom, casting shadows onto his mother. She looks worried, panic pinching her face. He can’t bring it in him to be embarrassed that she’s just walked in on him. He wonders why.

“Finn!” She rushes to him, pulling his face up in her hands. “God, you’re freezing, hold on.” Oh. He is freezing, now that she mentions it. The water’s turned ice cold; his skin is numb. How long has he been sitting here?

She leaves, just for a moment. The water abruptly shuts off and she comes back, towel in hand and clothes damp. She wraps it around him before smoothing his hair off his face.

“It’s okay, Finn, but please, breathe. You’ve gotta calm down” Breathe? He is, isn’t he? But no, the heavy breathing from before is him, not someone else. He’s hyperventilating, he thinks distantly. You’re having a panic attack, Larry.

God, how many times has he heard Charlene talk about panic attacks after tests? How many times has Willa called him at 2 am, crying from old nightmares? Why did he think he was so invincible, so well grounded that this wouldn’t ever happen to him?

Well, he supposed anyone would be crying in the shower if they‘d just stabbed someone.

He barks out a laugh at the thought, startling his mother. God, what is wrong with him?

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, on the floor of the shower. She breathes slow and even, willing him to do the same as she rubs his back. It feels like forever until he can take an easy breath of air.

Vaguely he wonders how his mom knows how to do this; whether it’s just some inherent knowledge that comes with age and children.

It takes longer still until he stands on shaky legs to grab a change of clothes, towel pulled tight around him. He’s not shaking, anymore, but he’s still cold. Still a little numb. His lips are chapped.

She leaves to let him change, looking weary at the thought of leaving him alone. He doesn’t blame her. He feels like he’s still teetering on the edge of another breakdown; one good push and he’ll be sent sprawling. She had grabbed his pajamas, he thinks idly. An old t-shirt his aunt sent him years ago that he’s yet to grow into and a pair of plaid sleep pants. They both smell like the lavender laundry detergent she uses back home.

Shit, he wants to go home.

“It’s a little late,” she says once he comes out of that bathroom, moving to put her hands on his shoulders. He doesn’t want her to move away. “Do you want to order room service for dinner? Or I could go pick something up?” She offers, but he’s already shaking his head.

“Can we order? Please? I just…” he trails off, not knowing what to say, but she’s already nodding, moving away to find the menu and call in dinner.

He stands in the middle of the room and tries to think. He needs to go down to medbay and talk to his friends. Philby and Maybeck are awake, no doubt, and they’re going to want to know what happened. It’s what a good friend would do. What a good leader would do. Hasn’t he fought tooth and nail to hold on to his precious leader title? He should be explaining; strategizing (apologizing). Instead, he’s leaving Willa and Charlene to explain everything, half of which they don’t even know because they didn’t follow him into that cave.

(They’re going to have to tell them how they woke them up, he thinks wryly. He’s almost upset that he’s almost certainly already missed out on Philby blushing as red as his hair; Maybeck’s cool persona cracking at the thought that he and Charlene kissed and he wasn’t even aware).

Would the girls wait for him to tell them what he’s done? Or do they already know that their leader's a murderer?

Maybe Philby should be the leader. No one’s died on his watch. What does Wayne’s opinion matter now, anyway?

He should go to them, even just to sit in silence with his friends. But the mere thought sends anxiety clawing up his throat. He’s terrified of what he might see when he looks into their eyes (disgust, horror, fear, anger, even sympathy).

He’ll be alone for tonight, he decides. Plead exhaustion if anyone asks in the morning. It isn’t a lie in the slightest. He feels drained, down to the very marrow, and just wants to sleep.

(He won’t be able to. He’ll toss and turn all night when he does finally drift off around four in the morning he’ll wake up from a nightmare with bile in his throat and phantom blood on his hands.)

-

His hands itch. They’re clean. He washes them anyway.

-

His hands start to crack. They’re dry, constantly, from the repeated washing and relentless hand sanitizer.

Their water bill is going to be astronomical, he thinks belatedly.

It’s been a little over two months since…since.

They haven’t crossed over once, Philby putting a stop to it as soon as he was back at his computer, not needing to ask the others if it was okay. There wasn’t much of a need for them, anyway. The OTs were surely scrambling to figure out what to do without Maleficent.

None of them end up caring too much.

They haven’t gotten together much since they arrived back in Florida. They had individual meetings with some high-up Disney execs and then were told to please forget this unpleasantness had happened and sign the new NDAs and oh, don’t forget they needed to post on the official Disney Host Interactive social media at least twice a month.

(His contract is extended for two more years. He doesn’t read the fine print as he signs away his life again. Not that it matters. They’ve already made a killer out of him.)

They’ve slowly been talking in the group chat again, small comments about class and families that carefully skirt around anything too heavy. Charlene sends a picture of her cat in a sink and Maybeck sends back his latest attempt at a donut vase and slowly, slowly, they start to feel like friends again.

Amanda keeps coming over, stretching out the last few days of summer with him whenever she can. He’s rotten company; doesn’t talk much but she doesn’t mind. She talks endlessly about her days, long and boring though they may be, until her voice goes hoarse and he can’t help but get up and grab her a glass of water.

He’s trying, slowly, to explain what happened to her. It had been surprisingly easy to hear Willa and Charlene fill Philby and Maybeck in on the story, he himself stepping in to fill their gaps. It’d been mindless, almost; he’d been too focused on how necessary it was that the panic and fear hadn’t hit him until hours later, hands itching until he’d scrubbed them raw.

(“PSTD,” his therapist says when he finally works up the courage to see one. “Trauma responses and rituals to help self soothe.”)

It’s amazing, really, dealing with grief. How often had he really thought of Dillard before the cruise? They’d certainly been growing apart in recent years, Finn spending more time with the Keepers and working and far less with his childhood best friend. It’d been easy to justify, at the time. Dillard wasn’t a Keeper, wasn’t a DHI; couldn’t understand what he and his friends were going through no matter how hard he tried; not like Jess and Amanda could.

Well, not until Wayne dragged him in.

He misses Dillard at the most random times, sharp aches deep in his chest at the mention of his favorite foods, the theme to his favorite video games; snatches of conversation from other neighborhood boys about girls and school and games. A sudden wave of grief and guilt a misery so strong that he’ll climb into bed and not be able to leave for days.

And then other times he won't think of Dillard at all for days at a time; feel content, almost, until he remembers and then the guilt of forgetting, of neglecting his best friend’s memory is almost the worst part.

He’s fifteen. He’s famous. He’s killed his best friend. He’s a soldier in a war he never should’ve known about. He’s a leader, or at least he’s supposed to be.

His hands itch.

[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

[driverlando]

✧.* #NUDEGATE

synopsis- Oscar accidentally posts a nude on his instagram story

before you continue: similar to the sex tape leak smau for lando! if you enjoyed please reblog and give me a follow <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

—

✧.* Oscar’s reaction

You and Oscar are lounging on the couch, enjoying a rare quiet afternoon together. The TV is on, but neither of you is really watching it. You’re curled up against him, scrolling through your phone, while he’s half-asleep, his arm wrapped around you.

Suddenly, Oscar’s phone rings, startling both of you. He fumbles to grab it from the coffee table, squinting at the screen. “It’s Zak,” he says, his voice tinged with confusion. He answers the call, putting it on speaker.

“Oscar, mate, you need to check your Instagram story right now,” Zak’s urgent voice fills the room.

Oscar sits up, wide awake now. “What? Why?”

“Just do it,” Zak insists. “You’ve posted something you shouldn’t have.”

Your heart drops as you both realise what this might mean. Oscar quickly opens his Instagram, his fingers shaking slightly. He taps on his story and his face goes pale. “Oh my God,” he mutters.

You peek over his shoulder and see it—a very revealing photo that’s definitely not meant for public eyes. “Oh no,” you breathe, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Delete it, Oscar. Now,” Zak commands.

Oscar doesn’t need to be told twice. He quickly deletes the story, his hands moving in a blur. “It’s gone,” he says, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Zak. I didn’t realize…”

Zak’s tone is exasperated but with a hint of amusement. “Oscar, you might want to double-check before you post anything in the future. Your fans probably didn’t expect to see that.”

Oscar groans, dropping his phone onto the sofa. “I can’t believe I did that.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Well, you did say you wanted to give your fans a closer look at your life.”

He shoots you a horrified look before bursting into laughter. “Not that close!”

Zak’s voice comes through the speaker, chuckling. “Look, just be more careful next time. And maybe invest in some clothes.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, still laughing. “Got it, Zak. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime. And Oscar, maybe don’t make this a regular thing, yeah? We’re trying to win races, not start an OnlyFans,” Zak says before ending the call.

Oscar drops his head into his hands, still laughing. “I can’t believe this.”

You wrap your arms around him, grinning. “At least we know your followers are getting a lot of exposure to their favourite driver.”

He groans, his face flushing again. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

You kiss his cheek. “Probably not. But hey, now you’ve got a funny story to tell.”

He sighs, pulling you closer. “Only if you promise to never let me use Instagram unsupervised again.”

You laugh. “Deal. And maybe we should stick to cute couple selfies from now on.”

Oscar nods, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Or maybe… I should make sure all my posts have wardrobe approval from you first.”

You grin. “I can work with that.”

—

—

—

—

SCANDAL ON THE GRID: Oscar Piastri’s Instagram Mishap

By: Sasha, Rumour Radar

In a hilarious yet shocking turn of events, McLaren’s rising star Oscar Piastri has become the latest cautionary tale for digital privacy and social media blunders. Early yesterday morning, fans got more than they bargained for when Piastri accidentally posted a revealing photo to his Instagram story, sending the F1 community into a frenzy. The incident has drawn comparisons to similar celebrity slip-ups, such as Chris Evans’ infamous social media mishap.

The mishap was quickly addressed in a series of tweets by Piastri himself. The first tweet, brimming with sheepish humour, read: “So… that wasn’t supposed to happen. Apologies to everyone. Lesson learned: double-check before posting. #SorryMum”

Just minutes later, he followed up with a more serious note on the importance of digital security: “On a serious note, let’s talk about digital privacy. Make sure you’re securing your accounts and double-checking before you post. Lesson learned. #StaySafeOnline”

As if the situation wasn’t already comedic gold, Piastri’s McLaren teammate and fellow prankster, Lando Norris, couldn’t resist adding his comment. “Oh Oscar mate, you need lessons on how to use Instagram properly. Always give your phone to a responsible adult if you’re not sure,” Norris retweeted Piastri to ensure the ribbing hit home.

To top it all off, Piastri’s model girlfriend, Y/N, chimed in with her own playful jab: “I literally leave him alone for a minute and this is what happens…”

Insiders close to the couple revealed that Zak Brown, McLaren’s CEO, was the first to alert Piastri to the accidental post, calling him in a tone that was reportedly both urgent and amused. “Oscar, mate, you need to check your Instagram story right now,” Brown had said, trying to suppress laughter while maintaining his authoritative stance.

Despite the embarrassing slip-up, fans were quick to rally around Piastri, appreciating his candid and humorous approach to the situation. “At least we know he’s human!” one fan tweeted, while another quipped, “This is why Oscar Piastri is my favourite—he’s real, he’s relatable, and he’s hilariously unfiltered.”

The incident has sparked a flurry of memes and jokes across social media, solidifying Piastri’s place not just as a talented driver, but as a beloved personality in the F1 world.

While the dust settles on this unexpected reveal, Piastri’s misadventure serves as a humorous reminder of the perils of social media. As the young driver himself advised, securing your accounts and double-checking before posting is a lesson everyone can take to heart.

As for Piastri, it seems he’ll be keeping a much closer eye on his phone from now on, with a little help—and a lot of teasing—from his friends and family.

Stay tuned to Rumour Radar for the latest updates on this unfolding story and more celebrity gossip.

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, logansargeant and 207,256 others

oscarpiastri me when I got a call from Zak to check my Instagram story 😅 Thanks for the support, everyone. And to McLaren for not firing me.

view all 9,268 comments

user1 I wish I was a fly on the wall during that conversation with Zak 🤣

oscarpiastri I promise I’m a responsible person btw!!

↳ yourusername sure honey, sure

user2 you’re such a grandpa when it comes to technology

yourusername Still can’t believe you managed to do this 😭

↳ user3 was he trying to send you the nude or something 😂

↳ user4 they’re kinky af, he was definitely sending her a pic

user5 where can I see this nude? 👀

↳ user6 search up #nudegate on twitter, it’s trending

↳ user5 HOLY SHIT! good to know he keeps a stubble down there 🥵

↳ user6 I don’t even wanna know how big he is erect, like that man is hungggg

logansargeant only you 😂

—

—

✧.* Y/n loves adding fuel to the fire

—

mclaren

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 187,268 others

mclaren nothing to see here, just two guys who love keeping our pr team on their toes #sendhelp

view all 2,618 comments

landonorris why he say fuck me for?

↳ user7 please you know exactly why 😂

oscarpiastri whoops, hey that’s why we have a pr team right?

user8 just a couple of besties 🫶

oscarpiastri is it roast Oscar day or something?

↳ yourusername after the stunt you pulled…yes.

user9 the best duo!! 😂

user10 mclaren pr have the patience of a saint 😭

—

✧.* Lando finally gets his payback

[bueckers]

UNFINISHED BUSINESS ━━━ paige bueckers

i don’t wanna fight, but you got the wrong vibes. let me get you right, it’s how i apologize. ✶

synopsis: she broke it off, but has since had a hard time leaving her alone… especially when having to see her in person.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem oc

warnings: smut with plot, p eating ( p is literally EATING ), fingering, thigh riding, and slight angst.

notes: this is ridiculously long. in honor of her fit here, enjoy.. i loved writing this almost as much as i love the song lol. lmk if i should make a part two or maybe a series!

Nervous, excited, and borderline bald from tugging at my hair—these were all the things I had felt the moment I stepped into the WNBA 2024 All-Star Game.

I would be seeing Paige tonight. Paige would be seeing me tonight. Paige knew I knew she would be seeing me tonight, and I knew Paige knew she would be seeing me tonight.

When Paige and I first started hooking up, it was never supposed to be anything serious. She was sidelined with a torn ACL, and I knew she was in a dark place, struggling with everything that came with being forced off the court. I think that’s why it started, honestly. She needed an escape, something to make her forget for a little while, and I was there.

Paige and I have known of each other for years, though. We both came up in the basketball world at the same time, our names being tossed around in the same circles since high school. We’d cross paths at AAU tournaments and national showcases, always on different teams but always aware of each other.

Back then, our support for each other was more from a distance, and it wasn’t until college that things started to shift. We crossed paths more often, whether it was at games, media events. The rivalry between our schools added a new layer to our interactions, but by then, we had leveled up from distant competitors to something more like casual friends.

Those moments were what led us to where we eventually ended up. The more we talked, the more we realized how much we actually had in common—our experiences, our struggles, the pressure to perform, and the constant scrutiny. It felt natural, easy, to let our guard down with each other, which is why when her injury happened and everything else in her life felt like it was falling apart, I wasn’t surprised when we fell into it.

We had an agreement. Not one that was ever talked about soberly, but the way it happened just fell into place so perfectly that we didn’t need to. We’d meet up when it was needed, no commitments, no expectations. Just two people finding comfort in each other, filling a void that we couldn’t fill on our own. It was convenient, effortless, and most importantly, it worked for the both of us. I guess I figured if I kept things casual, I wouldn’t get caught up in something messy. I didn’t want to be the one to complicate her life even more.

We’d cross paths after games, during off-season, or whenever our schedules aligned, slipping into each other’s lives for a few hours at a time. She knew how to keep me at arm’s length, just close enough to keep me coming back but far enough to never let me in too deep. She knew exactly how to make me feel needed without ever giving too much of herself away. It was maddening, really—how she could be so vulnerable one minute, showing me sides of herself that no one else got to see, and then switch off just as quickly.

The more we hooked up, the more I started to realize I was getting too close. I could see it in the way she’d look at me sometimes, like she knew I was starting to care too much. And the worst part was, she didn’t seem to mind pushing me right to that edge. She’d say something that made my heart race, or she’d touch me in a way that felt like it meant something, only to pull back and remind me of our status. She was always in control, always the one with the upper hand, and I hated how easily I let her have it.

And then it was all done. She cut things off with a cold finality that I still can’t even believe. No explanation, no soft letdown—just a sudden, brutal end. It was like she knew exactly when I’d reached that point and she didn’t hesitate to remind me that it was never supposed to mean anything at all.

“I’m gonna go grab some snacks, alright? Try to look a little more happy for the jumbotron,” JuJu teases, getting up from her seat. I gasped, barely having any time to process her insult as she scooted between me to get to the stadium stairs.

“Very funny,” I muttered, watching her walk away.

Alone now, I focused on the game, doing an extremely good job at hiding the gnawing in my chest. I’d say I have a good poker face, but Paige would agree to disagree. My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. It was her and she’d finally found you. She was on the other side of the arena, clearly getting a kick out of having you in her view.

you mad at me or just deep in thought?

I rolled my eyes back to the deep depths of hell. Another text from her.

you look good tonight

you too. how’s the game?

As soon as I hit send, I regret it. I should have ignored her. I should have said something snarky.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

could be better. thought about coming over

what stopped you?

You watched her text bubble practically stutter, making you quirk an eyebrow.

juju. i didn’t wanna make it awkward.

lol. okay.

actually, scratch that. leave w me.

I shifted in my seat, my hands suddenly clutching my phone a little tighter.

paige, no.

why not?

I shut off my phone just in time for JuJu’s return, watching as she squeezed through mounds of people to get back to me. She handed me a cherry slurpee, which would however be gone in ten minutes.

“Thanks, sugar,” you teased her, wrapping your lips around the straw and taking a nice, long sip. She shook her head at me as she focused on the game again, nachos in hand. Ping.

Tell her don’t get too comfortable 😂

I could even feel her eyes boring into me from the other side. I could picture the stupid smirk or gummy smile she’d have. I turned my ringer off and silenced Paige’s notifications before slipping my phone into my back pocket and reverting my attention back to the game. It’s almost over.

Fast forward to the final buzzer, and Juju and I made our way down to the court, weaving through the crowd of fans and players. I always loved the energy in a room of women’s basketball players and fans— there were always a million things going on at once. As we reached the court, we spotted Caitlin, who was already deep in conversation with a couple of other players.

“Great game, Cait,” I said, pulling her into a light hug. “Guess nobody busts your butt as good as SC, huh?” I pulled back first, resting my hands on my hips. I could say I’ve known Caitlin as long as I have Paige, but Cait doesn’t know me the way Paige does.

Caitlin laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, Miss Championship. but don’t get too cocky now.”

Juju laughed alongside me, adding a quick comment about how USC would give her a run for her money next time. The conversation flowed easily, a mix of post-game analysis and friendly banter. I scanned the court for a brief moment, knowing exactly who I was looking for.

Sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flau’jae and Paige making their way over. I braced myself, knowing the cameras would be all over this reunion, and the media would have a field day with it. Paige looked as confident as ever, her stride always one that grabbed attention.

“Hey, y’all,” Paige said, her voice smooth, effortless. She exchanged hugs and high-fives with everyone, her presence commanding attention as always. When she reached me, she didn’t hesitate to pull me into a hug, her hand resting on my hip before snaking around to my lower back.

And then I felt it—her hand slipping lower, fingers grazing the fabric of my mini skirt. I could hear the smirk in her voice as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Good to see you.” Just close enough to keep me coming back.

I pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes. There was that smirk. My heart was pounding, a mix of frustration and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge. “You too,” I managed, keeping my tone as neutral as possible, pulling back with a tight-lipped grin that looked friendly enough to anyone who didn’t know what was going on. Which was everyone.

The group continued chatting, oblivious, obviously. You’d found out the one thing you hated about being around Paige was the overwhelming current of being the only ones in the room who knew how each other was feeling. Paige, ever the actor, kept up her usual easygoing demeanor, but I could feel her gaze on me, like she was waiting for something. I tried to focus on the conversation, but it was impossible with her so close, the warmth of her hand still lingering on my skin.

When the small talk finally wound down, and the others started drifting away, Paige moved closer, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned in again, her voice low, almost a whisper. “C’mon. Meet me,” she coaxed, her breath warm against my ear. Her fingers brushed lightly against my side, tracing a path.

I hesitated, the resolve I’d built up over the past hour crumbling under the weight of her presence. She was testing me, pushing every button she knew she could. And damn it, it was working.

I finally nodded, barely audible. “Okay.”

It was all she needed. A single, one-word confirmation that I wanted her as bad as she does. She took my phone out of my pocket for me, placing it my hand as she said her goodbyes to everyone else, leaving me there. I suppose it was smarter for her to do that anyway.

Shortly after Paige’s departure, I made my way out as well. JuJu wasn’t a tough barrier to get past. I told her to finish up her conversations, and that I’d see her back at the hotel. I wasn’t quite show how long my excuse would suffice, but I hoped she’d find her way to the bar or something after.

I don’t know why I listened. Watched my fingers click on her contact and give the driver her hotel’s address. It was like I was compelled from the moment she’d touched me, and to be honest, I don’t think I’d be surprised if that was the case.

The Uber ride felt interminable, each passing moment only heightening the anticipation and anxiety. I could barely focus on the city lights flashing by outside, my mind consumed with the impending confrontation and whatever would follow.

Finally, I was able to make my way to her room, feeling the cool air of the hallway against my skin as I knocked on the door. When Paige answered, her smile was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and she pulled me inside with a warm, yet testing glint in her eye.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, Paige’s demeanor shifted. Before I could voice any protest, her lips were on mine, kissing me with an urgency that made my heart race. I barely had time to process the sudden change before she deepened the kiss, her hands roaming possessively over my back.

I tried to pull away, my mind still reeling from the fact that I was even here, but her grip tightened, pulling me closer. “Paige,” I murmured against her lips, trying to catch my breath. “We need to talk—” but as much as I tried to voice it, I knew that isn’t what we both really planned to do.

She silenced me with another intense kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair, guiding my head to tilt for better access. Her touch was relentless, her body pressing against mine with all the need in her body. “I don’t wanna fight,” she whispered between kisses, her breath hot and heavy against my skin. “Jus’ wanna be close to you.” She breathed in my scent, and I melted.

The words were almost lost in the heated moment, but I could feel the sincerity. She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her gaze smoldering with an intensity that made me rethink actually standing on business. She waited, trying to see if I was really against this. I licked my lips, glancing at hers.

I didn’t stand a chance.

Her lips found mine again, and the world narrowed to the press of our bodies. Our kisses were feverish and desperate, each touch holding some type of meaning. Paige’s hands roamed over my skin like there were so many options in a candy store and she couldn’t pick just one. In this case, one spot to focus on. Her mouth trailed down my collarbone, leaving a path of pinkish marks.

Our bodies were pressed together and refusing to let go. Paige guided me towards the bed, her hands never leaving my body, her lips continuing their assault on my skin. When she finally lowered me onto the bed, I was needy and breathless and finally feeling a little more realistic.

“P, I’m still mad,” I tried to insist, though my voice wavered as I watched her begin to undress. She unzipped her Nike vest slowly, the sound of the fabric sliding down her body making my pulse quicken. It fell to the floor, and she ripped off her shirt with a sudden, breathless intensity, revealing her sports bra. The sight of her, partially unclothed and vulnerable in front of me again left me speechless.

“I know,” she murmurs, her head slightly tilted as she looked at me all-knowingly. “And ima’ make it up to you, I promise. Just let me get you right.” Her fingers trailed up my bare legs, eliciting a small gasp from my lips. She tugged at the hem of my skirt, pulling the fabric down and grabbing my panties in the process. I watched her do it, in utter disbelief that this was how I was spending my night.

Her fingers graze teasingly against my kneecaps, sending shivers through my body, before she gently but firmly peels my legs apart. I look down at her. “You’re just trying to distract me,” I say, but there’s no heat behind the words.

Paige smirks, a knowing look in her eyes as she falls to her knees, her hands sliding over my thighs. “Maybe,” she admits, her voice dropping into a low, sultry tone as she tucks her lip between her teeth. “But you can’t say you don’t want this too.”

She’s right, and we both know it. The way she’s touching me, the way her eyes are locked onto mine with that look. The same one that knows she’s getting her way tonight. My worries seem so distant now, nothing more than a whisper of irritation in the back of my mind, easily drowned out by the way Paige’s hands are moving.

I begin to say something, but she easily cuts me off by diving into me with no warning, immediately humming against my cunt in satisfaction. Her eyebrows were furrowed as her tongue made some deliberate strokes, seemingly in disbelief of the way I tasted. She looks up at me as she delves in, a sight beautiful enough for the Louvre but way too sinful.

She says something I can’t hear, but I do catch a, “Can’t leave you alone, ever. Fuck.”

“Yeah?” I muster out, my breath a careless whisper.

Paige smiles against me, loving the cocky tone in my voice as she responds with a fast nod, the movement making me gasp. “Yeah.”

From there, every moan and gasp from me seems to fuel her desire, making her work even harder to drive me wild. Her hands grip my hips firmly, keeping me in place as her mouth and tongue continue their relentless assault. In the haze of ecstasy, all I can focus on is the feeling of her between my legs, making good on her promise to get me right, leaving me utterly consumed by the pleasure she’s giving.

I come, loud enough that the neighbors might know Paige’s name, but she keeps going. It becomes too much, enough for me to whine and pull away, scooting a little bit higher on the bed. She isn’t going for it, though, and immediately brings me back to her mouth, wrapping my legs in her thick arms.

“Where you tryna’ go, princess?” she teases. The sensation of her mouth and fingers on me is so intoxicating that I can barely respond before she pulls back entirely, rising to her feet. She begins to peel off her pants, her movements slow, leaving me breathless and frustrated.

“Seriously?” I complain.

“Chill,” she responds with a husky chuckle, towering over me in the sexiest way explainable. It’s like she contemplates something in her head for a moment, leaving me dripping wet and needy before her.

Finally, Paige steps closer, her hands sliding down to her sports bra. With a teasing glance, she pulls it off, revealing her bare chest. My eyes widen as I take in her form, unable to tear my gaze away. She then sits back down, positioning herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. “Want you to get on my thigh, baby, m’kay?” And there was no room for argument.

I crawl toward her, a mixture of urgency and anticipation in my movements. Once I’m seated on her thigh, I start to ride it slowly, the friction sending waves of pleasure through me. I truly can’t believe we haven’t done this before. The way she flexes, the way I can feel her muscle.. it’s all too much.

I roll my head back, needing more. My hands find Paige’s boxers, slipping into them with ease as she watches, her eyes moving more than her actual head. My fingers find their way to her core, exploring.

Paige’s breath hitches, her fingers gripping my hip as she watches me intently. “You like that, don’t you?” she breathes, her voice filled with a mixture of desire and all things Paige. “You’ve got me exactly where you want me.”

I stare at her. My body and arm moving repeatedly, my hair a bit puffy at this rate, and a panting mess. Paige raises her thumb to my plump and parted lips, slipping it in. I moan out, forced to suck around it as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Paige is in a trance, completely focused on the warmth around her thumb and how your small fingers disappear into her. “So, so, so good. Love seeing you above me, baby. So pretty.” I couldn’t understand how she could say things like these, and happen to not mean them, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Mfmfmm, I’m gonna come. Again.”

Paige’s response is a series of breathy moans, her hands gripping my hips tightly as she keeps me pressed down, every thrust and touch pushing us both closer to the edge.

As she finally shudders, her release crashes over her like a tidal wave, her body trembling violently. The sensation of her coming around my fingers makes my own climax come shortly after. I cry out, my own pleasure peaking as I grind against her, my fingers thrusting in and out.

Our combined releases feel explosive, a storm of heat and passion that has us both gasping and moaning. I feel her tremors against my fingers as I continue to move, riding out the last waves of ecstasy before finally collapsing against her, both of us spent and tangled together in a sated, sweaty mess.

I think I’ll regret this in the morning. But right now? I’ve never been happier.

[explicit-tae]

Ungodly Hour (1)

That time you - a broke college student - were willing to do just about anything for a hulu account after your brother kicks you off of his - (and Jungkook would do anything to have you).

Series Masterlist

Word count: 1.687

Warning: idk yall, i was bored, smut, college au, jungkook is thirsty, reader is somewhat slutty but with good reasons, dirty talking, swallowing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, riding, cumming,

Your mouth wrapped around the tip of Jungkook’s cock, twirling the head in your mouth. You only slightly (maybe more than you want to admit) the way the salty pre-cum drips into your mouth as you suck. Even better were his moans - so soft and velvety; melodic. 

if anyone was to blame it had to be your brother - he was the nuisance in your life. It was as if he intended on making your life a complete mess.

You were a good person, daughter and sister. You did what you had to do - attend classes everyday. You went to work and then home without a care. You worked at a grocery store part time and made enough to pay your half of the rent. Sure, with the price of groceries now you couldn’t be bothered to buy any. But that’s where your parents came in. You craved independence from them but only for privacy. You made sure you were there every night for dinner and sometimes if you had time, breakfast in the mornings. 

Your brother was just upset that you accidentally bought an add-on on his hulu account - but how else were you supposed to watch what you wanted if he was too cheap to pay for anything further? It was bad enough you had to sit through 2 minute ads - it was the least he could do.

This is how you now found yourself sucking Jungkook off - the same man you had been dodging ever since the pair of you met. He gave off fuck boy vibes and the last thing you needed was that in your life - until you actually did need Jungkook. The irony.

Jungkook watches with hooded eyes at the beautiful sight of you. You had now grasped the length of his cock and began to pump him, focusing more on the tip of his head. He was glad the two of you were alone - seeing as you didn’t even have the decency to take him to your room and insisted on doing this on the couch. But Jungkook wasn’t a picky person - he prayed for times such as this. You were the play hard to get type and one thing he enjoyed was the chase. 

Jungkook places a hand on the back of your head and thrusts lighty into your mouth, groaning as he does so. You allowed it. You laid your tongue flat, eyes flickering up to watch his expression. Satisfaction bubbled deep inside of you at the sight of his lust-filled expression. Dark hooded eyes, gasping lips.

“I waited, fuck…so long for this.” Jungkook groans, pumping inside of your mouth a little faster. His thumb caresses your cheek. “I told you that I’d have you one day, didn’t I?” he says smugly. 

You groan a response, throat vibrating against his cock. That bastard, you thought. Jungkook did - he told you that one day your “play hard to get” act would crumble and when it did, he’d be there. But this couldn’t count - right? You were doing this for the greater good, after all. You had shows to watch and Jungkook just so happened to be the one that had a premium account.

You feel the tip of Jungkook’s cock tickling the back of your throat, testing to see how far you’d let him go. There’s a trail of saliva dripping from the corner of your lips and it drips slowly down your chin. Your mouth was heavy - wet and warm and inviting. You were determined to make him cum and he was determined to do just that. 

Jungkook’s hand grips your hair - you moan at the sensation. He pumps just a little faster, your slurps and gagging hitting his ears and he moans at just how filthy you were for him. 

“I’m about to cum.” Jungkook groans. His free hand wipes away a lone tear that releases from your eye. “You okay?” he asks, slowing his thrusts.

Your response was to bring him deeper into your mouth, blinking up at him. You slap his thigh harshly and that was all the permission he needed to fuck your throat. He shudders, feeling his toes curl. It didn’t help that your teary eyes watched his every move - and Jungkook couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Even now while he took control, you remain just as stubborn; challenging him. “F-Fuck…” Jungkook grunts. “W-Where do I cum?”

Jungkook wants to slap himself, forgetting that you can’t exactly respond to him. But he’s unsure if cumming inside of your mouth would be too intimate - but then again, you could always spit it out and he would be fine with that. 

You gag, feeling your throat swell with the warm, salty substance. You inhale through your nose and moan. “L-Let me find-” Jungkook watches as you swallow and lick your lips - he feels his cheeks redden and his heart thump.

You wipe your eyes of the pathetic tears and hum. “Don’t get big headed.” you hiss.

Jungkook smirks and bats his eyelashes. “Never.” he says. “I already made you a profile on my hulu account.”

You watch as Jungkook takes out his phone to show you the account and like state, he did make you your own profile. You snort at the name - stargirl. “I’ll text you the information to get into it.”

You place your hands onto his thighs. Your eyes lower to his cock - it wasn’t completely erect, but it wasn’t softening, either. 

“I was told I would get peacock and hbo max.” you say to him. You didn’t want to tell him that you were wet and wanted to ride him, his head was already big enough. 

“I have hbo max as an add on with hulu.” Jungkook responds, eyes darkening at the thought of feeling you. 

“Hm. That’s too bad.” you tilt your head. “I wanted to ride you.”

“I can add disney.” Jungkook responds far too quickly, mentally cursing at how desperate he appeared.

Smirking, you nod your head. “Deal.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide when you lift from your knees and kick off your shorts, panties flying with them. He’s erect once more at the sight of your slick trailing down your thighs. Your thighs trap him beneath you as you center yourself on him. “I’m not on any birth control.”

Jungkook gulps. His hands place themselves firmly on your hips. “I can pull out.” he nods. “Unless you want another streaming service as payment for me cumming inside of you.” he jokes - unless…

Jungkook smirks at you and you could only glare. You sit down on him completely and wipe the smirk from his lips. Your hands grip his shoulders as you begin to pound on him. It doesn’t take time for the entire sitting room is filled with your moans mixed with Jungkooks as well as skin slapping.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” Jungkook murmurs, inching closer to capture your lips with his own. You never said anything against kissing is his defense.

You deepen the kiss, grinding against him. “Says the man who hasn’t stopped moaning since we started.”

Jungkook chuckles and does just that. His hands trail from your hips, to your thighs and upwards towards your breast. He grips both of your clothed breasts into his palms. “Pussy feels so good, I can’t help myself.”

You swallow your own moan back. You can’t let him know his words turn you on - he would never let you live it down. It’s bad enough you were fucking him for streaming services.

You shifted yourself, your feet firmly against the couch. You looked into his eyes as you began to bounce on him once more, satisfied that the man below you was a moaning mess - and broke eye contact first. His eyes begin to roll at the new found pleasure.

You decided that you wouldn’t hide your own pleasure anymore. Jungkook was big and this position only meant that his cock was hitting the right spot each time. 

“I know it feels good, baby.” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to reality - and so does his thumb upon your clit. His thumb rubs hastily on it, enjoying the way your pussy tightens around his cock.

“It does.” Maybe you were growing weak - but only because it did feel good. That, and the way Jungkook’s voice grows deeper and more sultry as he speaks is an added turn on. 

“What happened to the playing hard to get girl I know?” Jungkook’s now thrusting upwards inside of you to meet you halfway.

You clench around him. “Fuck you.” you murmur.

“I intend to.” Jungkook manages to laugh, his thumb leaving your clit to hook beneath your thighs. He continues where you left off, stamina unmatched. He pounds into you with such need - as if this was what he had been waiting for for who knows how long.

Your arms wrap around his neck and allow him the control - just this once. Jungkook’s reveling in your submission, murmuring dirty words in your ears as he fucks you. You were so wet - slick gripping out of you and onto his thighs - that he knew neither of you would last long.

You bite your lip when you feel Jungkook’s hands on your ass. He squeezes it with such need, moaning beautifully in your ears as his thrusts turn sloppy. “Where do I cum?” he asks suddenly.

“Anywhere.” was your response.

Jungkook took your lack of direction as a sign. His fingers lean down from your ass to find your clit once more. He toys with it as he thrusts, hellbent on making sure you cum right along with him. He wasn’t going to last - not with the way you were squeezing his cock right now.

“S-Shit!” you hiss, feeling yourself come undone right as Jungkook pulls out of you, cum leaking on your ass.

Jungkook leans against the couch and pants. There was no way he was going to leave you alone after this - but that’s okay because he knows you’ll close up once more and play that game you’ve been playing. Jungkook loved the chase and deep down, so do you.

Series Masterlist

[fawnindawn]

even at our worst, we know we'll still be okay (luke castellan x apollo fem! reader)

summary: Where Percy's insistent pestering forces Luke to rethink on his possibly not platonic feelings for you, his best friend, and Percy's questions are answered for him with Luke's reaction to you being heavily injured on your return from your quest.

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader

a/n: i'm actually in love with this, maybe it's just the friends-to-lovers in me (where a love confession happens because one of them was near death's door-) but man.. also, i love including percy so much he's such a kid.

masterlist for this series next

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Face it, man. You're whipped."

Percy watched Luke choke on his water, coughing as he tried to swallow past the sudden accusation. Wiping at the excess that dripped past his chin, Luke raised a brow at Percy.

"Whipped? For who?" Luke questioned, eyes averting and staring straight ahead, beyond the training grounds towards the meadows in the distance, seemingly searching for something or just doing a poor job at avoiding Percy’s unimpressed stare.

“I’m not blind, as much as Annabeth claims, to this...love stuff.” Percy huffed, half in exasperation and half in exhaustion as he leaned forward using his sword to balance himself. “You’ve been depressed ever since she left for her quest.”

Luke doesn’t need to hear your name to know who Percy was referring to. It’s been weeks since you were chosen by your father, Apollo, to descend on some mighty quest to fetch back his lyre that had been stolen. It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous quest, but Luke had felt his gut sinking when he first heard the news from you.

“Why does he need to send you out there, where you could possibly be tracked down by monsters to get back a musical instrument of all things?” Luke snapped, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his curls, pacing back and forth in the Hermes Cabin, while you laid on his mattress looking undeniably calmer than he was.

“Luke, my dad won’t purposely send me on some death trap. I'll be fine.” You tried to reassure him, waiting for him to calm down in his pacing before you extended your hands in his direction right as he turned to make another round through the cabin for the seventh time. “Hey, come here.” You gestured. “Sit with me.”

He hesitated, stopping in his tracks as he finally took the time to look at you, noting your concerned expression at him. As if you weren’t about to descend on some ridiculous quest to god knows where all because your father couldn’t pluck up the effort to collect the instrument himself.

The longer your hands stayed outstretched for him, the more his anger and frustration dissolved into the overwhelming need to be near you. One second, he’s standing and the next, he’s laying in bed with you, your arms wrapped around him to stabilise him even though he should be the stronger one. The one to look out for you.

Laying his head on your shoulder as he wrapped one of his fingers around your hair, curling it in his palms, he spoke again in a soft whisper only for you to hear. “I’m worried.”

“I know.” You responded, your hands tracing at the curve of his shoulder, stopping at his collarbone, before your finger moved to tilt his face by the chin to look at you. “You trust me, right?” You ask, knowing his answer but wanting to hear the reassurance all the same.

“Course' I do.” He replied immediately, his eyes intense as he made eye contact with you. That was without question. You could ask him to walk into blazing flames, and he'd trust you would ask for good reason.

“Then you can trust that I’ll make it back alive.”

“Alive can mean lots of things.” He muttered, his eyes growing distant, the ghost of blood and a stinging burn running down the half of his face appearing uninvited in his mind.

“I’ll make it back alive and unharmed.” You reiterated, a knowing look in your eyes as you unconsciously traced at his scar, leaving warmth where it resides, making him shiver instinctively. “It’s a promise, Luke.”

He stayed silent, before slowly moving his hand to cup yours that rested over his scar. “I’m counting on it, sunshine.”

That promise rested over Luke’s conscience, gnawing at the back of his heels, chasing him daily from the early hours as he forced himself not to break over the stress and anxiety before putting on his golden boy facade, to pretend that he wasn't constantly distracted and nauseous over the thought of something happening to you without him being there to protect you.

He would've snuck out of camp if he could, just to find you, but Chiron had been tight-lipped on your destination, his all-knowing gaze piercing right through Luke when he had tried to nonchalantly ask about your whereabouts.

"I wish I could help you, Luke." Chiron had told Luke a few days after you had gone. "However, Apollo's request was clear. Only she shall take on this quest. No one else." The pin-point gaze Chiron had locked onto Luke made it clear he was talking about him.

"I am not whipped." Luke denied. "She's my friend. Like how you're my friend."

"I don't think your friendship with her is normal though." Percy fired back quickly, sipping on his own water as if he didn't casually demolish the older boy. "I swear I caught you bringing her back after curfew to your cabin, a few times in fact."

Luke felt his cheeks flush at Percy's sudden interrogation, smashing facts after facts on an early Tuesday morning. "I've been having.. nightmares lately. She's the only one who keeps them away." He didn't know why he felt like he had to explain himself to the kid, but the longer his friendship with you went under fire, the faster he wanted to get out of this conversation.

"You don't think that's something you should think deeper about?" Percy muttered with a shrug.

Luke is left speechless, his mind short-cutting at the sudden implication of.. him feeling something more for you? His most recent memories flashed through his mind. You tucked under his blanket as you laid beside him for the last night before your quest, a sleepy smile etched on your lips before you whispered him goodnight and he pulled you into his chest so he could feel your heart beating against his to push away any tricks currently playing on his mind, bringing light to how you're the only person he believes could calm him down and bring him peace-

"She's my best friend." Luke replied, more to himself than to Percy. "I'm just worried for her. A quest like that shouldn't take so long, and I keep imagining-"

He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to say his fears out in the open in fear that his words would jinx it, but Percy knew where he was getting at. Percy inched closer to Luke, moving to pat him awkwardly on the back in an effort to comfort him. "It's normal to be worried. From what I heard from Annabeth, you two are really close. I didn't have much conversations with her before she left, but she seems brave, and smart too. I have no doubts she'll make it back. If she's half as good as you, there's no way she wouldn't."

Luke felt a real smile crossing his face, the corners of his lips quirked up at Percy's words. "She's not half as good- she is better than me." He turned to look at Percy, that shine in his eyes noticeable as he talked about you. "Don't let her hear that when she gets back though, she'll talk my ear off for ages."

Percy returned his own smile, elated to see Luke have some improvement in his mood, proof being the first genuine smile Percy's seen in weeks coming from him.

"So.. do you want to stop for today?" Percy attempted with a casual tone.

"Why? Backing out already?" Luke teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he inched towards the kid jokingly with his sword raised.

"No!" Percy denied frantically. "I swear I'm not using the sympathy card as an excuse to get out of training-"

The sounds of a horn cut off his words, groaning across the camp, reaching the training grounds in record time. Luke felt his heart palpitate, nearly crashing into his rib cage.

He barely had time to think, yelling to Percy with urgency flying off his tongue. "Catch you later, Perce!" Then, he was off, his legs carrying him up the hills and back towards the camp entrance.

He heard Percy yell his name in confusion, but he could apologise later for his sudden departure.

You had come back to him.

The journey seemed too long, his shoes scrambling for ground, barely scraping the dirt as he ran towards the front of camp. He didn't know what to expect, a celebration with cheers from the other campers on your arrival, a glimpse of your face with that smile he loves. What he didn't expect was the silence as he came towards a slow jog before ultimately stopping at what seemed to be a crowd gathering around something- or someone.

He pushed his way through, barely making the effort to apologise over the thought of seeing you. His eyes finally caught onto what the onlookers were staring at, and his heart dropped.

You laid on the ground, passed out with what seemed to be dark, angry coils covering your skin, ranging from your neck to the outstretch of your back that was exposed from the gash in your shirt. That stupid lyre laid not too far from you, its golden strings ripped apart.

The sound that tore from his throat barely sounded like his voice, yelling out your name as he pushed through the final barrier in the crowd before reaching for you. He nearly made it before someone dragged him back, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

The curses that left Luke's mouth would make anyone wince, and he had to resist the urge to punch whoever was holding him back as he twisted his head to face his repressor. "Chris! Get out of my way." Luke hissed, still trying to make his way to you, fury twisting in his gut as he couldn't fathom why no one's helped you yet.

"Calm down, Luke!" Chris pleaded, desperation in his eyes forcing Luke to falter. "I know you want to help her but you have to listen to me. Whatever attacked her left something contagious on her body. Someone already tried helping her but it spread to their skin too!"

Wait? While whatever was attacking your body seemed to grow more intense by the minute, as Luke's gaze locked onto your form and watched the sickening, black coils spread further and further up your neck.

"Rodriguez, does it look like I care if it spreads to me?" Luke spat out, giving his friend a final push. "If she dies, I won't ever forgive myself for standing on the sidelines. Let me go now."

The cold venom in his tone made his friend loosen his hold just enough for Luke to rip himself out of his arms to drop his knees beside you. He grabbed hold of your shoulder, which still had shreds of your shirt to prevent him from being stung by whatever was infecting you, but his other hand which grabbed hold of your back did not face the same fate. The coils snaked onto his palm, and he gritted his teeth at the burning sensation.

Just as he turned you around so he could lift you up, he heard the familiar sound of hooves stamping against the soil and he looked up to see Chiron approaching with a grim expression. No words needed to be said as Luke met eyes with the centaur, a mutual understanding as Luke wrapped his arms around your torso and legs.

He pushed through to help carry you up, barking orders for the crowd to part way as he made his way to the infirmary. The longer he held onto you, the more every bone in his body seemed to scream to let you go, but he only focused on every step it took to get you closer to help, his eyes unable to look away from the paleness of your skin, the blue to your lips.

It seemed unfit for a child of Apollo, a child of the sun, to be dull and lifeless. You looked dead, and if it wasn't for the faint drumming of your pulse he could sense from your wrist, he would've struck the name of your father with such unbridled hatred, Apollo himself would descend from the heavens to condemn him.

"Please." He begged, holding onto you tighter despite his body's cries not to. Begging to who, he did not know, but if any being could save you from the fate you did not deserve, and pass it to him instead, he would gladly offer his prayers and worship. If it meant saving you, he would take your pain and suffer it tenfold just to see you open your eyes again.

It took you five days to recover. The infirmary had been quarantined and no one save for Chiron and Will, the main healer from the Apollo cabin, was allowed in. In those five days, no one dared approach Luke, who seemed near death's door despite having received his own small dosage of ambrosia to heal the coils that had managed to sink into his skin. He had begged Chiron to let him visit you, but Chiron deemed him too unstable to be near you, your recovery process a fragile thing that required tentative hands and patience.

Waiting to see you was a torture not even he could have envisioned for himself. He had been torn apart at the seams, of his belief in the gods and the scars that were immortalized onto his body. He had lived through days of water and nothing but false hope, hiding from monsters and other horrors before he made it to camp, arriving as a scrawny boy with eyes having witnessed events no kid his age should have to go through. Yet, no pain he had experienced could compare to his fears of losing you. If he-

He couldn't think of it without wanting to puke, but if he lost you somehow, he would lose his faith in this world. There would be no one to hold him back, no you, to stop him from letting go of the world that failed him and tearing it down.

It didn't help that in those five days, he had dreams. Of a different world, of salvation. A dark, ancient voice called to him, older than time, with whispers of promised glory and revenge. There was no you, none of your soothing touches or voice to wake him. In those five days, his strength faltered and he made a deal.

On the sixth day, he was woken frantically by a shake on the shoulder from his sleep. He roused awake, dizzy and still-half asleep to see Chris talking to him in rushed incoherent words.

"Awake- She's awake, sleepy-head!"

Luke was half-dressed, still fighting off sleep with aggressive rubbing to his eyes as he tugged on his t-shirt, rushing towards the infirmary with Chris hot on his heels.

He burst through the front door, holding his breath when he finally saw you, propped up on two pillows talking to Will. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he rushed over to you.

You turned to him then, just in time to see him blink his tears away. "Luke." You called to him softly, and time seemed to stop just for the two of you, and he could only see you in his vision.

"Can you guys give us some privacy?" You asked politely, eyeing Will and Chris, but your eyes never drifted far before moving back to him.

"Of course." Will responded, quickly getting up from his chair towards the exit, dragging a confounded Chris with him with a tug on the back of his shirt. "Hey! I wanted to see her too-" "Give the two lovebirds some time alone, you idiot."

Luke inched closer to you, his heart beating so loudly in his eardrums he swears you could hear it too. You lifted your arms to him and he didn't waste time, taking you in his arms and embracing you so tight, and yet he felt he couldn't be close enough.

"You were dying. In my arms. I felt it when I carried you in here." He muttered into your shoulder, shaking as he finally let out the exhaustion and pain he had been feeling since the day you left.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." You apologised, rocking him back and forth as your voice croaked up. "All I thought of was you. When I fought against that beast, I kept repeating my promise to you. That I would come back to you. You saved me."

He shook his head, feeling his tears wet his cheeks as he pulled back to grab you by the chin, a gentle touch like he was afraid you would disappear if he couldn't see you talking to him, that your voice would be a hallucination he concocted. "I should've stopped you from going. I had a bad feeling since I heard about it. I should've protected you- prevented you from getting hurt in the first place-"

You stopped him with a kiss, desperate yet shy, before pulling away and pressing your forehead to his. "I love you, Luke. I was so scared I would never get to tell you and it would've been my biggest regret. I love you so much, Luke, and I'm sorry if this ruins anything between us but I can't hide it anymore-"

Luke cut you off the very same way you did, but with such intense hunger you gasped when he kissed you, sloppy and with even more desperation, tugging at your bottom lip and pulling you closer with his hand at nape of your neck. "I love you." He muttered through quick breaths. "I love you, it actually hurts because of how much I do." He admitted, grabbing your hand to place right above his heart, which is owned completely and only by you.

He leaned in once more, addicted to the taste of you, kissing you with one hand holding yours to his heart, the other pulling you close so that there was no space between the two of you. When he had to stop so you both could gasp for air, he pressed his forehead back to yours, the first smile stretching at his lips in days. "I never want to be apart from you ever again, you hear me, sunshine?"

You giggled at his words, nodding slightly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Extra: Luke reappears with you the next day when you insisted on wanting to get out of the infirmary after being cooped up away from the sun for so long. ("You're such an Apollo kid." Luke teases, which you ignore with a roll of your eyes.) He's with you every step of the way, and now that your feelings are out for each other in the open, he doesn't hesitate to kiss you on the cheek or fawn over you without hiding his intensity.

When he makes eye contact with Percy over the room, the damn kid gives him a wink and a thumbs-up.

a/n: i want to expand so much more on this, with kronos taking advantage of luke's weak mind during your recovery and more, OMGGGGGGG. tell me if you guys want more pls and i'll make more parts. thank you for reading if you made it this far <3

update: I am officially making this into a series called ‘everything in between’. To those who want to follow more on their story, you can comment on whether you want to be added to the tag list for this series or check the masterlist!

[ctrlhope]

Butterfly (m)

synopsis: he’s been watching you. waiting, stalking his prey. waiting for you to tangle your pretty little wings into his web. chasing you. hunting you. making you play his games until you realise the truth that lies behind your eyes.

j.jungkook x f.reader

୧ ‧₊˚┊: wc: 3.6k

୧ ‧₊˚┊: genre: yandere, serial killer au, college au, dark content

୧ ‧₊˚┊: content: yandere!killer!jk, dubcon, predator / prey, manipulation, fear play, mask kink, slight sub space, slight knife play, strangers to lovers, “public” sex, drug use (alcohol), mentions of blood / injury, threats, allusions to kidnapping, dom!jk, fingering, rough sex, he’s mean but still sweet, obsessed!soft!jk at the end <33

୧ ‧₊˚┊: notes: found this in my drafts back from halloween and i never posted it! so here you go, to hold you over until my long fics are done <33 halloween fic in april lmaooo

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni -> dark content

Bum. Bum. Bum.

Your heartbeat is in your ears, pulse racing. It was too loud. Everything is too loud. It’s all you can hear. It’s all you can think about as your heels dig into the harsh forest floor. Your shoes long since been abandoned, mud caking your feet as you try to run. Tries to escape from the demon that had set his sights on you.

Him.

Fuck. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It really wasn’t. It was just supposed to be a fun halloween party! You didn’t really even know if you wanted to go to it or not. But your friends convinced you with the promise of free drinks and guys that were ‘cute enough’ for some random frat.

What they failed to mention? The simple fact that house was in the middle of nowhere. On one side a lake, the other a massive forest.

Like a pretty little trap meant to catch girls like you. Web tangled in the trees just watching for the prettiest butterfly to find its way into. To be caught in the den of monsters that lined every wall of the ancient house.

You were already disturbed when your friend's pretty jeep turned off the main roads, trailing through the woods. Realising just how distant from the rest of society you would be. How every bump of the car sent your little heart into a deeper flutter of anxiety.

Still, you kept your mouth shut. You didn’t want to ruin the night— for yourself or your friends. You trust them. They promised it would be fun. Plus! Their boyfriends were going to be there! So nothing would go wrong!

Yeah. It really wasn't their fault that a lunatic set his sights on you. Wasn’t their fault you started dancing with a man in a mask. Let him lead you to the backyard for a smoke, dumbly followed him deeper into the woods to see his favourite spot. Let him stuff his fingers into your little hole without even seeing his face, knowing his name.

Nah, you did all that on your own. Just a little kitten being led to the slaughter house.

“Okay babydoll…” He breathes into your ear, pumping two fingers deep inside of your cunt. Skirt that was barely covering anything pushed too far up your hips, showing the whole forest just how tight your walls cling to his fingers. How wet you are. How desperate you are for more.

“We’re gonna play a game, yeah?” You’re hardly able to respond, consciousness laced with toxins from earlier that night. Flush to your cheeks evidence enough of just how much you drank— the series of events that led you to this exact moment.

One he had been planning for awhile.

He smiles, throat letting out a low, almost nonexistent laugh. Slowly circling your clit with his thumb, almost mocking the way your back arches. Finding amusement in the way your fingers cling to his arm as his thrusts continue all to slow.

You’re needy, too needy. He knows that well enough. Can tell with the way your hips start to rock, start to squirm. The way your body starts to get bratty on him while your mind is too far in the clouds to realise the position you’ve found yourself in.

You’re cute. Too cute for him to take another second of this. Too cute for him to hold back anymore.

Wouldn’t want you getting too bratty on him anyway, would he? Then his personal treat, the slice of cake he's been waiting weeks to cut into will have to turn into a punishment. Ruin all the fun he’s worked so hard to prepare.

“‘Gonna need you to run into the woods. Fast and as far as you can…” He groans under his breath, the mere thought sending blood straight to his cock, filling his mind with nothing but pictures of you dirty on the forest floor, “And you gotta do your best to stay away from me yeah? Cause if I catch you… I gotta kill you and I wouldn't wanna have to do that… You’re too pretty to kill, you know?”

Fuck. What the fuck is wrong with him? What is he even talking about?

You try to process– try to understand the words that run off his tongue. But it's unfair, everything is stacked against you as he slides the mask off his face. Gives you a first look at his deep brown eyes. Lets you see how gorgeous he is for the very first time.

He didn’t even give you a chance to recover before he started counting down from 30. Doesn’t even move his hand away from your dripping cunt until 20– the expression on your face just pathetic. So close yet so far from the finish line.

Your race was nowhere close to its end. He’d make sure of it.

It wasn’t until his hand found your hip, gently tapping against the skin that your brain even had the chance to attempt processing his words. Figure out the exact meaning behind them while his lips continued to count down with each syllable.

Such pretty pink lips. Maybe he would let you kiss them if you tried hard enough. If you lean up just right maybe he would–

Wait. Wait. What’s happening? What did he say to you?

Your eyes glance down to your thighs, vision dazed as you try to figure out the object that suddenly pokes at your flesh. The sharp tip grazing your soft skin as you take in the metal; polished to perfection. The deep black handle resting securely in his palm, holding himself back.

Your eyes widen, familiarity cresting your features.

Shit. Shit!

You don’t even think about grabbing your own knife until 15, hand quickly reaching for your hip where you keep it tucked away. Too bad he had already taken it, knew the tool you always carried with you well.

Shit, his own personal little Nancy, huh? Perfect for him.

Survival instincts had to take over for you, forcing your feet to the ground. Urging your skirt down as low as it could possibly go as your legs take off in a direction you hope is the house.

Everything is all too much, it’s not enough. Every little sound is getting to you, making you feel like you’re going crazy. Making you feel like none of your senses can be trusted. Like nothing can be trusted except for the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

The woods– everything looks the same. You can't distinguish one thing from the next but you know you hear something getting closer. Too close.

If his words meant anything you need to keep fighting, keep trying to live. Even as pain stabs into your toes, sticks break under your feet. Even as you’re stabbed by bushes.

It was like the forest itself was out to get you. Like whatever beast behind it is your real enemy in all of this.

Maybe you can pretend it, maybe in your alcohol-addled brain that’s a little easier to manage than the man running behind you. The one with hunger in his heart that only your soul can satiate.

You try, you really do. But your legs can only move so fast. Can only take so much abuse before they start to slow. Lungs can only inhale so much air before they want to collapse.

Too bad he’s done this before. He can run.

And just as you start to be able to see the lights from the tree line, just as hope starts to fill your little heart, you’re forced into the dirt. Two arms wrap around you from behind, tackling your frame to the ground.

Your back presses against his chest as he keeps you there, his face right next to your ear as he pants. Breathe heavy in your ear, hearing the way it cracks every once and awhile as he tries to catch his breath. Lips almost on your ear while he keeps you there. Keeps you trapped under him.

Everything is starting to conflict in your pretty little head, body telling you to get away. Try to get him off. Wriggle your hand— anything out to try and fight back. Try and get away before he keeps his promise from before.

Yet, with every movement, every slight twist of your spine or kick of your legs under his heavy frame he only presses tighter, deeper against you. Presses his cock against your barely covered cunt. Makes you feel every inch of him that he plans to stuff inside. Make you unable to breathe while the rocks dig into your skin.

You put up a good fight, you really do. Better than anyone else. It’s too bad everything is going just a little bit haywire behind your eyes. The world starting to feel like a burden as you try to push away the arousal rushing to your gut.

Shit, you should be scared. Should be petrified of the psycho that took you into the woods, the psycho that threatened to kill you no more than ten minutes before. One that had a knife pressed to your skin and a scythe around your heart. But the chemicals in your brain are mixing into something that you can’t comprehend, can’t describe.

Everything feels like too much, he feels like too much and you have no clue what to do. Head completely gone to mush.

It’s almost easier that way.

“Almost got away, doll. But don’t worry. I’ve got you now.” His voice is rough, harsh as he tries to catch his breath. Teeth clamping against the crest of your ear, hips rolling against your cunt without a care in the world. Especially not for the state of your head. Not for the little world you find yourself slipping away into.

Too many extreme emotions happening will do that to you, won't they? Make you so confused that you’ll just take whatever you can manage. Even if that means plunging his blade into your pretty little heart or fucking you until your pussy wouldn’t even consider another filling it.

He prefers the latter. Too pretty for the former, huh?

He can feel the shift in your frame– one of extreme discomfort, entirely tense to one of a docile little pet put on display. The shift behind your eyes as everything becomes too much, little too difficult to understand. As you slip away just enough to make any feelings of pleasure elevate to new extremes. Let fear spur you on.

The only thoughts in your head are ones filled with him. The way it should be. Exactly should be.

Your hips move again, their last attempt to break free from his spell. Their last attempt to try and get away from the maniac. Yet it does nothing more than press his cock harder against your ass, the mock of a grind against the surface that leaves a pretty little mewl spilling from your lips. A grunt catching in his own.

Wow, you actually surprised him.

“Shit, not patient at all huh?” He smiles, lip quirking as he removes his body from you. Removes the only warmth provided in this hell.

You won't run. Not if you know what's good for you.

He doubts you do– led you right into his arms tonight. But that's okay. He can take over for you. Take over everything.

Hands grip your hips, pull you back against him. Let you imagine how sweet he could fuck you if you just behave. The soft rocking of hips against your own, the gentle way he moves compared to the way he holds you heavy on your mind.

You can’t help the moan that spills past your lips. The way your back arches to meet him better. No one could blame poor little you. No one could blame your mind turning off for just a little bit. Not when he has you. Not with the rough texture of his pants pushing against your cunt. Not with the ruined orgasm of before.

Arousal makes your panties stick uncomfortable to your skin. A disturbing wet patch forming against his own pants where you meet. A flutter erupting in your gut at the way he groans. Way he moves you with such ease.

He really could kill you if he wanted to.

You’re not sure if the realisation scares you or spurs you on.

It scares you more to know that it's the latter.

“I’m not either.” He huffs, air thick with fog, “Been too patient for you. Too fucking patient.”

He grunts, pushing your hips back. Back arching even farther against the forest floor. It almost hurts, it’s almost painful. Not that that really matters. Nothing matters when he grips the flesh of your ass, pulls the cheeks apart. Gets a good look at the mess he’s made of you. Can see clearly how wrecked his little girl is.

Pretty panties sticking against your cunt, thighs wobbly from all the effort of tonight. Shit, if he just hooks his finger under them, pulls them to the side he’ll get to see you all. Get to see your puffy lips, fluttering little hole. Get to fuck himself inside while you just lie there and take it. Get so drunk on his cock you might just fall in love.

Shit, maybe you already have, huh?

Good.

He forces your underwear to the side, stares in awe at the way your slick sticks to them. Imagines how pretty they’d look stuffed with his cum. How you’d tumble around the house, not letting a drop spill just for him.

Because you would know it’s what he wants.

“All of this for me?” He smiles, rubbing his thumb through your folds. Collecting your essence, spreading it around all messy just how he likes. How he knows you’ll like soon enough.

You can only whimper, clutch the ground as your head spins. Tries to catch up with every little minstration he makes. Tries to figure out what exactly is happening. What words he’s saying. How to get him to stop, if you want him to stop.

A shiver runs down your spine. You don’t think you do.

You’re not sure of anything anymore. Only the sound of a zipper running down, the shuffle of pants forced off hips. The hard head of a cock running against your folds like it owns them. Like it was made for them.

The stretch as he forces himself inside. The way it burns, stings with effort. The short, forceful movements as he fucks himself inside. Makes home in your cunt for no one else but him. Makes you unable to think of a soul other than him. Ruin you for all other men that come after.

God he must be big– how fucking big? You have no clue. You wish you could see. Look into those pretty, crazed eyes. Focus on the little mole under his lip as the pain turns into pleasure. Morphs something dark in your brain to like it, to take it just like a good girl. Make you crave him more than anything else.

But instead you stare at the dirt. Hands clutching at the surface as he fucks himself inside. Deeper and deeper with each slow calculating thrust. Fucks you full of whatever twisted definition of love he possess. Makes you see the light, the exact shimmer in his eyes. See that this is the only way to truly live.

“Shit, baby,” His voice is low, deeper than before as his hips finally meet your own. Finally fills you with nothing else other than him. “Been waiting too fucking long for this. Had to make me wait, huh? Fuck.”

His voice harsh, grip bruising as he tries to hold himself back. One last measly reprise he’ll allow you. One last second he’ll give you before he makes you completely dumb. Makes you see what he knows you need to.

“I-I don’t~” You whimper, though the words fall on deaf ears. Not that it mattered anyway, you didn’t even know what you were trying to say. Didn’t know anything except for the way your walls clamp around his cock. Body begging for him, urging him to start and never stop.

He sighs, dramatic, “Little slut, huh baby?”

A harsh thrust punctuates his words, jolting your body forward as you cry. Impatience, ecstasy? He isn’t sure which. Only can notice the way your fingers clench and unclench in the dirt. The way your pussy flutters around him.

“Aww…” He soothes, hips dragging out of your cunt before slowly thrusting back in. The pace slow, antagonising, “Poor thing is having a hard time…” His hips quicken a hair, pretty sounds falling from your lips at the movement.

“Gotta tell me what you need, baby. I can make it all happen then.” A low kiss is placed against your shoulder, the world crumbling around you.

You break.

“Please…” Your voice is soft, too soft, but he hears it. Feels himself cracking as you beg, feels himself lose his mind entirely.

Beg for him. Want him.

His hips suddenly snap, fucking himself into your cunt with force you never thought a human could possibly manage. Fast, hard. Pumping his cock into you to search for his own pleasure. His own release. Forcing you to take it, take all of him while you try to keep up. Try to find your own pleasure in the tangle of limbs.

You hate how easily you do. Or maybe you love it.

“God, fuck.” He can’t suppress his own moans, the feeling of your pussy wrapping so tight around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth is too much. Fills his head with even more nonsense about love. About destiny.

His hips would never even consider stopping. You feel too good. Feel too tight around his cock, feel like he should never stop fucking you. Keep you there forever.

“So perfect. So perfect for me,” His breath is harsh, his heart racing as your little sounds only spur him on. Let him know just how good you feel. Just how far you’ve fallen. Just how much farther you’re willing to drown in all things Jungkook.

“P-Please!” You whine, hips arching further. Moving him into the perfect position to scrape against your g-spot with every rough pound of his hips. No clue what you’re pleading for. No clue what you want other than him.

Don’t even know his name. Nothing other than how incessantly you crave him.

“Fucking brat.” He cusses, eyes pinching into a glare as you somehow clamp down tighter. Walls pulling him back in on every thrust. Milking him for everything he’s worth. Making sure you both know your place in this. Know your place after it, too.

“God, been waiting for this haven’t you?” He groans, hips stuttering. He’s too close, “Been waiting for me to fuck you like the pretty doll you are? Make me take everything from you?”

You can only manage a whine in response, cunt fluttering around him. Obsessing in his praise.

Maybe his words are true. Maybe he’s known the exact type of person you are since the moment he first saw you. Maybe he’s right. This is where you’re meant to be. Meant to be with him.

“Shit, yeah. I fucking knew it.” His voice cracks, “Call you a minx but we both know that isn’t true. Just don’t know how to think until you’re stuck on the end of a cock.”

His thrusts somehow pick up speed. Fuck you harder, deeper. He’s sure he could place his hand over your tummy, feel himself fucking you. Shit.

“My cock.” He growls, voice heavy in your ears.

You can't take it anymore. Can’t take another second of it. Nerves tied tight into knots explode, white dotting the corner of your vision as you moan for no one else other than him. Pleasure courses through your veins, pussy pulling him as he falls apart alongside you. A tsunami pulling you under, making it hard to breathe. Making you feel dead and alive at the same time.

Maybe the forest gods were the ones tormenting you. Making you feel better than you had ever thought possible before. Allowing you to see the light of the stars dancing in the sky, so far above the clouds with his cock still pressed so deep inside. Floating through the air as your orgasm runs through you.

He’s no better. A shell of a man as he slowly fucks him cum deeper into your cunt. As deep as you’ll allow. Marking you. Claiming you. Making sure you know your place, even as you finally collapse onto the floor. Finally come back to reality. Poor body too spent to focus on anything else.

It’s okay though, you don’t have to worry. Not about a thing.

He’ll take care of you. Fix you up nice and pretty for your next lesson. Take you away to his apartment, make you fall in love for real. Keep you there, with him, just like you’re meant to be.

Make all of the sick sides you try to hide come out to play. Make you realise you’re just like him.

He wouldn’t kill you. Ever. Even if he had killed the others, none of them matter. He’s been waiting for someone like you for so long. Itching to bring you home. And finally, finally you had fallen into his trap. His perfect little butterfly, caught in the web. Ready to be corrupted by the vicious spider. Ready for your wings to be clipped.

“Mine.”

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[rhysazriel]

Smoke & Light: Part 1 [Plug!Az]

SUMMARY: Your ex-boyfriend gives you his dealers number, but you don’t expect for him to be so fine. And you certainly don’t expect him to be so goddamn flirty. (3.4k)

WARNINGS: descriptions and dealings of recreational drugs (weed), little bit of swearing, slight sexual themes and lots of shameless flirting. THIS IS A MODERN AU!!

A/N: the first part is here and I’m so excited!! Im still unsure how many parts this is going to be, but there’s a lot I want to happen in this series so probably (I’m guessing!!) six or seven, but we’ll see!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Your patience was wearing thin. Very fucking thin. Those three grey dots mocked you as they bubbled at the bottom of the screen—disappearing and reappearing again—until they were replaced with another less than satisfying message.

Brandon: are you taking the piss? Why didn’t you just ask when you were here earlier?

You scanned the message over, swallowing back the groan at the idea of another potential argument. You needed to nip his attitude in the bud, you weren’t entertaining his bullshit anymore. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, your fingers quickly typed a response.

You: I didn’t realise I was out until I got home. Can you get any or not? Just lmk

The dots appeared again after a few moments of silence, and you prepared yourself for the snarky remark he was most likely to give you, and took a deep breath to compose yourself in advance.

Brandon: no. I can’t get you any. Sort it out yourself for once.

There was no way in Hell you were going to let your frustrations show. Despite the pure anger and annoyance that began to bubble even more within you.

Brandon could be a lot of things. A liar. A cheat. And a fucking asshole. In all honestly, the only thing he was truly good for was the occasional above par fuck and the fact that his dealer had the best weed you’d ever smoked.

But when they were the only two good things he had going for him, it was hard to justify the disgusting behaviour he showed throughout almost your entire relationship. You broke up every few weeks as it was, but if you’d known about the cheating before, you would’ve left for good sooner.

Instead, you found out a year and half into the relationship, coming to the deafening conclusion that he had, in fact, never been faithful for a single moment of his adult life.

Fuck him. And fuck his shit sex. The weed, you could get yourself.

You: lmao ok. What’s his number?

A heartbeat after he read the text, he was calling you. And the moment you answered the call, he was his usual, un-charming self.

“What the fuck do you mean what’s his number?”

“Hello to you, too.” You murmured, tucking yourself under the blanket on your couch.

His clipped tone didn’t startle you, didn’t worry you about any form of consequences. He wasn’t scary, even when he tried to be. He was just a douche.

“What do you mean what’s his number?” He repeated himself, that agitation growing thicker and thicker with every word he spoke.

“How else am I supposed to get any?”

“Find your own dealer.”

He was being bitter now, pathetically so. You picked at the aged edges of your book, a novel you’d read five times over but one you couldn’t get enough of. Your love for it could be seen by the fading print of the front cover and the severely broken spine—despite how careful you tried to be with your readings.

“Brandon, I’m not going to find a random dealer. Your Azriel guy has good stuff and I know it’s safe. Besides, me going to the same person as you is not going to affect you in any way.”

He was silent for a moment, mulling over your words. Despite his dreadful personality and lack of love and care and compassion, he knew how little you knew about marijuana. He was the one that taught you to roll, after all.

You’d barely smoked before you met him, and on the rare occasions you did get high, it was usually in the form of gummy edibles your friends had. And you weren’t addicted or reliant on it in any way. You just enjoyed a smoke every now and then if you’d had a long day.

Alcohol had never been your favourite, and you much preferred to feel the chilled buzz from a joint than cradle a hangover for two days after a soirée.

“Fine. I’ll text you his number. Say Marco gave it to you, it’s a code he made up—had cops on him a while ago. He can be a bit of an ass, don’t let him shit talk you. Ask for a 3.5, he usually charges 40 for it. It’ll last you a couple weeks unless you’re planning on smoking heavy.”

It was easy to be pulled back in when he was like that. When he did the bare minimum of offering advice on things he knew you weren’t too sure on. But you were better than that now, smarter. You weren’t going to fall back into your old ways again.

Not with him. Not with anyone.

“I’m not. Thank you.”

The line went dead as soon as the words left your mouth and a few moments later, he texted you Azriel’s number. You would’ve appreciated a reminder of what you were supposed to ask for but at least you got his number. Small wins. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

It took you a few minutes to figure out what to say, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed and erased, typed and erased. Until you settled on ‘Is this Azriel?’ and finally sent the message.

Ten minutes passed and you didn’t get a response. Your nose was tucked back into your romance novel as you chewed on the drawstring of your hoodie. In all honesty, you could’ve quite easily slipped into a peaceful slumber under the warm golden glow of your lamps.

That was another thing Brandon couldn’t respect. Your No Main Light rule. The vibes were always immaculate with gentle warmth from lamps. The main light was not allowed on under any circumstances. You much preferred the cosy feeling of golden hues that accentuated the deep green leaves of your plants and vines that scattered the walls and crevices of your home.

Your phone chimed from your lap, a small surge of anxiety pulsing in your chest. You unlocked the screen and read over the message.

Azriel: depends who’s asking.

Ah, Brandon did warn you. You considered fucking the whole idea off. Maybe cracking open a bottle of wine and snuggling on the couch with a book or tv show would be better than having to meet this asshole, but the bottle of White Zinfandel wouldn’t give you the mellow buzz you wanted.

Not unless you had at least four glasses which was usually paired with a hangover the next day. Something you did not want to entertain. So, you bit the bullet and typed your reply.

You: y/n, got your number from Marco. You about?

The more you let your mind wander, the more you realised how little you knew. You had no clue how this sort of thing worked. Would he come to you? Your home? Would you meet at a location of his choice? Or would he just stash the weed somewhere for you to collect and you don't cross paths at all?

But the burning fire of the what-if anxiety was quickly trampled and extinguished when another text came through and instead of him deciding for you, you were given choices.

Azriel: sure, I can meet you at old tower in 20 if that’s good for you? If not I can drop to your location.

He didn’t seem as much of an ass now. No, quite the opposite. But you supposed that offer was something he probably gave to all new, female clients. If he truly was an ass or not, you couldn’t fault him for the consideration.

Old Tower was the old old watermill tucked slightly away in the centre of the city. It had been derelict for years, but due to its location—so close to all the necessities and right opposite the police station—no one ever tried to break in or set it alight like the many other derelict listed buildings had been in the past.

Even now, at almost midnight, that part of the city would still be bustling with city-natives and tourists alike. And you appreciated the safe and public meeting spot he suggested.

You: old tower in 20 is fine.

As quickly as you sent the message, you received another reply. A text describing his blue Mustang and his licence plate. You shook the nerves off as soon as they came. Azriel was respectful and well known. He dealt to make his money and that was that.

But the facts didn’t stop you from sharing your location with Brandon just in case, nor did it stop you from double checking you still had your little pepper spray clipped to your keychain.

The walk to the Old Tower wasn’t a bad one. There were many ways you could access it, most of them leading you through the city, but here were a few that hid you behind back roads and alleyways—those were routes you never took. Not on your own and certainly not in the middle of the night.

The air was still a bit sticky from the summer heat, and while the denim shorts you wore kept your body cool, you were grateful you kept on your hoodie—just that extra layer that protected your arms and shoulders from the chill of the breeze that your legs never seemed to experience.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the Old Tower, and it took even less time to spot the electric blue 2022 Ford Mustang. Small tufts of white smoke emitted from the exhaust as it sat in its standstill, headlights facing the opposite direction of what you came in, but you could still hear the engine humming from your short distance away.

You double checked the licence plate to the number Azriel texted you, and slowly made your way closer. While you didn’t know much about drop offs, deals, and weed in general, you did know the unspoken rules of picking up. And if you were picking up from someone in a vehicle, most people got inside for a few minutes before leaving.

Azriel must’ve noticed you from the rear view mirror because just as you approached the back of the car, the passenger door opened wide, inviting you in. You sucked in a breath but accepted the invitation, keeping your eyes forward as you settled into the warmth of the leather seat and closed the door shut.

You finally let your body shift and your eyes met his. And you were fucking done for.

You’d never seen a man so strikingly fucking beautiful before. He was tall, lean and muscular and oozed pure sex and charisma. Tan, golden skin and dark, luscious hair that swept loosely down his forehead and curled gently around the tops of his ears.

His face was chiselled not too sharply, a subtle gentleness to the stark contrast of the cold, brooding aura he carried. And those eyes. Christ, those fucking eyes. Hazel iris’ that dripped with a golden hue of honey.

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and willed your lips to part so you could finally speak. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”

And Azriel was absolutely hooked.

When you’d texted barely thirty minutes ago, he did not expect to be meeting with someone so fucking gorgeous. Your soft hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over your shoulder, wayward strands having fallen from the updo and framing your face mesmerizingly.

Your eyes were the most captivating thing he’d ever seen; rich in colour and wide with slight anxiety, despite the sleepiness he could slightly notice beneath them. Your voice sounded like a fever dream. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most women he knew or dealt to. Perhaps it was just the sleep, but there was a rasp—a very slight ruggedness—in your tone and Azriel was certain he’d never heard something quite so sensual in his life.

He cleared his throat, that all too cheeky grin teetering on the corners of his mouth. “I was already out,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “How much are you after?”

His voice was a perfect blend of sweet and rough. A deep depth to his tone that skipped hand-in-hand with a sweeter note. God, he was unreal, and the sound of him had you forgetting entirely what exactly Brandon told you to ask for.

You pulled your lips between your teeth and offered a very sheepish—but mostly embarrassed—smile. “Um… I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologising for the second time tonight. “My ex used to do this part, so I have no idea how this works.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks at your own admission, couldn’t handle being the subject of his firm gaze, and you absolutely could not fucking handle the soft rumble of rich laughter that chuckled through him.

“Do you smoke a lot?” Azriel finally asked, a slightly amused smile on those full lips of his. His pink tongue swiped out to wet them and your heart thundered against your ribcage at the sight.

“Not really,” you cleared your throat. “Just every now and then. Semi-regularly, I guess.” There was no such thing as semi-regularly when it came to drugs and alcohol. To someone’s own self, sure. But not the general mass that consumed whatever it was they did.

Some considered three joints a day ‘semi-regular’, while others considered it as a joint every few days. Azriel had a feeling you were the latter, but he didn’t say anything about his thoughts or what you’d said.

Instead, he hummed and chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought. He wasn’t laughing at you or your lack of knowledge or understanding. Usually, he’d have kicked a new client out of his car by now and told them to figure it out on their own—he was a dealer, not a fucking private tutor—but with you, he didn’t seem to mind explaining or breaking things down so it was easier to understand.

Neither of you quite understood why he was happy to explain, but you didn’t complain. You’d much prefer this than the alternative version of him that you’d been warned about.

“A 3.5 would probably be best for you, then.” He decided.

Yes, a 3.5… that sounded very familiar. You nodded, slowly, considering your next words carefully. You had already disclosed the most embarrassing part of not having a fucking clue how this worked, one more probably wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous,” you chuckled nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck. “But can you break that down in joint terms?”

Azriel laughed again, softer this time, through a breath. It was odd, really. He wasn’t laughing to be cruel or to embarrass you further. It seemed to you that perhaps he found it endearing—your innocence on the matter—and maybe, just maybe, you reminded him of himself when he too at one point, had no idea either.

“It depends on how strong you have them. Do you smoke blunts or just joints?”

Your eyes widened animatedly. “God, no. Just joints. I think a blunt might wipe me out.”

A glint of warmth and light fluttered through his eyes for a split second. “So, a 3.5 would get you like seven joints.”

“Yeah, that would last me like a week, two weeks.” You nodded. “I’ll have a 3.5 then, thank you.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, and it was only when he reached for the centre console and flipped open a compartment that you saw his hands. His golden skin was marred beyond belief, etched in burns and an array of pigmented colours. Your stomach lurched at the sight. Not from fear or pity or disgust, no. Your stomach twisted in agony, your brain couldn’t comprehend a reason for scars like that.

You looked away as quickly as you clocked them, not wanting to stare and not wanting him to notice. You supposed he was used to lingering gazes, but you would not be a name added to that list of people.

Azriel did nothing but make you feel comfortable in the brief few minutes of meeting one another. He was kind enough to not laugh in your face and kick you out of his car after your admittance. You were not about to make him feel uncomfortable either.

He pulled out a small plastic baggie stuffed to the brim with forest green nuggets and handed it to you between two scarred, pinched fingers. You took it gratefully, a full and genuine smile on your lips now as you thanked him, reaching into the back pocket of your denim shorts for the cash.

“Did you want me to roll them for you, too?” Azriel’s teasing voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes snapped to him with a stern look. “‘Cause that’ll cost you extra.”

“I know how to roll, thank you.” You bit back, and while your voice and tone held all the conviction, the amused glint in your eye and the corners of your mouth told him he hadn’t offended you in the slightest.

“It’s twenty-five.” Azriel chuckled from beside you.

Your brows furrowed as you pulled out two twenty’s, meeting his gaze again. “Isn’t it usually like forty?”

The air now smelt of that tangy, vile scent, something that you don’t think you’d ever get used to. Or enjoy. He shrugged, flipping down the lid of the compartment between you. “You’re a new client.”

You raised a brow now, a taunting smirk creeping at the corner of your mouth. “Do you always undercharge new clients, then?”

Azriel liked you. Very much. You didn’t shy away or hide your personality from him, even after only knowing one another for barely an hour in total. He had a feeling he was barely scraping the surface.

He matched your stare, only he wasn't teasing. “Only the pretty ones.”

There was no hiding the heat that crawled up your neck and sat heavy on your cheeks. It had been a long while since you received a genuine compliment. Let alone one so forward and from someone so unexpected. You averted your gaze from him, looking at the two twenty’s in your hand. Raising them, you pursed your lips.

“I only have two twenty’s on me. So you may as well take the full forty.”

Azriel didn’t listen. Instead, he pinched one note from your hand, his skin brushing yours but you didn’t falter, didn’t shy away. He was warm, and despite the scars and marred skin, his skin was softer than you expected.

You huffed, not ungrateful for the discount but this was his livelihood and taking away from that felt wrong to you.

“Let me know when you’re out.”

You smiled appreciatively and nodded, stuffing the bag and cash into your hoodie pocket and reaching for the door handle. “I will. Nice to meet you, Azriel.”

He watched you climbed out of the car, offering another warm smile as the cooler evening air kissed at his skin. He wanted to ask how you were getting home, if you’d be walking alone or if you needed a ride. But Azriel couldn’t cross those lines, especially not with someone he only just met.

So he bit his tongue and prayed to the Mother above to get you home safely. “You too, Y/N.”

He started up the engine again as soon as the door closed, but he didn’t drive away. He watched you through the rear view mirror until you were out of sight and when he finally looked down, he found his jeans tight around his crotch and a painful erection.

“Fuck.”

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If you enjoyed it, please give it a like and reblog and let me know what you thought!! Thank you for reading <3

Smoke & Light ONLY Tags

@smalljasper289 / @sttvrdustt

Azriel Tags

@serxndipity-ipity-blog / @erencvlt / @azswife / @lili-of-the-wildfire / @dreaming-unafraid / @dr4g0ngirl / @coconut-dreamz

[batterygarden]

love is in the air . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

contents: big bro! yuuta x fem & afab reader, dead dove do not eat, sex pollen, incest, virginity loss (reader), drugged sex vibes, unprotected sex w cream pies, size kink w slight pain, oral f!receiving, overstimulation, dacryphilia, 3.2 k words. hbd to my king

18+, minors dni please

When Yuuta’s teleported into his room, he’s horrified to see you already there. 

You’re wearing his clothes, as per usual, and flopped across his bed while you do your homework—likely waiting for him to get home to help you with the math. Normally, this wouldn’t be out of the ordinary; the two of you have always been close and Yuuta doesn’t mind the way you tend to loiter. The thing is, you were supposed to be out shopping with your girlfriends after class today. You’ve been talking up these plans all month–-Yuuta never imagined you’d cancel.

And here he is, high off his ass on cursed aphrodisiacs (misted straight into his lungs by some flower monster) and contemplating every forbidden fantasy in his arsenal with a newfound urgency. 

You jump nearly a foot in the air when you see him, so perfectly still and silent at first that he goes unnoticed.

“Oh my god, nii-san! You scared me!”

You don’t seem to catch how off he is yet, how labored his breaths come or how he’s covered in a sheen of sweat. He wishes you would. Maybe then the proper alarm bells would be ringing and you’d leave. 

Yuuta only backs away, shoving hair from his face while his eyes dart all over the room, anywhere to avoid drifting to your body and the way his t-shirt pools around it. 

His fatal mistake is his failure to beeline it straight out his bedroom door. In his defense, Yuuta’s thoughts are awfully foggy, and an escape route is hard to pin down, even within his moderately-sized room. Instead he trips over a book bag and lets himself tumble backwards to the floor, his katana thunking loudly when it drops from his shoulder.

His vision and hearing are a bit foggy, too, as he watches you approach him off his bed, almost appearing to move in slow motion. 

“Nii-San? What happened to you?” 

He makes a strangled sound when you reach to touch his face, leaning away from your hand. 

“Just lost my balance! I’m okay. Y’shouldn’t touch me right now.” 

Did his words come out slurred?

You frown, letting him know the fall wasn’t what you meant when you were asking, practically pinning him against the wall to feel his forehead.

“Hmm. I can’t tell if you have a fever or you’re just hot.” 

“It’s probably nothing. Was fighting a curse earlier and—achoo!“  

Yuuta turns away to sneeze just as you move your head to the side to look at him closer. He accidentally sneezes directly into your face, earning a little gasp. 

He scoots away frantically then. 

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t wanna get you sick, okay? I need to be alone. You can leave.” 

You wipe at your face, holding back a giggle at the state of him. You haven’t seen Yuuta this impaired since he had the flu when you were kids.  

“Nii-san, you need me to take care of you.” Your tone is matter of fact, but doting too. Deep down you’re relishing in this role reversal—Yuuta’s always the one looking after you, not the other way around.

He starts shaking his head, rubbing tiredly at his eyes when suddenly a wave of vertigo hits you. 

Then you’re tumbling to the floor with him. 

Your voice sounds far away when you breathe a little woah, taking longer than you should to register what’s just happened. When you do, you turn to Yuuta—a reflex whenever you’re hurt or something goes wrong—you’ve grown spoiled by his overprotective nature. So much so that even the tiniest stumbles have you expecting a warm, calloused hand beneath your elbow, lifting and steadying you. 

Yuuta takes longer than he should to come into the focus of your eyes, and when he does you find his face buried in one of his hands while his other adjusts his pants. 

“Are you okay?” He sounds breathless, making no move to touch you or help. Something is seriously up. 

“Mhm. I don’t know why I just…” You pause, almost forgetting what you’re even saying while your thoughts navigate a new fog. Suddenly you’re warm. “I dunno what came over me.” 

Yuuta only scoots a bit farther away in response, dragging himself along the wall. To you it’s almost like he’s moving in slow motion. 

“Nii-san, something is wrong. I feel wrong.”  

Yuuta’s breaths come in huffs when you drag yourself to him then, nuzzling your way between his bent legs.

“M-me too… that’s why I want you to go.”

You shake your head, staring at Yuuta while he stares back, squirming and uncomfortable under your gaze. The warmth inside you is starting to grow uncomfortable—almost painful between your legs. You wonder if this is exactly how Yuuta’s feeling before you consider the possibility that he may be even worse, having been infected with whatever strange illness this is before he even arrived. He’s really working to hold out on you—what a gentleman.  

In fact, you think, that might be the perfect word to describe your sweet big brother. Always looking out for you more than anyone else, Yuuta sets a bar for chivalry unattainable by any man who isn’t him. 

He’s always opening your doors and offering you rides. Holding your hand to cross the street, tugging you back if you try to cross without looking and, occasionally, shoving your tangled fingers in his coat pocket if it’s chilly. He always has this protective nature when other men are involved, glaring at wandering eyes and warning you of potential danger (you recall one time he tripped some guy who asked for your number as he was walking away—he was too old for you and clearly had bad intentions).

Then there’s the way he’s thoughtful. Even when you were kids, Yuuta was always getting you gifts, setting time aside from his busy schedule to play with you or take you somewhere—forging some of your favorite memories growing up. You think particularly fondly of all your old dance recitals—how yuuta would always make time to be there and give you flowers and praise (out of all the bouquets your family supplied, his were the only ones that ever earned a spot on your night stand). 

Even now you’ve got a vase of pink roses in your bedroom down the hall for passing your latest algebra test. 

Yeah, Yuuta’s a chivalrous brother to a tee. 

And the heat in your veins has you wishing he’d be anything but. 

“Y-yuuta. I need you.” Your hands reach to pull at the open buttons of his uniform, but your wrists are quickly shackled by strong hands, gentle but unyielding. 

“Do you know what you’re asking?” His voice is steady for the first time since appearing in his room, albeit a little pained. 

“Yes. Yeah I do.” 

You scoot closer, and Yuuta’s entire aura seems to change, darkening in a way that leaves goosebumps crawling across your flesh. 

Your wrists are freed but you still feel immobilized as Yuuta grabs you carefully by the neck then, tugging your face to his till his lips can capture yours for the very first time. 

You can’t deny that you’ve fantasized about kissing Yuuta, if only on the rare occasions that you loosened the reins on your self control. The kiss feels as electric and all-consuming as you’d hoped, hungry like you’re trying to swallow each other whole. His lips are a bit chapped, rougher than yours and hot in a way you’ll surely imprint into your psyche. What surprises you, though, is Yuuta’s brashness; he’s not reserved like you used to imagine he’d be if he kissed you. He’s being selfish, sucking on your lips and licking inside your mouth like you’re his—and when his teeth sink into the plump of your bottom lip you start to realize that maybe you always have been. 

Yuuta’s kiss is needy and passionate, but it clearly doesn’t sate him as rough palms travel over your body throughout, kneading your sides and your arms and your thighs till you're rearranged on top of him, straddling where he needs you most. 

You’re instinctually grinding down on him once you are, your insides painfully empty and sensitive so that the hard feeling of him through his pant fabric pressing against your clit is the most satisfying feeling you’ve ever had. He’s quickly grabbing at your hips to help push your core against him, and that angle of pressure paired with his attentive mouth against yours has you cumming in minutes, crying out into his mouth while he grips you harshly like a ragdoll, eventually mouthing at your jaw and throat so you can breathe again. It’s the kind of orgasm that has your senses short-circuiting, your vision going in and out of focus while your hearing turns fuzzy—it’s intense and euphoric. You feel drugged.

It’s unnatural how you’re instantly needy again once you come down, panting and light-headed but impatient when you scoot back to reach for his belt. Yuuta’s hand stops yours.

“Hang on—”  

“Please! Nii-san, I can’t wait, I need you—” 

“I know, let me—“ he interrupts himself to peck your lips again. You want him to never stop doing that—the satisfaction is addicting. “Let me give you head first.”

Those words knock the wind from your lungs. Because now is the first time you truly reckon with a truth you’ve been avoiding… Yuuta is experienced. You don’t know who or when (as far as you’re aware he’s never had a steady girlfriend) but the way he says those words makes it clear. Yuuta has made a woman cum. The idea brings a wave of jealousy you usually keep carefully buried—it’s an unspoken rule yuuta doesn’t mention his romantic affairs, so the reality of his sex life is something you’ve avoided. 

“I’m a virgin.” The words bubble out of you uncontrollably. Yuuta chuckles just a little before giving another quick kiss. 

“I know. That’s why I’m gonna go down on you.”

The effects of whatever aphrodisiac you’ve been exposed to clearly haven’t waned as Yuuta manhandles you into a position of his liking before he finishes his sentence—neither of you have gained the common sense necessary to move yourselves off the floor to Yuuta’s bed a yard away. Yuuta’s still the most aggressive you’ve ever felt him as he lays you down, trailing kisses and occasional bites down your skin till he makes his way to his own boxers that rest over your hips. You catch a little glare when he spots them, a week ago he told you to stop borrowing these—you’re my little sister! It’s not appropriate. 

How ironic, he doesn’t chastise you as he yanks those very same boxers down his little sister’s legs. Then he tosses them aside—not even commenting on how you got them all messy—and instantly sets to work, lapping at your pussy like a man starved.

It isn’t an experience to be taken lightly—the first lick of your brother's tongue has you moaning like a pornstar. You have to grip the roots of Yuuta’s soft hair for stability as his mouth sends electricity through your body, pleasure radiating from your cunt all throughout you till you’re not sure you know what to do with it all. Once he latches to your clit, sucking it like a pacifier while his pretty lashes blink closed in content, you can’t help but come undone again—your orgasm intense and lasting even longer than the last time—this feeling is addicting. 

Yuuta licks up as much of your release as he can when you do, then he’s quickly rising up, wiping his face with an arm before tugging off his shirt. 

You feel like the luckiest sister in the universe when you finally come back to earth to watch him, his sculpted body glistening in sweat as he reveals more and more skin—all for you. 

Yuuta’s pants are tugged off next, but not all the way. He gets impatient once they’re low enough for his cock to be freed, stroking it shamelessly, coating it in the mess he made from cumming in his pants. 

Your eyes go wide when you see his size. 

“S-sorry I know t’s a lot. Are you doing okay?” 

There’s a silent but in there, an unspoken i still need more.

You nod quickly, spreading your bent legs so he has full access—it’s true that you’ve cum hard enough twice to pass out for days, but your body is insatiable. Yuuta’s cock is what it truly wants; you won’t—can’t—rest till you get it.

Yuuta’s wasting no time—clearly as needy for you as you are for him. He’s already leaning over you, running his tip through your folds before you can find the desperate words to reply, “Need you inside me, Yuu.” 

That’s as much confirmation as Yuuta needs before he thrusts, stretching your virgin hole till it molds to fit him. There’s a pinch, a sting that pricks tears in your eyes as you accommodate his thick girth, but it’s replaced by the pure relief of him in a matter of seconds. You whine when he bottoms out, your body clenching and grinding towards him of its own volition—again, you’re insatiable. Luckily Yuuta seems to be on the same page as he quickly pulls almost completely out of you, earning a louder whine before slamming back in, hitting a deep, warm spot that has your vision blurring. 

It’s ruthless and mean the way he starts beating your cunt then—you can’t help but contrast it to the way Yuuta rocked you in his lap just a night ago to soothe you through a scary thunderstorm. This man, the one snapping his hips against your hole with bruising force and no breaks, is a different man completely.

You want to meet him halfway, to contribute to creating the absolute bliss that his cock quickly brings you, but your body can hardly keep up once Yuuta gets going. He’s so fast and strong, the most you can do is lay there and take it, clawing at his shoulders and back in a way that matches his animalistic energy. 

Maybe a minute is all it takes before your body comes undone around Yuuta’s cock. Almost too eagerly and certainly the fastest you’ve ever cum before—it would be embarrassing if it weren’t for Yuuta’s loud, wanton moan at the feel of it. 

“F-fuck your pussy’s too tight! Why does it feel so—ngh good—“ Yuuta fills you up for the first time then, flooding your insides with his creamy seed before you even finish twitching from your own release. The heat of your big brother’s cum in your tummy is irreplaceable—you fall in love with the feeling and don’t want it ever to leave. 

Luckily Yuuta’s not done, he’s still hard even after he pumps you full, and his movements don’t relent, in fact it almost feels like he’s fucking you deeper. 

“Y-yuuta it’s so much…” you manage to say through the stuffed sensation that reaches your throat.

You’re still crazy with want, you feel like you’d die if he stopped, and yet your mysterious sex-craze does nothing to counteract the overstimulation. 

“‘M sorry, ‘m really sorry I can’t stop,” Yuuta pries your weak legs up while he talks, folding you up in a mating press. You don’t have the words to reassure him that it’s fine, that you need this, because then you’re coming undone again, throbbing wildly on Yuuta’s cock while your eyes roll back in your head. Yuuta cums with you shortly after, and something in you rejoices that he’s filling you with more of himself—that he’s irreversibly spilling into your most intimate parts. 

He pulls out after that, and your legs go limp—all of you lifeless except your twitching, leaking cunt. It’s a good thing Yuuta’s still needy though, because even if your legs lack the strength to hold him, your insides are devastated by the lack of him—it’s wrong that he’s not still inside you.

“Yuuta—“ you start to protest before he’s manhandling you, dragging you till you’re half draped across his bed, shoving your school books and pencils out of the way. It’s like you’re partially standing, bent forward with your tummy against the mattress, but you let your legs dangle limply while you lay, unable to hold yourself. 

“I know pretty,” he replies, spreading your messy thighs and cunt before shoving himself back inside you, “can’t be done.” 

The sound his cock makes is obscene as it spreads you open again, paired with the whine you let out at the sensitive feeling mixed with relief. The new angle yuuta reaches makes you feel stuffed all the way to your chest. 

Yuuta doesn’t waste time before he’s pumping into you as relentlessly as before, pulling easy orgasms from you again and again till your hips are bruised from his hands and his comforter is soaked with your tears and snot and cum. 

Yuuta’s crying too by the time he cums a final time, gasping and whining while he fills you with what feels like his entire remaining life force, eventually using the last of his energy to pull out with a wince and collapse on the bed, pulling you up so you’re all the way on the bed next to him. You both lose consciousness finally. 

When Yuuta wakes he’s under unusual covers, and finds his vision illuminated by a pink night light—it takes him a minute to recognize that he’s in your room. 

But he’s still naked. He sits up with a gasp, reaching for you as the events of evening come flooding back to him, but you’re nowhere to be found—he realizes you must have coaxed him in here for some reason then left. The clock beside him reads five in the morning, but considering how early the two of you passed out the night before, it’s not surprising you’d clearly already woken. 

Yuuta sips from a cup of water on your nightstand, then finds a used bath towel you’ve got hooked on your door and wraps it around his hips, venturing dizzily out into the apartment. 

He hears the laundry machine going, and passes his room to find his bed stripped of sheets, the mess from your school supplies cleaned up.

Then he finds you in the kitchen with wet hair, clean clothes and an apron, flipping pancakes. 

You look delighted when you see him—more than usual—with a sweet smile and giant pupils. 

“Yuuta! Made you breakfast.” You say making your way to him. 

Not that Yuuta’s had much time to think on it, (he wasn’t worrying over his future when your tight pussy was milking his drugged senses yesterday, that’s for sure), but in the back of his mind, he was sure that fucking you would have irreparable effects on your relationship. You’d always love each other, of that much he was certain—you had a mutual trust in that department for sure. But he was also sure things would be awkward, maybe you’d need space at first and wouldn’t look at him the same. 

But then you hop your way over to him once he walks into the kitchen, rubbing hands up his bare chest before locking your arms behind his neck, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his lips. And it’s not just a peck, either. And the curse’s aphrodisiacs have worn off. 

And maybe, the irreparable effects from last night aren’t going to be so awkward after all. 

[cordeliawhohung]

Of Sea Foam and Iron [1]

general masterlist | series masterlist | taglist

Hephaestus!ghost x Aphrodite!reader x Ares!soap

your beauty was meant to be a blessing, not a curse. the only way your father can keep you safe is by marrying you off to an ugly, scarred blacksmith. at first, it seems like your new husband wants nothing to do with you. you eventually learn that's not the case at all.

wc: 4.8k

warnings: historical au with lots of inaccuracies, blood/gore/violence, minor self-harm ideation (no sh happens), arranged marriage, reader is a virgin, reader is very shallow, nudity, fear of sex, ancient standards of women (the characters aren't actually gods, but rather god-coded. they're mortal, but still fit the symbolism of said gods)

When you were a child, people often told you that your beauty was a gift from the gods, and for the longest time you believed them.

Certainly, it was only by Aphrodite’s grace that you were able to hold yourself with such elegance and outshine even the most precious of gems and metals. Even as a young girl your father adorned you with flashy jewelry as if to prove to anyone who laid eyes on you that you were the only creature in the world that could make gold appear dull. You enjoyed every moment your father spent parading you around because that’s what love was supposed to be; the unconditional admiration of all those that were so far beneath you. 

It wasn’t until you became of courting age that you learned better. Gifts of fine silk and flashy jewelry were commonly sent to your father by countless suitors, and while they were beautiful, he sent every single one of them back. Simple gifts of cloth and metal were not good enough for your fathers beautiful daughter. If a man were to wed you, he would have to offer up something that your father could not provide for you himself. 

Countless suitors visited your abode where they would drink wine with your father and eat the freshest fruit while they attempted to gain his favor. Sometimes, you were permitted to sit in on their discussion, though you were not allowed to speak and no one was allowed to speak to you. You sat silent and unwavering like a transformed tree nymph, capable of only observing the events that unraveled around you as you stared at the man who sat in front of your father. 

His name was unremarkable, something you didn’t think you could remember even if it had been carved into your skin. He was not handsome nor ugly, but you could tell by the vibrant color of his chiton that he was of nobility. A philosopher's son, or even a politician. Personally, you guessed a politician due to his sharp tongue and even sharper gaze. Every instance in which his eyes landed on you, you felt as if you needed to check your skin for cuts. 

All the silver in the world couldn’t gild his tongue enough to grant him the ability to convince your father to let him take your hand in marriage. There was no amount of cattle or coin that your father seemed content in trading you for, and you watched in silent horror as the man stood from the table with his finger pointed in accusation. A finger turned into a blade all too fast, and it wouldn’t take long for blood to stain the stone floor of your home. 

In either anger, frustration, or arrogance, your suitor had dared to pull a blade on the man that raised you. His blade was well made, built for killing men, but even in his old age your father picked up the very same knife he used to cut up fruit to carve into the man's stomach. The odor of his offals was putrid and you covered your mouth as you watched the man attempt to keep his organs within the confines of his skin. He failed miserably, and his body joined his insides as he collapsed on the floor as a bloody and gasping mess. 

It was then that you learned love was not at all something gentle and sweet. Love was the spilling of blood in a brash act of violence and the decaying scent of rotting intestines. Love was what started the war of the Trojans where countless men lost their lives in gruesome battles. Helen of Troy brought the end of an empire simply by existing. You had brought the death of a man for that same crime. 

As your father turned to face you with red and sticky hands, he finally realized what a suitor could provide to you that he could not; protection. Because despite his reflexes, and the body that laid on the floor in front of him to cool, his age would soon catch up to him. There would be a day where you would be alive and he would not, and should that day come before you were to find a husband, he was certain no one would live to tell the tale. Your beauty was not a gift from the gods, but a curse that could damn a nation to ruin, and it was his responsibility to ensure you were protected no matter the cost. 

After that day, your father would not accept any more suitors into his home. No matter how much they groveled at the door, or begged to see even the faintest glimpse of you, they were all cast away back into the streets in which they came. For months, your father combed the city himself in search of a man who came even anywhere close to being worthy of your hand. During that time, you only ever set foot outside if you were in the enclosed courtyard of your fathers estate, otherwise you spent most of your time hidden away on the second floor where no visitors, man or woman, was allowed to see you. 

Trapped in your own home, your mind began to wander to places even darker and more morbid than the Underworld itself. If you didn’t walk with such grace and have an air of beauty about you, then you would have never found yourself in that predicament in the first place. Some frustrated and upset part of you was tempted to disfigure yourself. Maim your face with a knife and become something no one could bear to behold. Maybe then at least you’d be able to pick your own husband. But if your beauty truly was a gift from the gods, and not at all a curse like it felt, you wouldn’t dare to cast their grace aside, lest you face the consequences. 

Eventually, your father found a suitable man for you to marry. You had begun to think that he would never be able to find anyone that would meet his standards, and yet one day he returned home with the triumphant news. Your soon-to-be-husband’s name was Simon Riley, and you were to be wedded to him before Apollo drew his chariot across the sky the next day. 

You knew nothing about this man besides the very few things your father would tell you over your last meal together. Simon Riley was an artisan, a blacksmith to be more specific. He often spent his days slaving over a fire as he bent iron and bronze to his will. In your mind you could already see his hands darkened from burns and skin wet with sweat from the heat. A man who could shape something as cold and unforgiving as metal certainly was a man to be reckoned with, yet plenty of artisans before him had asked to wed you. 

What made him so different?

That question plagued your mind in the early hours of the morning as you washed yourself in the cooling water of your bath. Usually a nuptial bath would be given under much brighter circumstances, both literally and emotionally. As a young girl you always imagined that the sun would stream through the window and light up the water in the same way ocean waves sparkled at sunset. Instead, you bathed by candlelight as you purified yourself for your marriage, because marrying off a soiled daughter was unforgivable, no matter how beautiful you were. 

Once you were clean and smothered in as many fragrant oils as your skin could hold, you donned your peplos and veil for the ceremony. Beautiful garments, the white fabric hung off your body and cascaded down your legs like foam, and the veil was as red as a blazing fire to ward off any ill spirits. If this was any normal wedding, people from leagues around would come to see you in your attire, to get a chance to attempt to bask in your beauty, yet it was no normal wedding. The only people who would see you dressed like that would be your father and your new husband. 

“It’s safer this way,” your father attempted to soothe you. The night air was cool against your anxious skin as the two of you snuck through abandoned streets. It had felt like an eternity since you were able to travel along the worn stone, and it was only because you were to be transferred off to the care of another man. “There will be time for proper celebration later. No one will dare lay a hand on you under the care of your husband.” 

An odd tingling sensation plagued your skin the closer you got to Simon Riley’s home, and the moment you laid eyes on the structure, you knew it was his. It felt like it was prophesied in a dream. Approaching the steps to the door felt strangely like coming home, yet it was wrong. This abode would not be a home, but a prison in which to keep you safe. 

As if he sensed your presence, the man who you assumed to be Simon Riley stepped through the door and into the dim street. Darkness shrouded his figure, making it difficult to discern specific features through your veil, but his height was easily noticeable. He towered well above both you and your father as if he were a titan, and he was just as broad as an ox. Power and confidence exuded from him, and the only weakness he showed was a limp as he walked down the steps to the street. 

“Quickly,” your father prompted as the man approached, “lift the veil and she is yours. Yours to cherish. To protect.” 

Simon stopped in front of you and stood still for so long you feared he second guessed the whole arrangement. As much as you didn’t really want to get married, not like that in the darkness of a street in front of a stranger's home, you knew it was necessary. You would not be the reason more blood was spilled over pathetic jealousy. A part of you just wished that everything was as glamorous as was once promised to you. 

Eventually you watched as his fingers pinched the sheer fabric of your veil and he peeled back your disguise with so much care it was as if he was afraid to harm you. There in the dim glow of the impending dawn, you saw your husband for the first time. He stood as tall as a warhorse and just as scarred as one. His nose was large and crooked and adorned with puffy, raised tissue that threatened the thin skin of his eye and tender rose of his lips. Dull eyes scanned the features of your face as he let the veil fall along your back. Despite your beauty, he almost seemed uninterested in you, and you weren’t sure if you should have been grateful for that. 

“It is done,” your father concluded. He held out the leather pack that he had gathered a handful of your items in. Clothes, a few necklaces and bracelets, and a hairbrush was all you had to your name. Should you need anything else, your new husband would provide for you. “Hurry, inside. She is yours, now. Keep her safe.”

Without hesitation, Simon took your pack from your fathers hands before he rested his hand on your low back. Even through the fabric of your dress you could feel the coarseness of his palm as he urged you up the stone steps towards the entrance. You glanced over your shoulder and took in the view of your fathers features. For all you knew, it was the last time you would ever get to see him. 

“You have my word,” Simon promised. Those were the first words you had heard him speak, and they were an oath. 

Pale candlelight consumed you as Simon closed the door behind the two of you, locking you in your new home. It was only then that the true panic began to rattle its cry within your ribcage. You had been given away to a man you had never met before in the name of protecting you, and yet you had still been wedded all the same. There were certain expectations given to a new wife, one that you knew a man would be stupid to not take advantage of with a woman of your blessing. The very idea made your hands clammy, and you found yourself running your palms along your peplos in an attempt to rid yourself of the moisture. 

“Come,” Simon urged as he crossed through the entryway. 

Obeying him, you followed close behind him with careful and light feet as he led you through your new home. There was a vague scent of sweet fruit and warm bread that trailed behind you as he climbed the stairs up to the second floor. Though you tried to ignore it, your eyes couldn’t look away from the obvious limp in his step. His short chiton revealed several gnarly scars on his left leg even more fierce than the ones on his face. It was as if someone attempted to hack his knee off with a dull blade and pitifully failed. Was this man, this battered and ugly man, truly supposed to be your protector? 

Simon brought you to a room that was obviously his bed chambers, and had you not felt slight terror about the events that might unfold in that room, you would have been utterly stunned. Never before had you seen a bed so large. Sure, the man himself nearly scraped the ceiling with the top of his head, and so it only made sense that his bed matched his size, but it was near ridiculous. Its width spanned nearly from wall to wall, wide enough to fit three grown men comfortably, and the length had a good foot on Simon, if not more. There was hardly enough room for anything else in the area because the object took up the entire space of the chamber. 

“Rest. You look exhausted,” he said as he sat your pack on the end of the bed.

Confused, you looked up at him with narrow eyes as he gestured to the bed. You had the strange feeling that he would not be sated until you were at least seated on the bed, so you followed his outstretched hand and sat on the edge of the bed next to your pack. It was strangely comfortable, and dipped in low enough to swallow you whole. You wondered how much wool was used to create such a plush mattress. 

Instead of joining you in bed, your husband took a step toward the doorway before he turned to face you once more. Early dawn light bled through the closed wooden shutters on the window, which illuminated his face but didn’t make his features any less dull. 

“Help yourself to anything. What’s mine is yours. Plenty of food in the kitchen when you get hungry. If you can’t find something you need, ask,” he explained simply.

He spoke to you as if you were some lowly slave, and not his wife. His wife who had caused the death of a man just by beauty alone, a woman who had men lining up for miles for the chance of laying eyes on you, and he spoke to you like that? 

“Where will you be?” you questioned. 

“Working,” he answered gruffly. “My forge is in the courtyard. Don’t walk out there barefoot.” 

He didn’t give you the chance to ask any other questions before he limped out the doorway where his footsteps fell heavy against the wooden floor like thunder. There you sat, at the edge of the bed, still in your wedding clothes, abandoned by your husband. Still, an odd relief washed over you at the realization that you were alone. He had not stripped you bare before him and fucked you into that ungodly large bed like you had expected him to. Grateful that you had not yet had your virginity taken from you, you did as Simon had instructed. It had been over a day since you had last properly slept as you spent the entire night getting ready for your rather depressing wedding ceremony, and that weight bore down on you relentlessly. 

Removing your peplos, you donned a much lighter chiton before you stood at the side of the bed. Wool and animal skin blankets laid across the bed in layers and you peeled them back to crawl underneath. As you sunk down into the mattress, you were enveloped by a scent of musk and fragrant oils that was oddly intoxicating. The weight of the blankets on top of you held you in place, willing your eyes to close. Simon Riley was a strange man, but at least his bed was nice. 

There were many things you learned about your husband that day, none of which he told you himself. He was a very quiet man who truly spent most of his time working at the forge. On the first day you had been wed, you snuck a glance out of one of the windows to watch him work over sweltering coals and steaming air. Though his legs seemed lame, his arms had no such problem. Thick muscles flexed and went taut as he brought his hammer down upon white hot metal to bend it into shape. Sweat lined his brow, which he would wipe at with his forearm every now and then, and though his face was a right mess, you realized the rest of him wasn’t too bad to look at. He knew how to make a variety of things, from tongs to signs to swords, and he was paid handsomely for his work, judging by the large pile of coins and bartering items you would find on the table at the end of the work day. 

He never sat down for proper meals, but while he worked he ate enough to feed two grown men, which only made sense given his size. Lamb seemed to be his favorite, and there was plenty of it. Dried and seasoned jerky, a leg he would roast on a spit to then shred and add to bread, or even some he would fry in a pan. Your help with anything was unnecessary. He never asked you to cook, or clean, or assist in selling his products; Simon was completely self sufficient. 

The thing that caught you most off guard about him was the fact that he slept naked. Your first night together, while you were already in bed, he shamelessly stripped his dusty chiton off and tossed it on the floor, baring himself completely to you. It was your first time ever seeing a man naked, and even in the darkness you could make out the silvery scars that tore through his skin. He was completely covered in them, and you couldn’t help but wonder which of the gods had cursed him with such a body; something that could have been strong, beautiful, and powerful, only to be covered with errors. 

When he climbed into bed next to you, your eyes couldn’t help but glance further down to where his cock hung heavy between his legs. He wasn’t even hard, yet the size of it matched that of the rest of him, and you could feel your heart jump in your throat. Yet that night he still did not take you. Instead, the two of you slept on opposite sides of the bed facing away from one another with nothing but empty space between your bodies. He would not fuck you, and that confused you. Something must have been wrong with his body, littered with scars and abnormalities. Or maybe he was the only man in the entire world who was immune to your gift from Aphrodite. 

If you remained a virgin for much longer, perhaps you could escape and become an acolyte. 

The next month went by like this. He would speak a few words to you, spend his entire day working, and then sleep naked next to you in a bed large enough for a bear. He was not cruel, at least, in fact he was quite the opposite. There was always enough food for you that he would set aside on a special plate, and he bought you a new chiton when you had accidentally torn your old one, but no matter what, he did not seem interested in you. It was as if you were something for him to take care of, rather than something for him to love. 

But that was what your father had wanted for you, wasn’t it? 

Like a caged dove, you spent most of your days peering out of the second story windows to gaze at the city. Busy streets bustled with traders and artisans alike, and you would watch them mingle as they weaved between buildings like ants. On windy days you could smell the salt of the ocean, and you would long for the days when you were a young girl, collecting shells along the shoreline as sea foam gathered around your ankles. Things seemed more colorful back then. As a married woman, everything in your world seemed to only be the shade of stone. 

One day after a heavy rain, some excitement had been brought back into your life. It started with the sound of triumphant horns followed quickly by cheering. Deep, bass drums echoed throughout the streets, drawing you to your window once more where you saw countless men in a march spanning further than you could see. Their red chitons and leather armor branded them as soldiers, and you watched in awe as they paraded through the streets after what was obviously another successful campaign. 

But there was one soldier above all others who towered over them upon a warhorse adorned with armor and a mighty spear. Even from a distance you knew that this man was John MacTavish. He was a soldier bred and born for war as if the only thing he knew how to do was kill. People often said he was bestowed his gifts of war by the God of War himself, Ares, and it was a tough speculation to deny. Countless lives had been taken by his hands alone, and no matter the odds of the battle, he always came home victorious and smiling. You had seen his face only once before in the last victory parade he marched in, but you could never quite get his grin out of your mind. 

“I’m heading into the city,” Simon said behind you. 

Despite his sheer size and thunderous footsteps, your husband had managed to sneak up behind you, startling you half to death. You spun so that your back was to the window to face that goliath of a man with a racing heart. 

“Will you be alright on your own?” he asked. 

Still trying to calm your racing heart, you nodded. 

“Good,” he concluded as he began to walk away. “There is a sword in the kitchen. If anyone attempts to harm you while I’m gone, use it.” 

He didn’t give you any time to explain that you had no idea how to wield a sword, let alone kill a man, before he vanished down the stairs. Moments later you heard the doors to the courtyard open and close, and Simon’s body melted into all the other figures in the streets below you. It wasn’t his first time leaving you alone, after all, he had to get materials for his work somehow, but it was his first time instructing you to use a sword to protect yourself. You figured the countless soldiers that flooded the city had him on edge.

But if that was the case, why would he leave in the first place? 

As you waited for him to return, you couldn’t help but meander down to the kitchen in search of this sword he instructed you to seek out. It didn’t take you long to find it, as he had left it right in the middle of the table next to your lunch. Beautiful iron extended strongly a good foot or so in what was the most well crafted shortsword you had ever seen. Dark wood formed the grip, and there was a flared base made of gleaming brass for the pommel. This looked different than his other works. There was more flair to it, like it was more of a gift than something he would sell for coin. 

With tender fingers, you reached for the grip and took it in hand. Its weight was heavy, more so than you had anticipated. Holding it was awkward as it felt like it wanted to fall forward no matter how high up you held it, and you huffed as you attempted an amateur swing. Unsteady, your strike would have hardly broken the skin of any intruder. When you set the blade back on the table, the memories of your dead suitor bubbled up in your mind. The sheen of his blade as he drew it on your father, the blood and offal that spilled on the floor shortly after, and the reeking stench of death that followed. You weren’t sure if you could ever do such a thing. 

Simon was gone for only half an hour before you heard the sound of the courtyard doors swing open with a creak. You gazed down at your half empty plate where you had snacked on fresh fruits and cheeses while you waited for his return. Sticky juices coated your fingers which you quickly cleaned with your mouth before you stood from your seat and left to greet your husband. 

He wasn’t alone. Another man accompanied him clad in light armor and a sword strapped to his hip; a soldier, likely one of the men who had just returned home. This man’s chin bore a hefty scar, and still despite it he was one of the most handsome men you had ever laid eyes on. Battle hardened muscles bulged out of his uniform, and your gaze couldn’t help but fall to his powerful thighs as he took a few steps into the courtyard. It wasn’t until you saw him smile that you realized who this man was; this was John MacTavish. The hailed hero of your city, its greatest defender, a man who could cut down hundreds and come back smiling through the blood.

Simon hardly had the time to shut and lock the courtyard doors behind him before John’s hands gripped the fabric of his chiton. Words escaped you but your mouth opened in a silent plea. Were they about to fight? Was this soldier, Ares’s wild dog, about to slaughter your husband right in front of your very eyes? Your hands flew to the doorframe to steady yourself as you watched Simon stumble forward while John yanked him closer. You could already smell the gore, imagine the pink intestines and organs that would spew from your husband’s body and all you could do was stand there and watch in horror as John… kissed him?

This man, this near mythical being who had won countless battles in the name of your city, pressed his lips against your husband’s with such passion it left you stunned. And it was not at all unwelcomed, it seemed, as Simon’s hands rested on the man’s waist and returned the notion, curving his spine enough to meet the man's height more comfortably. As they embraced one another in front of you, the horror on your face quickly melted into confusion. 

“I missed you,” John muttered as his lips separated from Simon’s. 

“I’ve dreamt of this day ever since you left,” Simon countered, his voice more tender than it ever had been with you. 

But John would not be the highly acclaimed soldier that he was if he hadn’t felt the prying eyes staring at their intimate moment. Eyes as blue as the ocean turned to land on you, and your jaw slammed shut underneath his inquisitive gaze. He was not secretive in the way he looked over all your features, scanning first your face and then lower, over the curve of your hips and the hidden flesh of your thighs. While he nearly licked his lips at the sight of you, his obvious attraction did little to cover the confusion hidden in his eyes. 

“I didn’t realize we had a visitor,” John admitted humorously as he glanced at Simon. 

As you waited for your husband's response, you glanced at him in hope to receive an answer to the storm of questions that raged in your mind. But there was something different about his gaze. Rather than contentment, something else ignited in the darkness of his eyes that blazed just as bright as the forge he slaved over day and night. Whatever flat expression he normally gave you transformed into something so shining it almost looked like love. 

“She is no visitor,” he claimed with pride. “She is our wife.”

[bellatrixscurls]

Dustin with a… hammer? | an Eddie Munson Series

pairing : henderson!reader x eddie munson. summary : eddie is your longtime crush. so what happens when you get him all alone, one wednesday afternoon? warnings : eventual smut, friends to lovers, dustin freaking out, kissing, pet names. a/n : this will be a series. please lmk if you like it!

You heard a loud bang, and seconds later your door was slammed open, revealing an unkempt Dustin with a… hammer? in his hands.

“Y/n/n! You have to help me!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, yet you remained unimpressed and it was driving him nuts. “Get up!”

You squinted at him, eyeing the hammer in his hand. And then his face again. “What are you doing with that, you wombat? Put that down” you rolled your eyes and looked back down at your book.

Yet you could hear his breathing, well, it wasn’t something unusual. But he was getting agitated and you could feel it in the air. “It’s Eddie” spluttered Dustin, and your ears immediately perked up. “W-Well, actually it’s Vecna. But I am way more concerned about Eddie.”

“What’s up with Eddie?” You asked, looking back at him as you walked down the stairs, your brother following right behind. Your book was already long forgotten, and any plans you had had before Dustin mentioned Eddie.

You liked the boy. He was sweet, pretty, and he always gave you free weed, blushing like crazy when you kissed his cheek as a thank you.

“I am supposed to meet him here in a few minutes, but Steve called and said that he needs me because Vecna is back and he wants Max and obviously-” he rushed out, but when you gave him a weird look he paused, clutching at his chest. “I need you to distract him until I get back from Steve’s.”

Your eyes were shining. And if Dustin saw, he didn’t say anything. He accepted the urgent nod you gave him, and left, but not before hugging you and yelling “He should be here soon.”

This should be good.

♡

You made sure to do it all. You took a shower first, using your favourite sprays and creams. You put on perfume, cleaned the living room, put on cute clothes. Well, not too cute, you didn’t want him to realise what you were doing. At least not at first.

It was perfect. You had waited for some alone time with Eddie since forever, and Dustin gave it to you on a silver plate, albeit unknowingly.

You jumped a bit at the knock on your door, adrenaline rushing through your veins. “Henderson, you better be ready! I even came a few minutes late so you could-… Oh, hello. You don’t look like you’re into D&D” he smiled that charming smile of his, and you took a moment to admire him. He was wearing a black shirt, black jeans and black boots. His usual clothes, but now he seemed to look even better in them.

You smiled back, opening the door so he could come inside. “I could be” you mumbled and he heard it. Of course he did. His eyes met yours, a mischievous glint in them as he kept eye contact, making his way into your living room.

“So” Eddie rubbed his hands together, falling back down on the comfortable couch. “Where’s Dusty Bun?”

You laughed out loud, sitting down next to Eddie, keeping a fair distance at first. “I see you met mother” he hummed and looked at you expectantly, to which you responded with a shrug and a small “What?”

You tried your best puppy eyes on him, hands toying with the hem of your bycicle shorts. Eddie bit back a smirk, shaking his head “He isn’t here, is he? Little fucker.”

“Actually, he told me to take care of you!” You rushed out when you noticed Eddie beginning to get up, and he looked back at you, wide-eyed. “No! I mean, he told me to stay with you until he gets back.”

Eddie exhaled loudly, ring clad fingers covering his face. “He said what?”

You were taken aback. Was he annoyed?

“Yeah, I’m sorry” you mumbled, mood already ruined. You didn’t know what to do, so you just kept fiddling with your fingers.

Eddie raised his head, looking at you through the space between his fingers. He fucked up big time. His eyes softened and one of his hands found your thigh, squeezing gently. “No, sweetheart. I just- God, he’s cancelled on me too many times now. The campaign is in two days, for fuck’s sake.”

You hummed, hand covering his, still on your thigh. His eyes met yours and he was looking at you carefully, feeling his whole body tense at your touch. “I could try to help you. I mean, I know a few things about D&D. Dustin won’t stop talking about it.”

Eddie’s heart swelled in his chest at your offer. If there was anything he liked more than a pretty girl, was one who actually showed interest in the things he liked. Especially D&D.

“Buckle up, dollface.”

♡

“God, Eddie” you sighed, finally finishing your 3 hour session of helping Eddie with his campaign. He was really passionate about it, and you loved hearing him talk, occasionally asking you for your opinion, which made you feel included and content. “This is harder than it looks. Now I understand why Dustin freaks out so much about every game.”

Eddie chuckles, running a hand through his curly hair and messing it up a little more. “What can I say, sweetheart? It’s not for the weak.”

“What are you implying, Munson?” You snort, swatting his shoulder as he laughed even louder.

Even his laugh was something to die for.

Eddie tipped his head back, leaning on the couch. “I’m joking, Y/n. You have helped me a lot, Henderson must thank you for not getting in trouble with me.”

He put on a serious face, big eyes looking at you as seriously as he could. But it didn’t last long as you both burst out laughing. He was so unserious.

“I’m joking, obviously” he rolled his eyes, still laughing a little bit. “I have some weed in my bag by the way… That’s not a joke” he grabbed his bag from the floor, searching through it.

You put your hand over his, stopping him. “I have some in my room. Come” you took a hold of his hand, dragging him up the stairs and straight to your room.

You left Eddie to sit on your bed as you searched through your makeup drawer, taking a big amount of weed from there.

Eddie’s eyes widened when he saw how much it was in there. “Woah, I don’t have that much weed at home… Where did you- how do you have that?”

Looking down at the floor timidly, you responded. “S all the weed you have ever given me.”

His eyebrows shot up, a confused look on his face. He understood, I mean, he saw the weed, but he didn’t understand… the other parts. “Why did you keep all of that? Sweetheart, that’s gold. How come you have never tried that?”

Sighing, you sat on the bed as well, legs crossed. “I don’t exactly smoke, Eddie” you explain to him, hoping that his questions would stop there. They didn’t.

“Well, what the hell do you use weed for? Wait- you snort it? That’s so fucking cool-”

“Eddie, I don’t know how to!” You raised your voice, and his words are cut short, a flabbergasted look all over his face. “Anytime you’d offered me weed, I couldn’t just say no to you. I wanted you to think I am cool.”

He said nothing and you felt even worse now. You’d just, albeit indirectly, admitted you had something for the boy, and he had no reaction. “I just wanted us to have things in common and-”

Warm. He smashed his lips against your own, and they were so soft and warm. He couldn’t hold back anymore as his once gentle hands found your hips, gripping them and bringing you to sit on his lap.

When Eddie pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, he leaned his forehead against yours, your hands still holding his face between them. You took your turn to look at him confusedly, breath uneven. “Your lips are soft” you blabbered and Eddie chuckled, kissing your nose.

You were staring unseeing into Eddie’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but bring you even closer to him, face against your neck. “You are so perfect. Fuck- I love kissing you.”

His lips were a sin against the sensitive skin on your neck. So skilled and full, you just had to grip the back of his neck, head tipped back in pleasure.

“You can do more” you whimper, pleased when you felt Eddie’s bulge against your clothed cunt, closing your eyes tightly at the sinful feeling.

Heavy silence enveloped them as Eddie stilled, because, well… he had two options. Possibly screw his friendship with Dustin or… not.

Oh no. Eddie began to panic.

“I can’t” he pulled back, shaking his head as if he was having a whole ass discussion in his mind. And boy, was he. “I can’t, Y/n. This is not right, that’s not how this is supposed to happen.”

He got up, brushing down his clothes with his hands. You had no words as you stared up at him, shivers ran down your spine when you realised that he was practically running down the stairs and you were left alone. He didn’t care, of course he didn’t. You had tried everything to make him like you, but it still wasn’t enough for him.

[weneeya]

hiiii admin ♡

i love your clingy bf!gojo series !! how would jjk men react to someone hitting on you? thank you for considering, love ya <3

someone is hitting on you w/ jjk men m.list | rules

note. hii!! thank you sm, I'm glad you love it aaaa I hope you will enjoy this one too! love ya too <3

Gojo Satoru 

he’s clingy, all the time, so it’s hard for anyone to hit on you 

but if he saw anyone hitting on you? oh lord 

he’s going almost feral

Satoru was looking at you from afar, his hands almost shaking. Who was the asshole, who dared talking with you like this? Didn’t he know that you were taken? You were his girlfriend, his lover, and everybody was aware of that. 

You were a bit uncomfortable, trying to deny him softly without being too aggressive. It wasn’t your type at all. But Satoru wasn’t as soft as you. Before you could realize it, your boyfriend was next to you, his arm around your waist. He raised an eyebrow, looking over his glasses to look at the stranger with his piercing blue eyes. 

He brought you closer to him, almost to confirm to this man that you were clearly taken and not interested by him. He said sorry right after he saw Satoru’s gaze, leaving as quickly as he arrived. You turned your head to look at your boyfriend, who was looking at you with a smile on his lips. 

“What?” he said, like nothing happened. You rolled your eyes, hitting him slightly on the shoulder. “You’re an idiot,” your reaction made him giggled before he left a kiss on your cheek. Nobody messed with the strongest sorcerer, and especially not with his lover. 

Geto Suguru

he’s not worried at all, of course 

but he’s not going to stay without doing anything 

he’s subtile but protective 

You were waiting for Suguru outside of the building where he was supposed to join you soon. You were on your own, a bit nervous; and you were right. A man arrived close to you, resting on the wall next to you. He started to talk to you while you were trying to ignore him. He wanted your number, but you weren’t answering at any of his words. 

Suguru arrived when the man was almost shouting at you so you would answer him. He arrived next to you, leaving a kiss on your cheek like that stranger wasn’t there. 

“Sorry sweetheart, I’m late,” he said, before looking at the man. He tilted his head to the side, acting all innocent. “You needed something?” the stranger cleared his throat, a bit ashamed that he almost got caught. Suguru watched him as he left, still smiling all innocently. 

“Thank you Suguru,” you said as you looked at him with a slight smile. He left a peck on your temple, putting his arm around your shoulders. 

Nanami Kento 

he knows you’re strong enough to defend yourself

but he doesn’t like to see man close to you

he’s protective, more than anything 

You were engaged to Kento, and you were the happiest woman on Earth. Your soon-to-be husband had been on a mission for a few days, leaving you alone at Jujutsu Tech as you were a teacher there. A new teacher just arrived a few weeks ago, and he was clearly interested in you. He wasn’t really discreet about it, especially now that Kento was on a mission. 

He was currently talking to you, as you were trying to let him understand that you weren’t interested at all. He wasn’t listening to you, trying to get your number by anyways. Sadly for him, the sorcerer just came back from his mission and he was searching for you. 

Kento arrived close to both of you, crossing his arms as he was looking at the teacher from behind his glasses. He slowly raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed by what was happening. 

“Do you need something from my wife?” he asked as the teacher almost choked on his own saliva. He quickly shook his head, before pretexting to be busy so he needed to leave. You turned your head to look at Kento, a soft smile appearing on your lips. 

“Maybe I should be hit on more frequently,” you said as Kento sighed slightly. You were strong enough to defend yourself, but you were too amused by seeing Kento being jealous and possessive. 

Toji Fushiguro

he’s the type to don’t care, or at least it seems like it 

he’s watching at scene in silence, waiting to see what would happen

but he’s scary, and you’re his 

You were dancing at the club, as Toji was waiting for you from a bit afar. He was still looking at you anyway, keeping his eyes on you as you were enjoying yourself on the dancefloor. His arms were crossed, and he sighed slightly as he was starting to get bored. 

Until a man arrived closer to you, to dance with you. He slowly raised an eyebrow as he saw the stranger dancing way too close from your body. He was almost rubbing himself against you, even if you were trying to push him away with all your sweetness. 

Toji arrived behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. The man turned around, ready to fight against this figure behind him ; until he faced Toji. The man was huge and his dark gaze was piercing through the stranger’s skin. “Leave her alone,” he said with no hesitation. The man needed only a few seconds to run away from you, not even saying a word. 

You turned around to look at your boyfriend, and you sighed in relief when you saw it was him. He decided to stay with you for the rest of the night, just in case. You were his, and he wasn’t going to let anyone think otherwise. 

Itadori Yuuji

the boy is too soft for his own good 

when he saw someone hitting on you, he’s not even worried for a second 

he trusts you with all his heart

You were peacefully sitting at a cafe, waiting for your boyfriend who left to grab your order. You were scrolling on your phone when you saw a shadow next to you. You turned your head to look at the figure, thinking it was Yuuji, and you were surprised to see another man that you didn’t know. He was clearly hitting on you, trying to get your number as you were telling him that you weren’t interested because you had a boyfriend. Apparently, the stranger didn’t seem to care at all, as he was insisting. 

Yuuji came back after a few moments, your two drinks between his hands and a huge smile on his lips. “Here’s your chocolate, love!” he said before he sat back in front of you. It took him a second to realize that there was someone else, his eyes meeting the stranger's. 

“You needed something?” he asked, tilting his head on the side. The man suddenly seemed a bit uncomfortable and, after finding an excuse, he quickly left. Yuuji didn’t understand what just happened as he looked back at you, frowning slightly. You couldn’t help but to laugh softly at his reaction. He was so pure, and you loved him so much. 

Megumi Fushiguro

the boy is insecure 

he’s looking at you from afar without saying anything

he’s just waiting for you to come back

When he saw you talking with this other student who was clearly hitting on you, Megumi felt a bit hurt. He was always thinking that he wasn’t enough for you, and seeing you being oblivious about it was maybe even worse. 

When you finally came back to him, something seemed a bit off. You were worried, and you started to get it from him, but he wasn’t answering, acting like nothing was wrong. After a few moments, while you were leaving to get home, your boyfriend finally told you the problem. 

“Maybe you’re more interested in him, than in me,” he finally admitted, and you couldn’t believe it. You stopped while working, grabbing his hands so he would look at you. 

“Megumi, sweetie, I’m sorry! It’s nothing like that, I love you more than anything!” You quickly came closer to him, hugging him tightly as you were scared that you hurt him too much. He rested his hand on your back, rubbing it slowly as a slight smile appeared on his lips. 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he finally reassured you. Maybe he was overthinking, as always, but seeing you being so sweet was easing his heart in a second. 

I love those requests, thank you sm!! I'm becoming a jjk account but it's fine for me lmao

[supercutszns]

bitter to the taste; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader

synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.

warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end

notes: i’m starting to hate this bc i think i’ve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (i’ve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like it’s serious)

You’ve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth. 

You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasn’t for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. You’d rather lie back and watch instead.

This flaw of yours is the only reason you haven’t stirred more trouble, you think. It’s the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you don’t have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.

You don’t want to feed it. You don’t know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.

Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. It’s fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when he’s in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying. 

You don’t know how many times you’ve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but you’re sure he doesn’t know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known. 

Meet me tomorrow. 

It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tender—had to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created you’ve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you don’t harbour affection for anyone or anything. There’s not a single thing you’ve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. It’s solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but that’s the way you’re supposed to be. 

But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest. 

His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces. 

He’s waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what they’re doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. 

So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows you’re there. He can’t see you, but he knows. 

You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is. 

Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. “Are you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?”

You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. “Hi,” you say flatly, but there’s a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off. 

“Hello, rotten.” He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isn’t quite tall enough so he stumbles. It’s so pathetic it almost makes you laugh. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grimace.

“Okay, back to heathen?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.” 

You don’t say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. “All right, both it is,” Luke shrugs.

He’s different from last night. Less impatient. You hope it’s not because he thinks he has you now—he’s got another thing coming. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come,” he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed. 

You’ve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. “Don’t know why I did,” you mutter crassly. 

Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. “Yes, you do.”

That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know he’s peering at the marks on your neck. 

“If you made me come here just to hook up with me you’re delusional,” you glare. 

“What, like that’s not why you’re here?” He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. “I’m a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.”

This guy is full of fucking shit.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you.

He keeps your face still. He’s studying you, and you’re suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks you’d share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then? 

“You wanna fight?”

It takes you a second to react. “What?”

“You want to fight. Pick up a sword, let’s go.” He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t fight.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. “You need to burn off a little steam.”

You laugh sharply. “And you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he grins. “It’s the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.” 

You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; it’s like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you. 

You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing it’s not the kind used for training. “I’ll use the dull one,” he assures. “C’mon, heathen. I know you’ve used a sword before, they force us to.”

“I usually skip those classes.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if it’s at you or with you. “Of course you do.”

You don’t like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. You’re only a little curious about it. 

“Straighten your back,” is the first thing he says once you’ve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip. 

You begrudgingly do as you’re told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness you’re hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz. 

He gives you the barebones—the right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time it’s for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, you’ll bite.

You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. “You can do better than that,” he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. “Stop going easy.”

“You’re going easy,” you shoot back. 

“Yeah, but I’d really rather not. Come on.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used. 

“Come on,” he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. “All of a sudden you’re playing nice? What are you afraid of?”

Something flares inside you. “Nothing!”

“Then pick up the sword and fight me.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you don’t care. “There we go,” he nods. “Again.”

This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it? 

He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but it’s still not enough. Luke doesn’t let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, you’re not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since he’s so sure he can take it. 

“No wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. “You don’t have a proper outlet. Maybe you’d be nicer if you didn’t sit around and complain all day.”

“Shut up,” you gnash your teeth. 

“Just saying, maybe you should do something about it.”

You’re getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom. 

Luke keeps egging you on but you can’t hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think you’re smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open. 

Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But it’s a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.

The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin. 

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck.”

You don’t sound sorry, you don’t think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. It’s a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. “Knew you were going easy,” he remarks through a wince. 

You ignore him, looking down at the injury. A  gash across his abdomen. It’s bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you don’t play camp games. 

“I’ve got thick skin. I’m fine,” Luke says casually. “I’ve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.” He’s no longer scrunched in pain, and you’ve got a feeling he’s telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because you’re sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry. 

You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. It’s mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. “Just give me the gauze, that’s all I need,” Luke gestures. 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing it myself.” You’ve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees. 

“Most people just say sorry.”

“You pushed me,” you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Luke’s smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. “I told you I don’t fight.”

You’re not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesn’t say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. There’s no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. “My bad,” you mutter. 

As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. It’s obvious he’s staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you don’t engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on. 

“Good?” You ask instead, exhaling. 

“Good,” he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once you’re standing. The night stills. 

“I’m guessing you’re adding ‘attempted killer’ to your list of horrible qualities,” you go on to break the silence.

He holds your gaze unyieldingly. “I’d consider that a pro, actually.” 

You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you can’t bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. “I will give you one, though,” he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday. 

He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. “You’re too tense.” Another kiss behind your ear. It’s not enough. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.

Luke’s breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.

He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassing—you think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. You’ve never needed something this bad, you’ve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and it’s difficult to worry about anything else. 

Until he pulls away. Like a dick. 

He doesn’t go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. It’s a muddling mix of frustration and longing you’re starting to associate with him. “Dude,” you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing. 

“Let’s go for a swim,” he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.

You’re homicidal. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, heathen. Let’s go for a swim, come on.”

He’s rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. “But I—I don’t have my bathing suit,” you string out. 

The smile gets more boyish. “Wow, whatever shall we do?”

It’s another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. You’re going to kill him. 

“Fine,” you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips you’re pulled to the lake. 

It’s a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesn’t seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you don’t like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. “Aren’t you going to at least come in?” He asks, but you don’t look at him. 

“I don’t like swimming,” you lie. 

“At least your feet. It’s nice, I swear!”

A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. “Please,” he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy! 

You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. “Fuck this,” you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and you’re not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you. 

You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. “Come in,” he urges. 

“No.”

“Just your legs?”

“No.”

“Gods, I’ll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. “So fucking difficult,” he mutters, and your pulse flickers. 

“Sorry, what was that?” You let yourself grin for the first time all night. 

“Nothing,” he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. You’re pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees. 

He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. “Stop dripping on me,” you complain. 

“Sorry.” He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. “Feel bad about teasing you all night,” he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. “I really did want to see you.”

The irony that he’s still teasing is not lost on you. You’re not loving how desperately warm you’re starting to feel. “Why’s that?” You lean back on your palms. 

“You’re a very interesting person,” he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. He’s pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow you’ve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh. 

“You’re fucking evil,” you scathe. 

He looks up at you from between your legs. “You have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.”

“Yeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. You’re playing infection roulette, Castellan.”

“See? You’re so mean.” He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. “And here I am anyway, making it up to you.”

You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. “Luke, you can’t be serious.” 

“Mmhm.” He leans forward to kiss right under your navel. 

You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. “Someone’s gonna—someone’s gonna hear us.”

He snorts, “No they won’t. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. We’ll see.”

A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. You’re going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. “What is wrong with you.”

It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air. 

“Are you going to be nice?” He asks against your skin. 

“Are you going to be quick?”

His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, “Swear.” 

That’s all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids. 

You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises. 

The next time you need Luke’s med kit, he’s already awake. 

It’s been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a … something with you. 

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree. 

“Could ask you the same thing, heathen,” he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so you’re both okay with it. You’d hate to give up this feeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real. 

Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. You’re young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. You’re having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. You’re both greedy, insatiable people, so there’s a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Blood’s angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, it’s hard to tell which is which. 

“Luke,” you whisper. “Luke.”

“I’m up,” he grumbles, peering up at you. “You shouldn’t sneak into my cabin.” He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didn’t notice you were there till you were right in front of him.

“Worried someone will catch me? You should know better.” 

He follows you outside so you don’t wake the other campers. There’s a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever. 

“What is it, heathen?” He asks as the door closes behind him. It’s so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. “You don’t usually want to put up with me more than once a night.”

“Don’t have a choice,” you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. “Where’s your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.” 

“You mean after you lightly grazed me?” 

“Just tell me where it is, Luke.”

Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. He’s silent behind you for a second. “Why?” He asks.

“Because I need it.”

His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something … you’re not sure you like. “Oh, heathen,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”

You guess it’s a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. There’s a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side. 

“Just the usual. Pissed someone off.” It hurts the skin on your lip that’s caked with blood. 

He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he can’t see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. “You need to go to the Apollo cabin,” he concludes, brows pushed together. 

A laugh slips past your broken lips. “No fucking shot. They would not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of their shit-eaters did this!”

The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Luke’s brain. He blinks absurdly. “An Apollo guy beat you up?”

“Not beat up. Just … tussled.”

“How much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.”

“Gods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.”

His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. “Already wasn’t sleeping. I might as well help you,” he shrugs. “I move the kit every once in a while so some other campers don’t ravage it.”

“I don’t need help.”

Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. “Hey, what—” you swat at his arm. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. “Come on.”

It’s strange. Luke’s never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. You’re disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now he’s dragging you around? “This isn’t such a big deal, Luke,” you badger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, whatever. Wait right here.” He lets go of you and only then you realize you’re in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go inside and grab some things. No one’s gonna jump you.”

You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway. 

It’s a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, “Heathen?” Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you. 

“Nice haul,” you comment. There’s an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. “How’d you get them?”

He smiles widely. “Everyone loves me, heathen. It’s not hard.”

“…So you stole them.”

“Yes, but only because I’m too tired to talk to people and I’m protesting for your sake,” he rattles off. “Now hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.”

The two of you make your way down to the docks again. It’s morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least that’s what he tells you.)

He’s stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol. 

Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. You’re not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. You’re less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.

“Come,” he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you. 

Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. “What did you do to earn this, anyway?” He asks, head tilted to the side. 

You’re hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. “The usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.”

“You did not,” Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad. 

“You’re allowed to say you’re proud of me, Saint Castellan. I won’t tell. You can be mean.” Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away. 

“You’re always gonna be meaner,” is all he says back. “This is gonna hurt.”

It’s all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. “Shit, ow!” 

“Stop moving your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth. 

Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you can’t shy away. “I’ll kiss it better,” he teases. “Almost done.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. “Serious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?”

A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. “Not you too! I don’t need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesn’t anyone get that?” 

“I’m not asking why. I’m asking how.”

He’s oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why you’re like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Luke’s eyes, sleep doesn’t seem to be on his radar. 

“I just don’t care,” you admit, shrugging. “I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care about what they can do to me. I don’t care about anything.”

“…What about the Gods?”

It makes you cock your head. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t care about them, either?”

You think, but only about which words to use. “No,” you decide, “They don’t scare me. They’re nothing. What are they gonna do to me?”

Luke snorts, almost nervously. “Uh, punish you for saying that, for one.”

You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. “How? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? I’m telling you, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It’s all just nothing to me. I’m fucking unpunishable, I’d like to see them try.” 

Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing. 

The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. “Unpunishable,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. “We’ll see about that.”

You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldn’t be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart. 

Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if he’s been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong. 

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, they’ve been hushed.

“Um, better,” you reply. 

He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. “Did you at least get the other guy?” He asks between kisses. “Like, did you hurt him?”

“Not really,” you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame. 

“Why?” He’s made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear. 

“I’m not a fighter.” And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, “I’m a killer.”

Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. “Guess one of us has to be.”

There’s no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. “Stay in my bunk, heathen,” he offers. “Leave in the morning.”

You think you’re making a mistake when you agree, but it doesn’t feel like one. 

The next day, after you’ve left Luke’s bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely. 

But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didn’t mean a single damn word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz

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[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Welcome to Part 1! You guys have really warmed by heart with all the anticipation for this series, so thank you so much. I think it's going to be a fun ride. 😉

Song Inspo: “Magic” by Olivia Newton-John. And check out the full “Lost on You Playlist” here. There’s going to be lots of ‘80s music in this series!

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: SB being an entitled asshole (strap in for a lot of that), misogyny, bullying, and a “meet cute” of sorts…

🎙️ Series Masterlist || YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Siren Song

April 3, 1983

“Why the fuck wasn’t I consulted about this?” Soldier Boy groused.

Arthur Cohen, otherwise known as “The Legend,” released a heavy puff of his cigar within the relative privacy of his office. Vought afforded him a great deal of luxuries, at the cost of days like this.

So, he’d offered the supe one of his most coveted Cubans to pacify him. Because true to form, he was edging closer to a temper tantrum by the minute.

“This decision came from on high, my friend,” Arthur said, with a smile that hid his inner anxiousness. He tapped some ash off his cigar with a finger adorned by a gaudy gold ring. “Stan Edgar, Stillwell, even the entire board of directors signed off on this one.”

“I don’t give a fuck who bought into this PR bullshit,” Soldier Boy postured, crossing his arms across his dark green supe suit as he leaned into the plush seat adjacent to Arthur’s desk. He raised a solid boot on the edge of the newly polished mahogany, and then another, crossing them at the ankles. His cigar was balanced between his teeth in the corner of his mouth.

“The last thing we need,” he said, pausing to inhale. Then he took the cigar from his lips to blow out smoke in hot annoyance. “Is another broad on the team.”

Arthur inclined his head. “I understand your concerns.”

“Do you?” Soldier Boy snorted. “Countess is bitch enough to deal with, believe you me.”

Arthur sympathized. He knew Crimson Countess’s attitude well, but he supposed Soldier Boy had license to say so more than anyone else, considering she was his girlfriend.  

“Look, I could give you the numbers: expected profit margins, demographics, etcetera, but you don’t get paid to hear that from me,” Arthur said, with a magnanimous hand gesture and a fair bit of old Jewish charm. “I’m askin’ you to trust me. This girl’s good, okay? Not just a wig and a pair a’ tits. Nah, she’s got talent. Got a set of pipes on her too, my God.”

Soldier Boy gave him a sly look. 

“Not like that,” Arthur said. He shook his head in amusement, but not with the face of a man who hadn’t already thought about the girl’s pretty mouth. He stroked his chin.

“She’s…interesting. Well, you’ll see. If she brings up the ratings the way we hope, we’ll be able to relocate Swatto. Hopefully to Siberia. He’s a fucking PR nightmare waiting to happen.”

“All right, the guy’s a moron, but he’s fucking hilarious,” Soldier Boy said, smirking. “Like one of the three Stooges.”

Yeah. Arthur wondered if that homeless man Swatto almost split open in Central Park after a sneeze thought he was funny. 

“And her powers. Really?” Soldier Boy went on. His brows drew together then, as he frowned. “Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

“Trust me, that’s the real deal too,” Arthur assured.

But he could see that Soldier Boy wasn’t convinced. The supe rolled his eyes and released another puff.

“Anyway. I’m fucking bored. What’s the next project?” he said. Arthur took an unfiltered breath and peeked at the files strewn across his desk.

“Well, Red Thunder is coming out this fall. We’re pretty sure it’s gonna be the blockbuster of the year,” he replied. “After that, we’ll see about writing a sequel.”

If it makes back the millions we spent in production going over budget, thanks to this asshole’s weekly benders, he mentally added.

“I don’t care about a bullshit sequel,” Soldier Boy said dismissively. “I want to do something new.”

“Something new,” Arthur intoned.

The supe raised a brow. Again, the cigar was balanced between his teeth.

“Yeah.”

He really must be bored, Arthur thought, if he actually wants to work.

“All right, let me brainstorm on that for ya,” Arthur said. “Matter of fact, tell you what. Give me ‘til the end of the week. In the meantime, we’ve got the security team monitoring the police scanner for potential saves.”

The supe didn’t look impressed. His brows furrowed, as if he was irritated that he didn’t get an immediate answer, but his slight nod signaled his agreement before he finally got up from his chair. His boots dragged off Arthur’s desk, knocking over a framed picture of his kids with it, and thudded heavily on the ground. He left the office thereafter.

Arthur heaved a breath of exasperation. He didn’t get paid enough for this shit. 

Fucking supes.

But he didn’t dare utter that thought out loud.

It was days before Ben finally crossed paths with the new girl. Not that he’d been giving the idea much thought.

After that day in Arthur’s office, Ben became engrossed in his own devices—namely one of the assistants, Joanna, his stylist, Angela, and Rachel, his maid, after Donna blew him off for dinner for the third night in a row. This time for some tree-hugging conservationist gala of some kind. 

Frigid bitch, he thought, shaking his head. 

On his way to the gym, he passed the T&T Twins gossiping. Just the sight of them irritated him. Tommy was a kiss-ass, and Tessa shared a brain cell with her brother, so she wasn’t saying much for her gender either. 

“Would you pick your tongue off the floor already! You’re so disgusting,” Tessa said, shoving her brother.

“What? She’s fucking hot,” Tommy snapped in defense. When they finally saw Ben coming, Tessa piped down with her attempt at a “demure” greeting.

Tommy came in hot with a too bright voice and a, “Hey, boss!”

Ben gave them a stoic nod, fully intending to blow past them.

“Have you met the new girl yet?” Tommy asked, with an unmistakable pop of his brows and indecent smile.

Ben nearly rolled his eyes. “No.”

And don’t fucking care, his tone conveyed. He continued on his way to the gym. Behind him, the twins gave each other a look, and a shrug.

When he got to the gym, Journey was playing overhead. Ben frowned as he saw Black Noir working out by himself. The young man wasn’t wearing his suit. Instead, he was bare-chested and running on a treadmill with a nearly 90-degree incline, sweat glistening on his skin. 

Fucking show off, Ben thought. 

Then there was Gunpowder, his young sidekick, practicing his archery. Ben went to him and slapped a hand on his back in greeting, none too gently. The teen stumbled, his arrow landing into the wall instead of the target. 

“Spot me at the bench, ey kid,” said Ben. “And grab me a towel while you’re at it.”

“Uh, sure,” Gunpowder replied, ducking his head as he went. Ben got settled at his usual bench press machine, sliding his back down the thin leather cushion. He waited for the kid to add on his fifty-pound weights on either side, until it reached two hundred pounds. That was just the warm-up. 

“You met the new girl yet?” Ben asked, after he began lifting his first rep. Gunpowder stood behind his head.  

“No, sir,” he said. “Haven’t seen her yet.”

“I haven’t either,” said Noir. He’d come over on his way to the showers, regaining his breath all the while. Ben gave him a sharp side-eye.

“Did I fucking ask you?” he said. 

Noir paused. He hid his frown behind a stoic front, since he didn’t have his mask to do it for him. He toweled off his face and chest as he left the gym. 

Ben shook his head, but he never broke stride on the bench press. 

You seemed to be mysterious. 

Barely anyone had seen you, and you hadn’t gone out of your way to ingratiate yourself with every member of the team, like Ben would’ve expected. Donna had set him in her sights on her very first day.

With fake demure in her hazel eyes, a flick of her long red hair over her shoulder, and a sultry smile, she’d let him take her hand and bring it up to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss. 

That same night, she’d accepted his invitation up to his suite and let him do some very ungentlemanly things. Ben smirked at the memory as he made his way down Vought Tower’s infinite hallways. She sure knew her way around some kinky shit.  

And she still did, the little minx. She’d just been putting the freeze on his balls lately, for whatever her reasons were this time. He didn’t pretend to care or keep track at this point. 

If people only knew what a royal pain Crimson Countess was.

Ben was only taken out of his thoughts when he heard someone singing in the breakroom, gently, but beautifully. He couldn’t make out the words though. He stopped and leaned inside the doorway, just to see who it was. It was early enough in the morning that he was surprised anyone but him was awake.

You were standing there at the counter, making some coffee from the percolator. Soft and dulcet notes fell from your lips in some kind of lullaby. Quirking a brow, the oddness of it managed to draw Ben’s steps into the kitchen. You were wearing a leather supe suit that molded to your every curve, not unlike Donna’s, except yours was black with violet trim lines.

You eventually noticed him with a smile.

“Good morning, sir.”

Ben gave you a charming grin, blatantly eying you from breast to toe before he noted that the coffee had finished percolating. 

"Hey there, sweetheart,” he said. “Pour me a cup, would ya?" 

You did so, and he admired the graceful movements of your hands, and the sweet sound of your voice as you continue to hum to yourself. 

"You're a little crooner, aren't you?" he asked, taking the plain white coffee mug from you. 

When your hand brushed his, he felt it.

Your power.

It threatened to overtake him, drawing you into him like the crash and current of a tidal wave, where he couldn’t help but be pulled undertow. There in that darkness, he craved your warmth as well as your body. The thought, the need gripped him at his core… 

He wanted you to devour him, body and soul.

And he finally registered that your eyes were glowing violet, along with your knowing smile. 

Then you blinked. The violet haze was gone, along with your hold on his mind. 

You went back to sipping your coffee as if nothing had just happened. Ben faltered, mentally and physically as he was forced to grip the counter. He even had to catch his breath as his mind reeled from the loss of connection. 

He covered his unbalance with a steely, angry frown. What the fuck just fucking happened?

He looked at you harder than before, drawing himself to his full height and towering over you. Still, you didn’t seem all that intimidated.

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled.

Your knowing, easy smile remained. 

“Nothing,” you replied. “Just a little smoke.”

Ben’s eyes widened.

“Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

How the hell had you heard about that?

He quirked a brow, but you just sipped your coffee with a gentle slurp. Your gaze moved away from him as you went to the fridge to take out a carton of eggs.

“Want some breakfast? I’m thinking of making some eggs, sunny side up,” you said.

Ben’s hand clenched at his side, but then, he forced himself to relax. Or at least, to look relaxed. You had some fucking audacity to try toying with him…but he had to admit, you were something new.

Interesting.

“What’s your name?” he asked, in a tone that demanded.

“Sirena,” you answered. Your superhero name, which he’d already known when Stan Edgar told him about you a week ago.

Ben’s frown deepened, but he reminded himself to retain some charm. He took your chin between his fingers. His grip was light, but his green eyes were intense, and focused on you. 

“No. Your real name, sweetheart,” he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

You blinked, but you obliged him with your name, and a smile that edged at flirtation.

“What’s yours?” you returned.

He had to smirk. He knew you knew full well who he was.

“Call me Ben,” he said.

Three Days Ago…

You tried not to be completely overwhelmed by the sight of this huge tower as you pulled your suitcase behind you. Vought-American was an institution of superhero production, and Payback was the face of it all. The absolute pinnacle.

I still can’t believe they chose me, you thought, but you tried not to let that show. You needed to make it seem like you knew what you were doing. You belonged here, and you were seizing this chance.

Madelyn Stillwell, the head of Superhero Public Relations, personally greeted you at the gate and showed you up to your room. However, you’d barely gotten a chance to step inside and look around before her pager went off. She wore a certain smile when she saw the number on the screen. She tossed a strand of strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced up at you.

“Sorry, sweetie. I have an appointment to get to, but the directory is there on your desk if you need anything. Feel free to get comfortable,” she said, gesturing at you with her pager in hand. “I’ll be back in an hour or so to give you a tour of the building.”

“Okay, thank you so—”

The door closed behind her before you could even finish your sentence. That deflated you a little, but you tried not to let that small exchange bring you down. Your apartment was huge. Or at least, it was much bigger than the shoebox you left in the Village, let alone the Brooklyn brownstone you grew up in, sharing with two other families on each floor.

You hefted your suitcase onto the bed and began to unpack your clothes, makeup, and toiletries. 

You also took out the only framed picture you had—one that housed your parents and your older brother Chris. You were both grown already, but in this picture, you were barely twelve years old. That little girl didn’t know that her entire world was about to change, when her powers manifested for the first time. 

That thought did succeed in dimming your mood for a moment, but you sighed and set the frame down on your new dresser. You’d have to remember to call Chris. His son was turning four years old in a few weeks. 

Though your attention shifted to a black shape in the corner of your eye. It was a garment bag hanging on the closet door. You went over and unzipped it, revealing your new super suit. It was all black leather and violet accent lines down the sides, along the collar, and down between the breasts in a V-shape. It was strategic to accentuate curves and bust. 

You whistled lowly. It was beautiful, but Jesus did it look tight. 

“Wow,” you remarked, trying out the zipper up and down. “They really like their leather, huh?”

Still, you itched to try it on. After a few minutes of struggling and wiggling, you managed to get into the suit. They’d taken exact measurements, so it did look good. You felt like a new person…a superhero.

You smiled at yourself in the bathroom mirror. But then, you forced the smile off your face and shook your head, schooling your expression into something less doe-eyed and pathetic. More in control.

There you are, Sirena, you thought. You had long ago trained yourself with that enigmatic look. You knew how it felt on your face. The easiest way for you to get what you wanted in this world, the way you’d gotten this far, was with this exact face.

Only show them what you want them to see.   

Almost two hours later, you’d finished unpacking your belongings and explored every corner of your new beautiful apartment, but still, Miss Stillwell wasn’t back yet.

You checked your watch and hummed to yourself. Your curiosity getting the best of you, you decided to leave your apartment and explore the tower by yourself. You took off the suit as well, so you could make your way around more anonymously. You were sure no one really knew who you were yet. 

Your theory was proven true when you walked through the halls, passing Vought employees without even a blink in your direction. That was okay though. Soon enough, all these people would know your face, as well as your name. 

You reached one of the top floors, where you thought you remembered The Legend’s office was supposed to be (according to the directory). Maybe you could meet him and get a jump start on your schedule.

You stopped short, however, when an office door slid open. Out came a slightly disheveled Miss Stillwell. Her blouse was hastily tucked into her gray pencil skirt, and strands of her blonde hair were a bit frizzy as they brushed her shoulders, as if she’d combed them down with her fingers. You plastered yourself to a wall around the corner, only peeking around after she passed by.

Your brows popped up incredulously when you read the name plate beside the door she just came out of.

Stan Edgar…holy shit. His signature was on my contract!

Along with Arthur Cohen, or The Legend, as Stillwell had told you when she welcomed you in. He was the Senior Vice President of Hero Management, so who the hell was Stan?

Well, whoever he was, he was giving it to the head of PR.

Okay then. You shook your head and continued on your way. At the end of the hall, you finally found the right office. You were about to open the door, when you heard male voices coming from inside—one older and dry, and the other deep and strong.

You reached out with your awareness and allowed your powers to engage, likely making your eyes glow with a violet hue.

Sure enough, you sensed two men in the room. And as the voices raised, you recognized one of them. It was unmistakable; you’d been taking the time to binge all of his movies for the past month, ever since you auditioned to get into Payback.

Soldier Boy. 

A smile spread across your face. For a moment, you were incredibly excited…until you actually heard what he was saying.

“The last thing we need is another broad on the team.”

Your mouth fell open in shock as your brows drew together. You carefully pressed yourself to the door and kept listening.

“And her powers. Really?” he said. “Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

“Trust me, that’s the real deal too,” Arthur assured.

You glared at the door furiously, as if you could burn lasers out of your eyes. You crossed your arms, but you breathed evenly as you strived to keep your emotions contained. 

Control, you reminded yourself. With another deep breath, you managed to let go of your ire, but the more you listened to the conversation, the more impossible that became. You turned away from the door and made clipped strides down the hall.

You knew you had to tread carefully here. You’d heard some of the real stories about Payback, because you’d taken the time to listen. You weren’t about to enter Vought Tower without having some idea of what you were getting into, and you knew you’d have to prove yourself as the rookie on the team. You just hadn’t expected their leader to be such a chauvinistic asshole. 

Though inwardly, you snorted. Well, the guy is from the ‘40s. Best generation, indeed.

You rolled your shoulders and shook it away, like water off your proverbial feathers. Your mouth set in a firm line as you held your head high.

The game begins, you thought.

For the next few days, you watched. You studied each member of your new “team” as you encountered them, and you quickly realized that this team wasn’t much of one. 

They looked out for themselves, and bickered amongst themselves, in the case of the TNT Twins. Crimson Countess had given you a lovely, polite face that still somehow mocked you when she walked away, along with the bounce of her red hair. 

Your powers didn’t allow you to sense or read women, but you recognized a diva when you saw one.

Clearly, she was used to being the woman on top, especially as Soldier Boy’s girlfriend. You wanted to roll your eyes at the thought. From what you’d heard (and the masculine cologne you smelled on Arthur’s assistant Joanna yesterday), Soldier Boy got around. His relationship with Countess was either very open, or it was well-crafted PR.

You had another growing, unsettling thought. The more information you gathered just by observing the team, the more you had a hard time believing that you were ever going to fit in around here. 

It was only your third day in the Tower though, you reminded yourself, as you got dressed for the day in your suit. That kind of negativity wouldn’t serve you here. 

So you left your apartment in search of coffee and breakfast at the breakroom and lounge area, exclusive to the team. You supposed these guys were either late sleepers, or they got their food brought to them. You were relieved to find the room empty, and you let out a deep breath.

Remember why you’re here, you thought. It’s not about you. 

It had never been about you. 

You rummaged through the cupboards in search of the one thing that would perk you up—good coffee. You found it near the top shelf and began to prep the coffee maker. You hummed to yourself while your hands moved on autopilot. The tune strengthened, deepening and then sweetening on higher trills. 

Suddenly, your spine prickled. Your mind buzzed faintly with awareness as you sensed a presence.

It was familiar and overwhelmingly male, with heavy, confident steps coming down the hall. You tilted your head and frowned. 

Soldier Boy, that asshole. 

But then, your lips curved upwards. This could be fun. 

When Soldier Boy walked into the breakroom, he noticed you. You pretended not to realize he was there, but you felt the heat of his gaze roaming over your body. You wanted to sigh. Predictable.

Right then, you made a quiet, firm decision. Today, this man was going to learn your name. And he wasn’t going to forget it. 

You turned to him with a smile when he approached—the most pleasant one you could manage.

“Good morning, sir.”

AN: Game, set, match. 😘💚 As many of you know, this story is expanding on this Soldier Boy imagine, which I wrote almost a year ago now. In the back of my mind though, I always thought this idea could be more someday.

So please let me know what you thought of Part 1! I'm so excited for you guys to see what's coming up next...

Next Time:

“Countess, I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

“Except my boyfriend,” she shot back. Finally she turned her head towards you with cool disdain. “You think I didn’t see you flirting with him last night at the afterparty?”   

You rolled your eyes, though you hid a sliver of embarrassment. You should’ve known she’d spot that.

“He approached me, okay?” you said. Maybe you were about to let your pettiness to get the best of you, but you couldn’t help it. You smiled slyly. “And from what I hear, I’m the least of your worries. Looks like Ben has quite the appetite.”

The cracks of Countess’s cool façade finally broke through to anger.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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