#why is my imagination out to get me killed

[ellemj]

Breathe: Part 2 (Final Part)

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Two-Part Fic

Read Part 1 here.

Summary: Bucky shows you what it's like to not be able to breathe. It's how you make him feel every time you risk your life, after all, it's only fair for you to feel the same way for once.

Warnings: profanity, enemies to lovers type vibe, oral sex (male receiving), maybe breath play??, dirty talk, fingering, mutual pining.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I've been super busy over the last few weeks and truly haven't had the time to write, even when I've had the motivation to. With the things I've experienced this month I'm honestly on the brink of branching into writing angst. To briefly trauma dump, having someone scream and beg you to save a life that is hours beyond saving can really push a girl to write angst. Anyway, I should be able to write a lot more in the coming weeks and I'm excited to interact with you all again.

            If Bucky was thinking straight, he wouldn’t have the image of his flesh hand fisted in your hair flashing through his mind right now.  He wouldn’t be thinking about kissing and sucking along the side of your neck as your hands work to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. If he was thinking straight, he sure as hell wouldn’t be about to give you exactly what you asked for.

            Show me what it’s like.

            What what’s like?

            Not being able to breathe.

            The tense exchange is on replay in his head as he looks at you with a hardened gaze. The tip of your index finger grazes over the skin of his lower stomach, just above his belt, as you stare back at him. Why did you ask for it? He can’t help but wonder within himself, why did you ask for some filthy variation of his cock in your mouth? Does it have anything to do with him? Or is he simply the only one around to give you one last adrenaline rush before you’re benched indefinitely? Does he even care?

            Your fingertips slip more fully under the hem of his shirt and you trace one of his v-lines with the same finger that was previously lingering along his belt. Bucky takes a deep, steady breath as another image flashes through his mind. He imagines his hand tangled in your hair as you hollow your cheeks and take every fucking inch of his cock into your goddamn mouth. In this moment, he doesn’t care if you’re only willing to suck his dick in want of an adrenaline rush or whatever the fuck else is driving you right now. All he cares about is showing you how you make him feel every single time you rush out into the field, ready to get yourself killed. All he cares about is showing you what it’s like when your lungs are starved of air and you can’t catch a full breath. He’s going to fucking show you.

            “Take it off.” Bucky’s voice comes out low and commanding in a way that has tingles running down your spine in an instant. As bold as you felt when you asked him what you asked him just a moment earlier, you find yourself suddenly unsure.

            “What?” Your hand falters against his skin. Does he want your hand off? Bucky senses your hesitation and his flesh hand quickly finds yours and guides it back down to the buckle of his belt.

            “My belt. Take it off.” Again, your hand falters. Bucky isn’t thinking at all when he lifts his own hand and lets his palm conform to the curve of your jaw, when his thumb gently brushes over your cheek. He has every ounce of your attention now. Your hands start working on autopilot, pulling the end of his belt through its loop and undoing the buckle with ease. Bucky’s thumb continues circling against your cheek, his eyes lingering on your face as you undo the button of his pants and grasp the zipper between your thumb and forefinger. “You listen so well when your life isn’t on the line.” He says, almost disappointedly. But then again, if you listened to orders in the field like everyone else, the two of you probably wouldn’t be where you are right now. When you start to tug his zipper down, he quickly places a hand over the back of yours and stops you.

            Your fucking eyes. The way you’re looking at him right now, with that damn innocent look in your eye like you’ve never touched a man’s zipper before, is doing unholy things to him. Bucky can feel his cock hardening to an uncomfortable degree, and he knows you can feel it too with where your hand is resting right now.

            “Maybe you should take advantage of that.” You whisper softly. Bucky narrows his eyes at you.

            “Of what?”

            “How well I listen when my life isn’t on the line.” A small smile plays on your lips and Bucky finds it simultaneously infuriating and undeniably attractive. His eyes coast away from your face and down your arm, all the way to where your hand rests beneath his on his zipper. He catches sight of the hair tie you removed from your hair earlier still tight around your wrist. Letting his hand fall away from yours, his signature smirk takes over his features.

            “Tie your hair back.”

            You never knew Bucky Barnes held so much power over you.

            He can’t stop staring at you, studying you as you do exactly what he asked. As you tie your hair back, he can feel the tension growing all around him. He takes it on himself to pull the zipper of his jeans down, but he doesn’t dare to do any more than that. He wants you to do it yourself. He wants to see your hands, that are so small in comparison to his own, doing everything he tells them to.  Bucky’s eyes fixate on the skin of your neck, and though he has a plan in mind that doesn’t involve his mouth on you, he can’t help it. In an instant, his flesh hand tangles in the hair that you’ve just tied back and he’s pulling you closer. Every soft drag of his lips against your skin sends more and more heat straight to your core. His tongue darts out from between his lips and wets your skin before he dares to let his teeth join the equation. The first mark he leaves on you draws a sharp gasp from you. The second mark earns him an irresistible whimper. But the third? With the third mark to your neck, you moan his fucking name.

            When Bucky lets go of his grip on your hair and moves his seat away from the steering wheel just a moment after the first moan that he heard fall from your lips, you both know you’ve reached a place of no return. When you tug his jeans down a little further and slide one hand into the front of his boxers, something in the air snaps. Your hand wraps around his length, barely able to contain the entirety of his girth, and his head falls back against the headrest of his seat.

            “Shit.”  The hushed profanity tumbles past his lips as if he didn’t even mean to let it out. Without freeing him from the confines of his boxers, you give his length one stroke. Fuck. He’s big. He’s so big that you think you might’ve underestimated just how easy it would be for him to show you what it’s like to not be able to breathe. You stroke him from base to tip again and feel his precum gathering against your palm. When you do it a third time, his head snaps forward and you feel his hand in your hair again, tugging your head back so you’re forced to look him in the eye. “I can’t fucking stand you.” He says pointedly as your hand continues to move at a torturously slow pace along his shaft. You circle your thumb around the head of his cock and feel him shudder in his seat.

            “I can’t fucking stand you either.”

            “Then why the hell is your hand on my cock?” He taunts as his stare pierces somewhere deep within you. You say nothing in response, but you stroke his length from base to tip again, slower this time. “You can’t stand me but you’re going to suck my dick, aren’t you?”

            Bucky notices the way your grip around him falters, the way you squeeze him a little tighter before your hand slightly loosens around his shaft. He can fucking smell your arousal soaking into your panties. He’s a pleasantly surprised when you decide to take initiative and tug the waistband of his boxers down enough to free his cock. It springs up against his lower stomach and you watch in awe as he pulls his shirt up enough to showcase his toned abs and keep precum from wetting the fabric.

            “Oh my god.” You breathe the words out slowly as your eyes take in the reality before you. Just like you thought, he’s big. You could tell when you had your hand on it, but seeing it right in front of you? Even in the dim light of the supermarket parking lot, you can tell you might be in over your head. While you’re thinking you might be in over your head, Bucky’s thinking about how he’s going to enjoy holding your head down.

---

            “That’s it, take another deep breath for me.” Bucky says, smoothing back your hair as he memorizes every single inch of your flushed face. You wet your bottom lip with your tongue and maintain eye contact with him as you do just that. You inhale a deep, steady breath just as he guides your head down again. His thick cock slides between your parted lips, glides over your tongue, and nudges against the back of your throat for the third time. “Fuck, just like that.” You still have a couple of inches left to take but you resist, your eyes fluttering closed as you gag around his length. Who would’ve thought choking on Bucky Barnes’ dick would be so fucking pleasurable? “All of it.” Bucky says lowly, pushing your head down enough to make you take the last two inches. He bottoms out in your mouth and a groan is ripped from his chest, making his shaft vibrate against your tongue. You moan around him and he suddenly curls his fingers into your hair and pulls you back. You’re ready for him to say something infuriating, something that’ll make you want to punch out his perfect teeth but deepthroat him all at the same time. It’s what he does best honestly.

            “If you keep pulling me back, we’re going to be here all night.” Even with the taste of his precum on your tongue and his hand fisted in your hair, you’re talking shit. Bucky studies you with a menacing gaze, his eyes traveling over the features of your face slowly as he chooses his words carefully.

            “I told you that I can’t fucking breathe when you do stupid shit, and you asked me to show you what that feels like.” He reminds you, narrowing his eyes. You nod in response. “Squeeze my thigh if you can’t handle it.” Before you’ve even processed the instructions, Bucky’s pushing your head down again and forcing his cock into your mouth. This time, he’s forceful and needy with it. He’s doing exactly what he said and showing you what it’s like to not be able to breathe.

            Up and down Bucky drags your head by his grip on your hair. Up and down along the length of his sizable cock, reveling in the feel of your tongue against his shaft and your throat tightening around whatever he gives it. Your lungs are burning. Your eyes are watering.

            “You feel that? That burning in your chest?” He asks, pushing your head down again and holding it still this time. “That’s how I feel every time you try to do shit on your own, every time you risk your life for no goddamn reason.” He holds you there for another second, until he feels a tear drip onto his upper thigh. When he lets you up for air this time, the look on his face is a mix of lustful and gentleness. He wipes your watering eyes with the pad of his thumb, admiring the fucked-out look on your face as you fight to catch your breath. “You take me so well.” Bucky coos. At this point you might as well not even be wearing any panties, because you can feel your wetness soaking through to your jeans.

            When you’ve just nearly caught your breath, Bucky gives you a small nod before guiding you down again, gentler this time.

            “Your head is spinning, isn’t it? The lack of oxygen makes it hard to think straight.” He’s right. All you can focus on is the wetness between your legs and the way the head of his cock keeps triggering your gag reflex in an unexpectedly enjoyable way. Does he know you’re enjoying this every bit as much as he is? Does he know that you’re wishing he’d done this to you when you were on your knees in that upstairs office earlier? As your head spins and the taste of his still-dripping precum lingers in your mouth, you imagine what it might’ve been like if those men had busted into the room when you were on your knees for the man with the vibranium arm. You squeeze your thighs together and surprise both yourself and Bucky when you nudge your head forward, letting your nose brush against his thigh as you take impossibly more of him into your throat. Bucky lets out a guttural groan and presses his head back into the headrest once more as he fights to maintain control over the situation. He’s just about to let you up for air when he hears a strangled whimper and then feels your body shaking over his lap. He’s quick to take his hand off of your head, thinking you’ve fully run out of breath, but you don’t sit up like he’s expecting. Instead, you start bobbing your head up and down, sucking his dick like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do. “Shit, baby.” Baby? You’re deepthroating him of your own volition now, taking in as much of his length as you can and then backing off, doing that over and over again as he trembles in his seat. “You’re gonna make me cum if you don’t let up, shit.” He groans, cautiously letting his hand rest on the back of your head again.

            Bucky isn’t the one starved of oxygen and yet he finds himself unable to think straight. He doesn’t realize he’s tugging the tie out of your hair until it’s done. He doesn’t even realize he’s sliding your hair tie over his own wrist, his subconscious mind planning to keep it as a souvenir. What he does realize, is that you’re as close to your own orgasm as he is. It’s why he doesn’t think twice about sliding his flesh hand from your head, down your spine, and into the waistband of the back of your jeans. His touch doesn’t surprise you, but it spurs you on. His fingers dance over the wet fabric of your panties, testing the waters as you suck his dick with a newfound fervency. When he pushes the pointless fabric to the side and plunges a single finger into your cunt without warning, you take as much of his length into your mouth as you can and then you fucking swallow around him.

            “Fuck, you like sucking my dick, don’t you? Look at you swallowing my cock, taking all of it so easily.”

            Bucky adds a second finger to your dripping cunt, sliding them in to the hilt as you clench around him. When you moan around his cock, he can’t stand it anymore. He’s quick to pull his fingers out of you and grip your hair tightly, pulling you off of his cock. You take a deep breath, hating that he stopped you but thankful for the chance to breathe normally for a second.

            “When you moan like that…fuck. I almost—”

            “How am I supposed to swallow your cum if you keep fucking pulling me off?” You ask, your annoyance evident in your tone. Bucky’s eyes widen but his grip on your hair remains the same.

            “Is that what you want to do? Swallow my cum?”

            “Bucky…” You let his name roll off of your tongue in a whisper as you lean in close to his face and wrap one hand around his throbbing hard-on. “Let me swallow.”

---

            All Bucky can think about is the way you kissed him. The way you swallowed every drop of cum he spilled into your mouth and then sat up and pressed your lips to his, the way you dragged the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip before sinking back into the passenger seat has been burned in his brain for the last three days. For the last three fucking days.

            He stands with his back against the cool metal of the elevator wall, staring down at the black hair tie on his wrist. He hasn’t taken it off once, he can’t.

            You sit in front of your vanity, running your fingers over the fading marks on your neck. Is it wrong to wish he’d left you with some kind of permanent reminder of that night in the car? Is it wrong to hate that the marks he left will be gone soon?

---

            You were supposed to be meeting with Fury. You assumed that meant Fury alone, until you found yourself seated right across from Bucky Barnes. You’re two feet away from the man that had his fingers inside of you three days ago, two feet away from the man whose cum you swallowed like it was a cold drink of water on a hot summer’s day. You hadn’t expected to interact with him again after that night. You were benched, after all, your partnership indefinitely suspended with you being taken out of the field.

            When Fury walks in moments later, breaking the thick tension that was beginning to suffocate you both, what he says changes the dynamic entirely.

            Not only is he putting you back in the field, but he expects you and Bucky to spend a week undercover in the lowest place on Earth: Madripoor. A week together.

            When Fury leaves the two of you sitting in the conference room, the tension returns at full strength, swirling around the room and threatening to suck the air out of your lungs. It comes to a head when Bucky’s about to speak, about to say anything he can think of to break through the thick cloud in the atmosphere. He leans forward and rests his arms on the table, opening his mouth to say something, and that’s when you see it. Your hair tie from that night, wrapped around his wrist. His eyes follow the line of your gaze until you’re both looking at the seemingly insignificant piece of elastic.  

            But it isn’t insignificant.

            Bucky Barnes is wearing your hair tie on his wrist, and he has been for three days now.

            When your eyes meet again, that familiar warmth begins to build low in your stomach.

            Tie your hair back.

            He’d said it so authoritatively and you’d listened so willingly. Neither of you is aware that the other is thinking about the same thing.

            The next time Bucky wants your mouth around his cock, he’ll be tying your hair back himself.

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#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier

[kamaluhkhan]

COMPLICATED

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

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

♪ "complicated" by avril lavigne

i. 

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

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

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

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

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

after another beat of silence, you take the lead.

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

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

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

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

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

“revenge, maybe?” grover suggests. 

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

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

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

“it’s not her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“everything else?”

you look at percy like the answer is obvious. 

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

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

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

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

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

you turn to luke then, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“what? you never told me that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“okay, but that doesn’t mean —”

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

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

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

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

—

ii.

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

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

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

“grover wanted to talk to us about something.”

“i-it’s fine, we don’t have to —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i just want to be prepared.”

“prepared for what?”

luke hesitates. “just….the future.”

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

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

“oh my fucking gods — ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

iii. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

maybe that’s a good place to start. 

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

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

"would you go to school?"

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

“what about luke?”

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

"luke needs you."

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

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

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

“how did you —”

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

“well, nothing’s confirmed.”

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

annabeth is silent, prompting you to ask another question.

"what's holding you back?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"oh," is all annabeth can say. 

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

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

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

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

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

"that sucks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

annabeth hums.

"how much of that did you hear?" 

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

—

iv.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“they went alone?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nothing,” he answers instinctively. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“then what is it?”

“noth—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he'd do anything for you.

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

—

v. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you never told me about your dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that’s….that’s different.” 

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

“which is?”

 you debate telling luke the truth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“always so dramatic,” you tease.

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

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

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

truthfully, it still scares you.

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

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

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

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

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

"luke —"

"i have to sort it out on my own.”

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

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

eventually, luke sighs, deeply, and confesses:

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

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

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

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

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

"do you really mean that?"

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

“of course.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“good girl.”

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

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

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

secretly, of course, you pretty much already do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"y-yes, luke."

"are you mine?"

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

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

"i'm yours," you promise.

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

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

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

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

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

“did you just —” 

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

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

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

"you’re so fucking hot."

your heart flutters. 

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

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

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

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

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

you want more. you need more.

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

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

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

"shit. i don't have another one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

luke grins at you sheepishly, his cheeks flushed. 

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

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

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

made for each other.

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

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

“don’t,” you command. 

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

“i just want to feel you this once.”

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

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

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

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

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

 “are you okay?” 

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

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

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

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

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

 “you’ve never said that before.”

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

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

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

“oh, shit.…” 

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

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

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

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

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

"you do?" your heart resumes its beating. 

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

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

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

"they like the smell of begging." 

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

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

“you won’t —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the corners of luke's mouth curl upwards. 

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

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

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

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

"i love you."

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

because this peace isn't something that feels permanent.

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

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

no monsters; no gods or titans; no prophecies.

just this.

#the way this became a whole chapter....i've got wayyy too much to say i guess #i really wanted to incorporate the trio into this series a bit more and how others see luke + karma's relationship #also i forget who said it but smut as a character study....yeah <3 #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan angst #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x nemesis!reader #luke castellan x you #pjo fanfic #pjo #luke castellan fanfic #saf writes

[wixenburr]

Saw some ppl talking about Reverse Robins and i had thoughts

Talking abt u guys @eldritchdreamss @brucewaynehater101

Why kill Tim when you could kill baby Jason? What I want is for all of them to keep their own backstories and personalities (Developed in line with the story of course) So ofc i had to write a 1,000 word brainrot abt it.

(Also i'll only be going over the main 4 batbros for now i will add more later but these guys are the ones im most passionate about so here we go)

Damian

Let Damian come in, desperate to be of use and be worthy of his father, only for a softer, less jaded bruce (since jason hasnt died yet) to help him open up his heart and let him act as a kid. With no competition for so long, I imagine he and Bruce get along very well while he works with him. Yeah, they need to work on the no killing deal and Damian's... i guess impulse control? But i think it would be easier with very intensely focused reparenting; no distractions of other kids you know? No favoring or anything.

I see Damian growing up as a stoic, jaded adult. He's had a rough life. Maybe he sticks with the vigilante business. but I really love headcanons where he gets out of it, and focuses on something calmer, like his art. (I do appreciate and love the veterinarian Damian AUs, but im going for FULL calmness, you know? And doctor/vet work is Not calm lol)

So yeah, maybe he grows a real passion for heroism, maybe he doesn't? Maybe he goes on to be an artist and that's just what he does. Bro is ready to settle down as a scarred, veteran trophy husband and i adore him for that.

(Sorry lol i just love Damian and i love the idea of him growing out of both of his parent's legacies. Let him live his own life!!! He fights so so hard for at least 15 years. ALL 15 years of his life. He deserves to have some peace.)

Tim

Tim i think would need a much different story to join the Batfam. He still starts out as a stalker who follows batman and. . . . . . . Redimar (meaning Redemption iykyk (I just spend 17min researching names rip)) at night, takes photos, etc... Since Damian doesn't die, maybe he finds Tim? and like, tim is like 11 and Damian is 17 or 18. He's started going out as Redimar less and less, not that B really minds? In fact hes probably happy for his son so...

But then Damian finds Tim, and now he has to keep going out because he can't let this kid get himself killed like this. He would hold himself accountable since hes the only reason Tim keeps going out so much- also i imagine Tim follows Redimar more than Batman.

Cue a classic Tim Joining The Batfam plotline. They get to know each other better, get a grasp on Tim's situation, Damian finally introduces Tim to Bruce... (Probably something like Dami: "Father, this is my new brother. Timothy, say hello to Father," Tim: "Hello, Father," Dami: "Perfect." Bruce: "*falls off the batchair*)

Anyway, so, Tim ends up kinda just merging with the Waynes. They start training him, its all good and nice, and Tim makes his own little hero team unlike Damian, which is actually pretty interesting here; its Tim who made the first young hero team. Damian only ever had Jon (Superboy 1 in this!!) and he finds Young Just Us and becomes a great leader and its all fine and dandy.

Tim and Damian get along well. Damian is the sage older brother whos kinda distant, but only because he has such high emotional walls (but secretly a softy). He is very much like Bruce- nope, nevermind, hes definitely worse than Bruce in this AU, since Bruce is depicted as being much more agreeable before Jason's death, you know? So yeah, Damian is the emotionally constipated bitch in the fam and we love him for that. But hey!! Tim does manage to get through his walls! And Bruce does sometimes too!! (Tho i imagine Bruce and Damian's relationship to be very.. idk let me try to expalain. Dami: "Father." Bruce: "Son :)" Dami: "Tt." Bruce: *nods* "Hrn." Dami: "Hmph." Bruce: "Hm.") DO U PICK UP WHAT IM PUTTING DOWN--- lmfao. They hardly need words.

Tim ends up growing up very very capable. Once his parents die, he gets a little jaded, but hes still Tim. He and Damian become kind of an... ice prince duo? If you get what I mean. But Tim is the one whos actually the ice prince, Damian is secretly a HUGE softie. He is Delicate and Tim protects him lmfao.

Jason

Jason comes along like he does in canon. Has the same backstory. Tries to steal the Batmobile's wheels. Tim is sleeping over at Damian's flat for the night, so its just Bruce. They bond. Shit happens. Jason joins the fam.

I don't imagine them not getting along, but they don't immediately hit it off either. Jason is wary of all of them for a time, but he ends up warming up to Damian pretty fast after realizing what a softie he is. He pokes fun at Damian and Damian just freaking takes it lmao. Hes an adult he cannot be disturbed. Bro has seen too much and he finds Jason adorable. (Dami: "You were never this cute, Timothy." <- he is lying. Tim: *offended* "What the fu- flip!?" Jason: "Lmao Tim just say fuck." Dami: *deadpan stare* Tim: "JASON NO DONT SAY THE FUCK WORD-") ahem.

anywho and then Jason dies rip skill issue ratio.

The whole batfam is heartbroken. Genuinely shattered. Jason was a light in their lives. Not that they were WITHOUT any light, but Jason was the epitome of a sunshine child.

It's been too long since Damian has killed someone. Bro's god oodles and oodles of trauma. He can't bring himself to kill the Joker.

but Tim can.

It's a whole dramatic thing; Damian feels awful that he made his- now only- little brother kill. Bruce is hella upset but feels responsible for not seeing how badly both of his kids were handling the death of their brother. Tim goes a little off the deep end.

Things turn out.... okay. sort of. but not really. Tim changes his hero name to Red Cardinal. He feels pretty lost. Maybe he stumbles into Ra's al Ghul or smthn idk maybe smthn happens there perhaps. Maybe Damian has to put on Redimar again and rescue him? But its less of a rescue and more of a "Stop joining the dark side Tim jesus christ-" (and it does work).

They go home. Tim gets a boyfriend or two. Damian falls into his art. Bruce is throwing himself into work. They're all kind of a mess, but they keep moving.

and then

Dick

(lmao that sounded wrong)

ahem; and then the circus comes to town. The batfam- well, Tim, Damian, and Bruce- all decide to get together to do something fun. Take the opportunities given, yk? So they go to the circus together.

Wham bam rip the falling Flying Graysons.

They see Dick, breaking apart, and they know they have to do something. Bruce is the first to move. Then Tim. Damian is the last.

It's pretty quick getting Dick home, since Bruce is already a foster parent cuz of Tim yk. So Dick doesn't have to suffer in Juvie at all really. But that doesn't change the fact that he is ANGRY.

Dick is SO angry. he wants to kill the person who murdered his parents. He knows what he saw.

The fam of course do their best to investigate. Mostly Tim, who feels unworthy of being around an innocent little kid after his whole.... villain era, i suppose lol. (ofc Dick thinks Tim doesnt like him lol misunderstanding arc GO)

The whole "Dick accepts that justice is better than murder kinda maybe FOR NOW" storyline happens, and Dick becomes the conniving, bright, little Robin we all know and love. (Thinking of the Young Justice Cartoon Robin (but not the characters- just Dick's character) aaaand

Womp womp GUESS WHOS BACK

Jason's Back

but i'll leave that for later.

#my writing #personal #batfam #reverse robins #batman #damian wayne #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #batbros #batkids #batfam fanfic

[bitethedevil]

Rambling about Raphael again: I’m getting more and more convinced that stealing from Raphael is an asshole move no matter what.

I just killed Raphael for the first time yesterday. I had gotten the scene where he comes home before but that was way back in my first playthrough and I chickened out back then. The battle itself was awesome, don’t get me wrong but it felt…unsatisfying? Sad even.

I’m obviously not excusing anything he’s done to Hope, but we don’t really know anything about Hope before we have already taken the decision to go to his house.

I found something in the House of Hope that I hadn’t seen before (it’s on the ground in the main area where the fireplace is iirc):

Like yeah, we know that we don’t really need the Orphic Hammer if we’ve played the game before and all that. But does Raphael? It seems like he genuinely thinks it’s a fair trade. Dude lives in the Hells. I’m sure he really does expect the worst from people (especially someone like the Emperor). So he offers us a deal that he really believes is fair, and what do we do? We go robbing his house, fucks/kills his incubus, meddles in his business and essentially spits him in the face. Bonus asshole points if the last thing you ever say to him is that he’s a shit at sex.

Raphael is evil, no doubt, but he hasn’t really done anything to us. If you don’t take the deal, he simply leaves you alone (unless you refuse the Emperor in the end…in which he essentially calls you a dumbass but still helps if I remember correctly) even though that deal is the closest he’s been to the crown in millennia.

Which brings me to his reaction. Obviously, he seems angry right before the fight, but mostly I got the feeling of a man who has been utterly humiliated. His quote that went along the lines of: “Take away their free will and they’ll call you a tyrant. Let them indulge in it and they become tyrants” is kind of stuck with me. I think that Raphael could have potentially treated us a lot worse if he wanted to, but he chose not to (obviously that’s also to get us to trust him, but still). Which is why it stings even more when we fuck him over.

Think about his diary entries. The man has nightmares about us besting him. Imagine how stupid he must feel when that fear turns out to be true and that he shouldn’t have trusted us to keep our word.

#ranting #raphael the cambion #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael

[rosemarydisaster]

I know that all the names of The Locked Tomb Series have a lot of deep meaning but I just love the Seventh house. Like, the way you can figure out the plot twist just by reading the names. (Spoilers for Gideon the Ninth).

Dulcinea is named after Dulcinea del Toboso from El Quijote. The titular Quijote lives in a fantasy world due to reading too many books about Knights, so he starts imagining the world around him as the one from his books. He kinned too close to the sun. Dulcinea del Toboso is his lady love, the most perfect woman in existence. Obviously Don Quijote's "squire" Sancho Panza doesn't believe Dulcinea exists. She's part of Quijote's fantasy. So to try to snap him out of it he brings him a peasant woman named Aldonza Lorenzo, ugly and stinky, saying it's Dulcinea. Quijote assumes she must be under some curse and bows to free her (he never gets to). So obviously when I read Dulci's name in Gideon the Ninth and she turns out to be too perfect to be real...yeah, I figured out that wasn't the real necromancer from the seventh. Tbf, I'm from Spain so Dulcinea immediately triggers my second grade memories.

Protesilaus. This one's crazier and I didn't get it until the end of the book. You see the name sounded familiar and I was sure it was from some Greek myth or tragedy. Turns out in the Iliad the Oracle tells the Greeks that the first man to set foot on Troy would die. That's why Odysseus jumped on his shield to not "set foot on trojan soil". Protesilaus was the first one to actually disembark and, as such, was killed. Just like TLT protesilaus was the first one to die (protecting Dulci). Also in some versions of the story his wife, wracked with grief, asks the gods to see her beloved again. The gods take pity on her and allow her five minutes, after which they both die. This reminds me of how the real Protesilaus was brought back by Harrow's bubble, created by her grief for Gideon.

Cytherea is another name for Aphrodite and Gideon's very obvious lust aside, this tracks too. Not only is Cytherea described as really beautiful, she's a Lyctor which makes her godlike. It's also her love for her cavalier that makes her lose her head a bit. And even while she's Killing everyone in Canaan House she makes it a point to state that she still loves all of the contestants. She even admits to still loving John (much like Mercymorn). Also, the one that finds out she's not who she says she is is the man in love with the real Dulcinea.

Gotta love Tamsyn spoiling her book with names. This series is so fucking good.

#tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #gtn #gideon the ninth spoilers #cytherea the first #dulcinea septimus #protesilaus ebdoma #the seventh house #seventh house #7th house #tamsyn muir

[thewertsearch]

GG: aaaaa please dont tell anyone i told you about him! […] CA: settle dowwn jade youre radically underestimatin the amount of shit i dont givve about this […] CA: i got bigger ships to sink and soon wwhen im good and ready me and my luminous fuckin science stick havve got a date wwith jack noir

Seems like Eridan's planning to join Vriska.

Correction - he's planning to rejoin Vriska.

If he's trying to restart their kismesissitude, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Vriska is out of his league, and not just as a romantic partner. She's a god, and he's an angry kid with a wand who represents no threat whatsoever to Noir.

CA: wwhys this matter so hush hush anywway GG: he didnt want me to tell my friends who he really was […] GG: he was so nice, and it really did feel like i was talking to family, so i really dont think he was making it up

I think your intuition is correct, but that doesn't mean he's specifically your grandson. After all, 'family' is a term which can encompass all sorts of relationships.

GG: i couldnt help but try to imagine his parents… GG: and more interestingly……. GG: his grandfather :O

Even if he is your grandson, that doesn't necessarily mean he has a grandfather. As far as I can tell, there's no reason why the Veil's DNA-mixing machine couldn't merge the genes of two women.

For all we know, Pen-Pal could have four biological grandmothers!

CA: that gun i just gavve you is somethin of a hatchright to the kid CA: happy i could play a role in your dirty stinkin lineage GG: like an heirloom? i guess it could be GG: do you even have those? if you dont have parents how could you? CA: no wwe dont knoww our direct forebears and im pretty sure any attempt to seek out or evven inquire about the supplier of your genes wwould be a fine wway to get yourself killed

I didn't think a troll's genes had an individual supplier.

Based on the fact that their genetic material is combined in the Mother Grub, I've been assuming that each troll is created from a large number of 'parents', whose DNA is mixed in the Mother's stomach.

Obviously, our Sgrub trolls are going to be an exception to this rule, since the game presumably cloned them from twelve Guardians - but Eridan seems to be implying that all trolls have an individual parent.

This doesn't align at all with what we know about troll reproduction. There also seems to be a certain amount of secrecy surrounding this process, since Eridan thinks you'd be killed for looking into it. Is there some sort of conspiracy at play?

CA: but wwevve got our lore and it says wwe all got indivvidual ancestors wwho contribute to most of our genes abovve and beyond wwhat the grubs slurry does

Alright, that makes a little more sense. So trolls are derived from a large mixture of DNA, but they have one true 'parent' who contributes the lion's share of genetic data.

Maybe an embryonic troll starts off as a clone of this parent, and other trolls' genes are slowly spliced into it as it develops.

Again, for the Sgrub trolls, things are a little different. We have reason to believe they were cloned in sets of three, implying that each of them has three genetic donors. Perhaps, then, they each inherited the majority of their DNA from one of these trolls - their 'ancestor' - and only share a small number of genes with the other two.

These ancestors have been mentioned before - quite a while ago, now - and I think they may be the key to solving a major mystery of the Hivebent arc.

Namely, Aradia mentioned her ancestors, and seemed to believe she was following their orders. When Scratch's plans started to reveal themselves, I assumed that he was the one directing Aradia, and was only pretending to be these unseen forebears.

With this new revelation, however, I'm forced to reconsider my stance. What if the Voices were those of the ancestors?

What if Aradia was being instructed by the troll Guardians all along?

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #s107 #3176

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine proposing to Shanks

At a bar

You: [brooding over a drink by yourself]

Benn: [comes over and sits next to you, like a concerned papa bear] You've seemed really down lately, what's going on up there in that head of yours?

You: Shanks and I have been together for years, and ... I don't quite know what I was expecting, but I am not happy at the idea of being only his dating partner forever.

Benn: Is this because of the wedding we saw yesterday, down at the Chapple?

You: Sort of, now I know that I'm never going to get a traditional wedding like that, but I would like for him to wife me up.

Benn: You should tell him that because he's never going to come to that conclusion on his own.

You: I know, but I can already picture what his proposal would be like, improvised, sloppy, and probably involving alcohol.

Benn: [mutters to himself] Well, at least you know what you're getting into with him before you marry him.

You: what was that?

Benn: nothing. Can I offer you a piece of advice?

You: [nods]

Benn: Don't wait around for others to do something for you when you could do it a million times better yourself.

You: hmm, thank you for the food for thought.

Two weeks later

Shanks: [tugging on the white collar of his button-up like it's choking him,] Why the hell are they making such a big fuss? Insisting I dress up, just to go on a picnic.

Benn: [straightening his captain's tie] Because they love your dumb ass, for some fucking reason, and they went through the trouble of planning a special night for you two. So you're going to dress up, look nice, stay sober, try to behave, do whatever they say,

Shanks: [mutters] I already do whatever they say

Benn: [gives him the side eye as a warning] And you're going to bring them flowers and this cake.

Shanks: yeah, yeah, it's just it's been ages since we've had time to do something special, we're out of the honeymoon phase, you know? We're like an old married couple, we only have sex once a week and everything.

Benn: Oh, I know, we can hear you two in the crew's quarters, we appreciate that it's the same day every week too. [puts the flowers and box of cake in Shanks's hands] Now get going, if you're late I'll kill you myself.

Shanks: Alright, don't shove.

At the docks

You: wow, you made it on time.

Shanks: I wouldn't be late for our first date in over a year.

You: [winces at the reminder]

Shanks: [realizes he's made things awkward, he holds out his gifts] Uh, these are for you.

You: [can see Benn's meddling] Thank you, but we're actually going to have to wait for the boat to get here. I took your habit of arriving late into account when I made the plans, and the time I told you to come was forty-five minutes before you actually needed to be here.

Shanks: [puts his arm over your shoulder and presses a kiss to your head] You know me so well, and no worries if we have to wait, just means that I get more time with you, my love.

On the boat

Shanks: [looks around the glass bottom boat in amazement] Whoa! Look look! There's a tiger shark.

You: I knew you'd like it, we have it all to ourselves tonight. We'll sail around the reefs, and have dinner.

Shanks: we get to eat.

You: yes, they have your favorite, you can even pick out which lobster you'd like to eat.

After dinner

the boat captain: excuse me, we've landed on Firefly Island, you'll have two hours before we raise anchor and head back to the port.

You: thank you, [turns to Shanks, grabs his hand, and leads him to the heart of the island where all the fireflies are]

Shanks: [visibly resisting the urge to run around and chase them]

You: [rolls your eyes playfully] Go ahead, I know you wanna run, go get your energy out. Why don't you run around the edge of the clearing and herd them this way? [sits on a stone bench beside the pond in the center of the meadow]

Shanks: [kisses your cheek] aye aye

You: [waits until he's tuckered himself out, and has collapsed on the bench next to you] Sweetheart, are you having fun?

Shanks: the most fun I have had in a while, look at this jar of fireflies I caught. [holds up a large mason jar, packed with the luminescent insects] I know if I leave them in there too long, they'll die, but I wanted you to get to open it.

You: [gets down on one knee, positions the ring box on the side of the jar and unscrews the lid to let critters free]

Shanks: Isn't it pretty? [looks down at the jar to see the box on the other side of the jar] What'cha got there?

You: [sets the jar aside and opens the box to reveal the ring inside]

Shanks: [freezes]

You: ... I know I'm not going to get a fancy wedding in a place of worship or even a marriage certificate, but I would still like you to marry me. For us to be marriage partners, even if it's only in name.

Shanks: wh-... how ... [pulls out the ring and slides it onto his finger] it fits and everything.

You: [waiting for an answer]

Shanks: [notices your staring] what?

You: will you marry me?

Shanks: [pulls you into his lap, and kisses you] Of course I'll marry you, and no you're probably not going to get a fancy wedding, and you're definitely not going to get a marriage certificate. But I promise you, you'll get one hell of a wedding.

You: Thank you, love. [peers over to see Benn sopping wet in the bushes, taking pictures with a camera snail] Benn, what are you doing?

Benn: getting engagement photos, obviously.

Shanks: how did you get here?

Benn: I swam, now you two stop moving, so I can take a picture before these fireflies can eat the camera.

List of Up-and-coming works || Master list || Twitter| Kofi || Patreon

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #akagami no shanks #red haired shanks #red hair shanks #red hair shanks x reader #akagami no shanks x reader #shanks x reader #benn beckman #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #4/25/24 #no beta we die like men

[producedbyhanjisung]

⎯ STOCKHOLM. christopher bahng chan

🎧 : bang chan x female reader

TROPE. age gap! au (chan is 37, reader is 18), kidnapper x kidnapped

WORD COUNT. 2.5k

WARNINGS. drinking, mentions of drugs, illegal activities, nineteen-year age gap, kidnapping, reader falls in love with her kidnapper, sadism + masochism

SYNOPSIS. on the morning of january first, y/n wakes up chained to a wall, stripped to her undergarments, and a camera pointed right at her. strangely enough, behind the camera is what looks like a harmless, friendly, incredibly attractive man. as y/n and the mysterious Bang Chan begin to learn more about each other, y/n finds herself succumbing to stockholm syndrome: falling in love with her very own kidnapper

SMUT WARNINGS. sadism + masochism, use of vibrator, some non-con themes, sextape making, overstimulation + edging, corruption kink, exhibitionism, dumbification kink

As your eyes opened, you expected to wake up somewhere you didn't know. You were absolutely wasted the night before - New Year's Eve - and you had been almost one-hundred percent sure you would wake up in someone else's bed. However, you hadn't imagined that you would wake up with shackles around your ankles and wrists, keeping you tight against a concrete wall in a cold room that somewhat resembled your great-grandmother's basement.

You're flabbergasted, to say the last. In all of your years getting drunk and fucking random people, you had never been kidnapped. And either this guy was really fucking kinky, or you had been kidnapped.

You suspect the latter, seeing the tape recorder set up on a tripod in front of you, facing you. As you survey your surroundings, you also take in your attire - completely nude, spare for your lacy white bra and matching panties, complete with a small white bow.

"Morning."

You look up, startled at the handsome guy that you hadn't noticed enter the room.

"Y/N, right? I'm not sure I caught your name last night."

You vaguely remember his face as one of the guys you had danced with the night before, letting him grind up against you and grope your body to the beat of the music. You nod at him.

"Do you know why you're here, Y/N?"

You shake your head, staying silent.

"I find you quite beautiful, actually." The man has a thick Australian accent, one you're sure you remember from the party. "Really, a work of art. An ass to kill for, and apparently, unmatched intelligence."

"That's just a rumor," you say finally.

"Ahhhh, she speaks. You have such a pretty voice, sweetie." He sends you a dimpled smile. "I really don't think it is, though. Your IQ is three higher than that of Albert Einstein. Do you know what that means, sweetheart?"

You watch him, waiting for an answer.

"It means you are a certified genius." The man's smile drops. "This is why you've peaked my interest."

"'Cause I'm good at taking tests?" you ask softly.

He shakes his head. "Much more than that. I want to pick your brain apart, pretty girl. I wanna find out what makes you tick." Then, he smiles again, wickedly. "But more than that, I want to humiliate and violate you in ways you wouldn't have thought possible."

So that's what he is, you think to yourself. A psycho with a god complex.

"Do you think I can do that?" he asks.

"Do what?"

"Everything I just said."

"Yes I do."

He tilts his head at me. "Giving in so easy?"

"What else should I do?"

He moves closer to you, taking your chin in his hand and examining your face. "I suppose you're right."

You watch him, utterly stunned at how fucking exquisite your kidnapper's appearance is.

He backs away from you now, moving behind the tape recorder. He repositions it so that it's trained on you, then turns the viewing component of it so that you can see yourself, dangling helplessly and half-naked from the wall. "I'm going to start, yes?"

You nod slowly. You know that fighting whatever this man was about to do to you would be futile, so you waited and watched, eyelashes fluttering.

He retrieves a knife from a table of dangerous-looking utensils off to your left, returning to you.

"What should I call you?" you ask him suddenly, dreading the feel of the knife tracing your skin.

"Chris," he says simply. "In Korea, they call me Chan. Here they call me Chris."

"Chris? Or Chan? Which do you prefer?"

He tilts his head, as if puzzled by the question. "I'm not sure."

"I like Chan. It suits your face."

"Does it now?"

You nod, humming a "yes."

Chan's lips quirk up in a half-smile, and you find yourself smiling back. "First things first," he says after a moment, "I need to mark you."

"Mark me?"

He nods. "It won't hurt long, love." He moves around you, to your left side, and grasps your thigh gently. You bite back a gasp, watching as he lifts the knife. It's digging into your skin before you can protest, drawing a thin line of scarlet over the plush skin. You register in your mind it hurts, but it fascinates you to watch, taking your thoughts off the pain and onto the beauty of the letters that he's now carved into your leg. B.C., in small, pretty writing right in the middle of your thigh.

"Painful?" he asks, moving back to the table to the side and retrieving some sort of paper towel, returning to you and gently dabbing at the blood.

You blink. "A little."

"You didn't scream," he says.

"I didn't."

"I wish you would have."

"Would you like me to now?"

"No, sweetheart, don't force it."

You're surprised at how easy this conversation comes to you. This man just cut his initials into your thigh, and all you could think about were his pretty dimples and crinkly eyes.

"Where are you from?" you ask.

Chan looks up at you. "You baffle me," he says, examining you. Then, "I was born in Seoul, but I grew up in Sydney." He pauses. "You?"

You tell him where you were born, surprised at how intently he listened to you.

"I like hearing you speak," he says. "Your voice is beautiful."

You stay quiet, unsure what to think.

"I bet your screams would be beautiful too." A mischievous expression flits across his face. "You know what I bet would be the most beautiful of all?" He leans in close to you, so that his lips are right next to your ear. "Your moans."

You blink dumbly up at him.

"Look at you." He cradles your cheek in his hand, watching you with a bittersweet expression. "Intelligence already crumbling. I thought you'd last longer, sweetie."

You're tongue-tied, both disgusted and turned on by the sadistic words.

He pats your cheek once, twice, then turns away. "I'll be back later to bring you dinner, and a fun little toy."

"What am I supposed to do until then?" you ask quickly, desperate for him not to leave you. As much as you don't want to be down here with him, you even less want to be down here without him.

He shrugs. "You'll find something." Then he pauses. "Actually . . . would you like your toy early, hmm?"

You nod slowly. Chan retreats from the room, returning a few minutes later with a white box. He opens it, inside awaiting what looked like a vibrator. Nope, scratch that, it was a vibrator.

You swallow, looking at it, and Chan grins at you. "The best form of torture is too much pleasure, don't you agree, sweetie?"

You swallow hard, finding yourself nodding nervously.

Chan moves back over to you, stepping gracefully, and smiles. "For the next three hours, this is going to be attached directly to your clit."

You only stare at him.

He begins by removing your panties, then your bra, leaving you completely bare for him, and for the tape recorder.

"Pretty pussy," he mumbles, as though to himself. He leans forward, using one finger to spread your lower lips and another to prod around your private area, poking gently into your hole, then around your clit. Finally, he stops, bringing up the vibrator and configuring it so that the head stayed directly on your clit. He gently turns it on, watching as you gasp a little.

"Three hours," he says, tapping his wrist, then turning the vibrator to the highest setting. "I'll see you, pretty girl."

The moment the door is closed, unable to bite back the noises produced from this torturous device.

Three hours later, you've passed out four times, came at least twenty, and are shaking, dripping sweat, and sobbing. Your clit burns with too many sensations, and your stomach convulses violently with every buzz being emitted into your core.

When Chan reenters the room, he carries with him a plate of food. He sets it down quickly upon seeing your ragged state, mouth open slightly as he watches you.

You hardly notice him enter, buzzing with too many sensations. You only snap back to reality when you hear a shutter flick in front of you, and you find that he's taken a Polaroid photo of you.

He stays silent, listening to you whimper as the film develops. When it's complete, he turns off the vibrator, and you slump in your shackles. You feel him unlock your ankles, then your wrists, and you drop to your knees on the floor, still shaking vigorously.

Chan kneels beside you, brushing your hair from your face and soothingly thumbing your cheek. "Tired?"

You nod.

"Too tired to eat?"

You nod again.

"No you're not." He stands, retrieving the plate of food he brought with him. On it is what looks like a rather appetizing piece of chicken, salad, and small bowl of pasta. "Eat."

"What if I don't want to?"

"I'll force feed it to you."

You can't tell if he's joking, so you shakily take a bite. You struggle as you pick up your fork, and Chan takes it from you exasperatedly. "Let me," he says. He gathers a bit of salad on the fork, taps your jaw for you to open your mouth, and puts it in. You close your mouth, letting the lettuce fall onto your tongue, eyes locked with his.

"I'm sorry," you find yourself saying.

"Why?"

"I'm shaking."

"That's not your fault, is it?"

You shake your head.

"Then why are you sorry? Hmm?"

You shrug as he puts another bite of salad in your mouth.

The two of you stay silent for the rest of the meal. That night, he doesn't reshackle you, but locks the door behind him. The next day, he returns. At least, you assume it's the next day. You're not sure how much time has passed since you've woken up in this dank room. He'll come for a few hours in the morning, then leave for a few hours, then return for a few more. Each time he returns, he asks about you. As if he truly wants to get to know you, instead of killing you. He continues torturous ministrations, destroying your body and your mind in one. And somehow, you hardly mind.

Finally, on the evening of what you can guess is the ninth day, he returns as usual, bringing with him a meal.

He watches you eat, tongue in his cheek. "I'd like to bring you upstairs today."

You pause to stare at him. "Up . . . upstairs?"

He nods. "You should shower, before you stink any more."

You look down. "It's not exactly that sanitary down here."

"I'm well aware. That's why I'm bringing you up. I quite like you, honestly. So I'd like to propose to you an offer."

"An offer?"

"An offer. An exchange, I suppose. Your freedom for your service."

"Go on."

"You will marry me. You will be presented as my wife, and you will act as such in the public eye. In private, you are mine. You're my slave - my belonging."

"I just have to stay with you?" You look up at him. You're smart enough to know that even seeing the sunshine for a day being married to a kidnapper would be better than rotting down here until he eventually decided he'd had enough and kill you. Your mind was made up, but you were curious.

"Yes, love. I'm fond of you, actually."

Fond of me. You ponder this. "Okay . . . I'll do it. First, though, I have a question."

"Shoot."

"How old are you?"

Chan looks down. "I'm thirty-seven."

"Oh."

He nods. "You?"

"Eighteen." You meet his eyes.

"So young and fragile." Chan traces his fingers over your cheek. "So much to corrupt, hmm?"

You nod.

"Come on, you need to shower."

You let him bring you upstairs. You leave the basement into a small house. The walls are pretty pastels, decorated with plants and paintings of all varieties. Chan brings you away from the main floor, up another flight of stairs to what you can guess is his bedroom. It's neat and tidy, and an open door off to your right is your best guess at a bathroom.

He brings you into the bathroom, letting you strip out of the clothes he gave you a few days before, after finally giving in to your begging for warmth. You jump a little as he starts to remove his shirt. "What are you doing?"

"Stripping. I'm joining you."

"Um, why?"

"'Cause I'm not letting you off yourself with a razor in my shower."

"I wasn't gonna off myself with a razor in your shower."

"How do I know that?"

You watch him, deciding not to argue. The water is already on, steaming up the room, and his skin glistens with every movement. You avert your eyes from his dick, but you can see its general shape in your peripheral vision. Huge.

He pulls you into the shower by your waist, stepping in behind you. He'd seen you naked before, but something about this close proximity and steamy room felt so much more intimate than the hours of sextapes he had filmed of you.

Chan helps you wash your hair, then your body. His touch lingers over your curves, rubbing you in a way that you didn't know was possible. It's only moments after that you find yourself hoisted up, legs tucked around his waist, hands running through his hair, head tipped back as his lips attach to your neck.

"Do you promise to be mine?" he whispers into your jaw, teeth grazing your Adam's apple.

"I promise," you say desperately, watching him with hooded eyes.

He pushes inside you with no warning, already rock hard. You feel the tip of his member kissing your cervix, pressing in just the right ways against your walls. He kisses you hard, pushing you against the wall of the shower. Chan is thrusting inside you slowly, mouth struggling to stay attached to yours as the two of you are overwhelmed by emotions and sensations.

You cum at the same time as him, coaxing every last drop of cum from his cock.

You collapse into him, shaking as you come down from your high. He holds you gently, turning off the water and helping you out of the shower. He's wordless as he wraps a warm towel around you, kissing your forehead as he dries you, then himself, then helps you to his bed.

"Just sleep, love," he tells you softly. "I'll wake you up in the morning."

The next morning, Chan is beside you, sleeping soundly. For some reason, you're comforted by the sight. The man who kidnapped you nine days ago - who would have thought you'd be madly in love with him by the end of it all.

TAGLIST ⎯

@jisunglyricist @hash2013 let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!!

#smut #stray kids #skz #bang chan #felix #han #lee know #seungmin #hyunjin #oneshot #kidnapper #kidnappers #kidnap au #murder #horror #bang chan smut #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #prod.j.one

[thenewausten]

Camping with Quackity <3

TW: smut 🔞

It would be a cozy afternoon where you decided to drive and camp at the middle of a nowhere just because you were bored of staying at home watching movies or going out to restaurants.

"It's very nice here, what do you think?!" Alex asks when he stops the car in a spot next to a forest. "Yeah, it's great." You answer, the smell of grass makes you smile, you love being around the nature and it was something you wanted to do more. "Let's set up the tent, amor." Alex says and you nod, you both get out of the car. "Imagine, baby, if there's a fuckin' serial killer around the forest and the asshole kills us for no reason at all?! Like, we'd die for free." You say, and Alex looks at you, scared. "Now I won't be able to relax, Y/N." He says and you laugh. "Oh, c'mon. It won't happen, dude."

"Yeah, right." He says. You both set up the tent and put some pillows you brought. "Let's eat?! I'm hungry." You say and your boyfriend nods. "I'm so glad it's cold." He whispers and you smile. "Why?"

"Because we can cuddle." He whispers and kisses your neck, you smile. "That's cute, babyy." Your lips touches his and Alex hugs you. "We should eat first, I won't be able to stop if we start kissing." He says, making you smile and blush a little.

After "dinner" (sandwiches you made), you were just cuddling and talking about your dreams for the future. "We should get married at the Church where My Chemical Romance made the "Helena" clip." Alex says and you laugh. "I don't know, baby, but... Yeah, we can see it." You answer and he nods. "We should have two kids, you know?! A girl and a boy."

"What if we have, like, two girls or two boys?!" You ask him and he smiles. "Well, we can have more than two kids, right?! Two boys and one girl, two girls and one boy..."

"Yeah, no! Two is already too much, imagine three, Alex?!" You ask him and the boy makes a sad grimace. "We should have just a little boy, or girl." You say. "Noooo, two kids, amor! One girl and one boy." He whispers and you roll your eyes with a smile on your lips. "Fine, 'Lex." He kisses all over your face as soon as you answer him. "I love you so much, mi amor." He whispers. "I love you too, Alex." You hold his face with your both hands and give him a peck on the lips.

"We should start now, you know?!" He says and you laugh. "Ain't no fuckin' way, Alex. I have to finish my college and you have to propose to me first."

"Okay, it's fair. We should just..." He kisses your neck, putting himself on top of you. "Have a little train, then." You smile at Alex, kissing his lips. "I agree, baby." Alex kisses your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth as one of his hands roams through your body. "You're so hot." He whispers when he breaks the kiss to unbutton your pajama shirt, Alex can't help but suck one of your boobs as soon as he takes your shirt off, making you moan with the delicious feeling. "I love when you moan like this, amor." He whispers, his tongue on your nipple. "And I don't even started, mi vida." You whimper as you feel Alex fingers on your clit, the boy smiles when you close your eyes with the pleasure, the boy takes your panties off, the little yellow light of a little battery powered lamp lightens your naked body. "So beautiful and all mine." He whispers and kisses your neck, Alex groans as you rub your cunt against his hardened cock. "Take your clothes off, 'Lex. It's unfair to have you all dressed." You whisper, Alex smiles and obeys you, taking his shirt, underwear and pants. "Are you happy now, princess?!" He asks you. "Not yet, you know?!" You say, suggestively, and he laughs. "Let me just..." Alex slides the condom on his cock and approach you, his dick on your entrance as he kisses your face. "Are you comfortable with these pillows?!" The boy asks. "Yes, don't worry." You answer, the boy kisses your lips as his dick enters on your cunt, making you both moan. "Feels so good, 'Lex." You whimper. "I know, amor, I kn-, shit." He groans against your neck and you moan. "I love you so much, Alex." You whisper and Alex smiles. "I love you so much, Y/N." The boy kisses your lips, his dick fucking the shit out of you, but his touches on your skin is so soft it's almost contradictory. "You're so beautiful, amor." He whispers and you smile. "You too, 'Lex." You kiss his lips. "So handsome." He smiles, his whines fill the tent just like your moans.

"I'm close, amor." He whispers and you nod. "Me too, 'Lex." You hug Alex as his hands touches your face, you both come together and he stops moving his hips, falling with his head on your chest. "I love you." He kisses your heart and you caress his black hair. "I love you too, baby." You kiss his head.

"Can I confess something?!" He asks after a couple of minutes. "Sure."

"I'm scared of... Uh, someone... Like, as you said before, appears here and kill the both of us." He whispers and you laugh. "Unbelievable, Alex."

"I'm sorry, amor, but I don't want to die!" He says and you smile. "You're so cute, you know?!"

"Uhm... Amor, please, can we sleep on my car?!" He asks and you nod. "Sure, baby. We can leave to our home too, if you want to."

"Uh, it'd be nice, but I'm tired to drive." He says and you nod. You both get up and Alex undo the tent, you try as much as you can to make the back of his car comfortable for the both of you and as soon as you lay down with your head on Alex's chest, you want to sleep. "Good night, mi vida, I love you so much."

"Good night, my dear. I love you too." You whisper to him and hug him tighter.

You both slept like two angels in heaven, and thank God none serial killer appeared to kill you both as Alex feared.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy the writing! :)

Requests are open!

#quackity #qsmp #qsmp brazil #quackity imagines #qsmp brasil #quackity x reader #alex quackity #quackity imagine #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #quackity fanfic #quackity fluff #quackity headcannons #quackity smut

[alice-after-dark]

A Twist on the Standard RadioStatic

Not gonna call this a headcanon just yet, but it's a concept that has been swimming around in my brain.

Standard RadioStatic tends to go something like this: Alastor and Vox were friends, Vox caught feelings and confessed to Alastor, Alastor rejected him and fucked off for 7 years, Vox is now bitter and obsessed (insert details and personal preferences as you will).

Now while I typically think the falling out was both their faults (see this post), I have read some fascinating takes on alternative ideas to this norm and it has given me some thoughts (I am sure this is far from original, but screw you I'm having fun).

TW for abusive relationships, possessive/controlling behavior, victim blaming, and other canon-typical triggers. Contains abusive StaticMoth.

So imagine...it's Alastor who catches feelings. And he has no idea what to do with them. All he really understands is that he likes being around Vox and dislikes being away from Vox and he GREATLY dislikes anyone else showing any interest in Vox (more than one Sinner has been devoured for such a daring offense). He does not enjoy these feelings, no thank you sir. They make him confused and flustered and off balance and that is simply unacceptable. Of course this is Alastor, so he doesn't really process that what he's feeling is love. It translates more into a possessiveness in his mind. As far as he's concerned, Vox is his. What that means...best not to think too hard on it. It's hardly an issue anyways, with Vox always by his side like an excited puppy.

Until he's not.

Valentino slithers his way into the picture and this makes Alastor furious. Valentino is everything he hates; he's abusive, chauvinistic, disrespectful, and utterly full of himself. He can't stand that Vox is giving this walking shit stain the time of day. Vox learns very quickly not to bring up the moth demon around Alastor because he can fucking feel the hostility coming off Alastor in waves whenever he does (he doesn't understand why, of course. Val is perfectly charming to him. Okay, so maybe he loses his temper every once in a while every other fucking day and says some nasty things but he always apologizes...). And fuck forbid they are ever in the same vicinity. Vox has had to come between them on more than one occasion to stop a fight from breaking out. This of course only makes Alastor even more hostile because why is Vox protecting that wretched excuse for a demon? These encounters usually end with Alastor angrily taking his leave of both of them for the rest of the day. He ignores that so very loud part of his mind that protests leaving Vox alone with Valentino.

The breaking point comes when Alastor sees Vox's cracked screen for the first time.

Vox insists it was an accident, that Valentino didn't mean to. They just got into a small argument and Val can get pretty animated when he's upset and he didn't mean to shove Vox like that and it was Vox's fault anyways for continuing to push when he knew Val was mad he should have just given him space and Alastor is not listening anymore. He's heard this song and dance before. He's seen it played out before his very eyes. He will have none of it and WHY THE FUCK WILL VOX NOT JUST LET HIM KILL THIS FUCKING MOTH?!

Alastor loses his shit. He goes on a tirade about Valentino. This is not the mere hostile exchange of barbs Vox has seen between them before. This is pure unadulterated vitriol. Vox always knew that Alastor and Val didn't get along, but Alastor has never once let him see this absolute hatred he has been harboring for the moth demon. He has never seen Alastor's demeanor break like this before. He flat out demands Vox to never see Valentino again. They start to argue. Vox doesn't understand what is happening.

"Why the fuck do you think you get a say in who I'm friends with?!"

"B̃ͦͧEC̸͎ͯ̓̀Ą̨̼̠ͧ͜͝U͉̟͎̔ͩS͐E Y̢̦͂O̸͖U͗'̿ͮͪ̒̐_R͎͗̉̒Ḙ̑ M̵͔̱͂́ͭI̳N̯̲̝ͯ̄E̳̤͎ͯ̓ͬ͜!͙̪"

"I'm...what the fuck?!"

Because Vox doesn't understand what Alastor is saying. Fuck, Alastor doesn't understand what he's saying. He just wants Vox as far away from Valentino as possible and Vox is just not listening. Why won't he fucking listen?! And then it click with Alastor what he just said to Vox and the panic starts to set in and he feels vulnerable and exposed and he's not even sure why but he doesn't like it and it needs to stop now so he does what Alastors do best. He attacks the cause of those feelings.

He starts mocking Vox. Viciously. Goes for every weak point, every crack, every loose thread. He tears into him, shredding him down and spitting out the refuse. Did Vox really think he cared about him? That he was special? That he was ever anything more than a source of amusement? How fucking hilarious.

Vox attacks him and the rest is very messy history.

TLDR Alastor basically confessed in a very Alastor way because what are feelings and well fuck he's eating them, then panicked and proceeded to handle his vulnerability in a very Alastor way, Vox took what he said at face value and did not react well to being insulted, and Alastor took it as a rejection (even though he didn't entirely understand that that's what he was feeling).

#hazbin hotel #radiostatic #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #alice rambles #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #staticmoth

[ataraxiaspainting]

Can you write for black swan as a yandre?

Lovers Forever, Until The World Falls Down.

Yan Black Swan x F Reader.

Synopsis: Her tarot cards are just as well used to predict the past as they are to predict the future.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, major spoilers for Honkai: Star Rail 2.0 and 2.1 Updates, implied stalking, and mentions of violence/character deaths.

Word Count: 1.3k.

*~*~*~*

When Black Swan’s eyes first lay upon you, she has multiple impressions of you.

The Remembrance has caused her to have manifolds of judgments, some lapses and others more thorough. But never once did the Remembrance ever cause her to be so deeply enveloped in someone that she would proudly showcase what Fuli has blessed her with.

She knows what you are, all of you. Your past, present, and future… all of it is seen within the eyes of the Garden of Recollection.

It is only natural for her to want you to know her as much as she knows you. With social creatures comes the need to connect. When it comes to Black Swan, her wants and her needs are equally important, and thus she has no need to separate them.

“What brings you to me, fair maiden? What ails you?”

The only sounds that arise from you are slight grumbles, and the only fresh sights she has of you are fading tear stains on your cheeks. As a response, she repeats her words softer this time, crosses one of her legs over the other, and rests her head on one of her gloved hands.

“I want…” You start, clenching your nails into your palms so deep they almost bleed. “To know the… thing that killed my friend, Memokeeper.”

In her other hand are a few of her beloved tarot cards, tucked so lovingly between her pointer and middle fingers. 

“Ah,” Black Swan lets out a sigh so gentle you do not hear it. “I presume you are speaking of Miss Robin?”

You nod, looking down at your lap as she lays out the cards in a simple, singular motion on the table.

“Who else would I be talking about?” Your tone is that of an angry hiss, but she knows it is not directed at her. For you, you two had only just met. But to her, with the powers that come with the followers of the Remembrance, it feels like she has known you your entire life.

Black Swan’s gaze is all-seeing, and nothing that is not in the dark can be unseen once she has seen it–even when she wishes it were otherwise, like that dance she had with that Galaxy Ranger.

She wishes now that perhaps she was dancing with you instead.

“Pick a card,” The Memokeeper requests, her now free hand gesturing towards the sight she had just made. “We’ll continue from there.”

“Why?”

She shakes her head slightly as she closes her eyes for a moment. From that expression on your face, she can tell that you have to stop yourself from scoffing at her. “Just trust me; I don’t mean any ill will towards you… and nor will I harbor any.”

“I’ve heard odd things like this about you, Miss Black Swan, but I didn’t think they would have been true.” She knows the comment is not an insult, but it is not a compliment either. “Do people blessed by the Remembrance always act like this? I’m… just curious is all.”

When you point to the card on the center’s right. “Are you planning to replace me already? I thought we were getting along quite well…” 

She turns over the card as her palm faces you, and that causes you to loudly gasp. 

“The Eternal Freeze… Jarillo-VI.”

She turns over the card on the center’s left without asking you to pick another. She stifled a chuckle.

 “Cocolia Rand. A Silvermane Guard trapped in what looks to be a block of ice…”

One after the other, things are revealed. It is faster than either of you could catch your breath. It is faster than what you wanted it to go. It is not faster than the realization that hits when Black Swan connects all your memories into a perfectly completed puzzle.

“Stop it-”

“You have lost someone before, haven’t you?” She can imagine… no, presume, the suffocating atmosphere surrounding you, as you appear on the verge of gasping for air. “You couldn’t save them either… Am I right, Miss [First]?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t look angry anymore. Despite the venomous nature of her words, her tone manages to grow even gentler as she utters them.

“Despite everything you tried to do, you couldn’t save them… Who were they, if you don’t mind me asking such a thing, oh dear citizen of Belobog?”

You avert your gaze from her, once again opting not to respond. Black Swan patiently waits, arranging the cards in her hand to create a semi-circle. As a Memokeeper, she has acquired numerous lessons from the Remembrance, but the most valuable one is knowing the significance of patience.

The fingers that wrap around your own are both warm and freezing cold.

“My… partner.”

She tilts her head to the side, her lips pursing up into a kind smile. “Ah… I see… I didn’t know.” She lies. “I’m sorry for your loss. But… my apologies for saying this… if you couldn’t even save your partner from the blizzard, I believe you cannot avenge Miss Robin’s death.”

Your eyebrows simply furrow like she expected them to.

“For Peniconians, death is a grand illusion, a state of falsehood, something that is not supposed to exist within the Dreamscape… thus, something much more powerful than you or I or even the Family had to break the rules of the Harmony and become… well… Death.”

When Black Swan’s eyes look at new tears as they start to fall, she has only two impressions of you, the others fading away like an amnesiac’s memories.

“I don’t mean any harm when I tell you this. It is the truth, plain and simple.”

Her hand squeezes slightly against yours. Once again, you do not respond.

“You do not have to fight something you cannot defeat.” She scoots her chair slightly closer to your side of the table.

She is met by a few more moments of quietness before you ultimately choose to break the silence. “Her death will be in vain then. Just like theirs. I do not want to be a coward anymore.”

Another sigh escapes her lips, and once again it is not out of exhaustion but rather curiosity.

Her grin remains unwavering, just as she had taught herself to. “You were never a coward in the first place, dear.”

Black Swan continues to move her chair quietly, but not at all subtly, until your thighs touch hers.

“I really won’t be able to… at least help the Family?” You ask. “I am really not… useful?”

“You’re useful in other ways to the people you love and trust, and those who reciprocate.” Her initial judgment is that you require safeguarding from the dangers of the world. It is in your best interest, her best interest, to remain inside a safe and small space, as there is a risk of you inadvertently harming yourself while attempting to assist others.

“Am I?” You mutter, clasping your hands together. “Am I… really? People… really like me?”

She affirms with a slight movement of her head.

Black Swan's second opinion of you is that you pose too great of a risk to be released, as it would result in her being left alone without any chance of ever seeing you again.

It is selfishness that prevents her from showing the two remaining cards, both hidden elsewhere. One of which has the depiction of you dead, and the other has you smiling proudly as she watches from afar in hiding.

The Remembrance has taught Black Swan how to be many things, but it is Black Swan who has taught herself how to be selfish.

#i can fix her i swear #yandere #yandere x reader #aya abstractions #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere hsr #yandere black swan #yandere black swan x reader #black swan x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #300 followers event

[tubbytarchia]

Hey so I've been thinking about your x-life post and Jimmy violently murdering chickens cause I remembered he did that in evo too and I am also really curious as to why so I did some digging and basically In evosmp episode 4 (8:12) Jimmy says “I have a thing about killing chickens” which Martyn responds to with “You get a little trigger happy around them don’t you”. So ok clearly there's something weird with chickens here (this is around the 11th of October 2017 by the way) Now in a stream on the 29th of August 2017 someone calls him a chicken murder in chat, mentioning place race. So ok what is place race? It's a series where Jimmy and Netty race to get a certain item / block in like a continuous world (so each episode is a new block but they make progress in the world as they go) (I think I only skimmed a video) Anyway here Netty has a chicken she names Jimmy which Jimmy kills because Netty is like implying Jimmy doesn't exist saying she doesn't know anyone named Jimmy. (Place race season 2 episode 4, 2:02). Netty in the next episode pranks Jimmy as revenge for this (at least I hope it's for this) (this is around the 31st July, 2017) So basically I think that this moment happened and then people started calling him a chicken murderer so he started murdering chickens. Cause I mean then in episode 6 of place race he says that a chiken party calls for making chicken nuggets. (14th August 2017) Before this he's normal about chickens before this, for example in another stream Netty mentions they're the best mob to be in some hypixel minigame and Jimmy just says "yeah and cats" (paraphrased).

This might make me look a little insane I did just search chicken in YouTube transcripts and then sort from old to new to find out when he started being like this.

Wow ok. So the chicken hatred IS tied to his image in some form. It started from a joke implying he didn't exist, as if he's that unimportant... Netty was just joking for sure and I don't hold anything against her but in hindsight... the themes match up... My friend pointed to a moment where he was compared to a chicken (derogatory) which I can't imagine helps but that was way after X Life. The day he embraces his rancher self and consistently cares for chickens is the day that he can start to care for himself too... sorry what yeah we're both insane

#blabber

[idontwantmyfollowerstofindthis]

I'd like to see you explore more on the topic of the Dol swap Au you made a post about!! I'm interested on what you think on how they'll act or interact with the Pc :D!!

I've done kylar and sydney so far!!! Here's the sketches before mom got my computer again and info will be under cut for convenience

I can say that overall my writing has more light-hearted comedy approach and this au is silly fun so uhh don't be harsh please

Sydney the i guess still faithful i couldn't think of new title

They're much more socially awkward than the original, considered to be weird by most of the school. Basically they see pc as some kind of divine being and that is basis for their obsession with you. There's two ways to go about their delusion: either you play into it and thus you become their reincarnation of god, your words become gospel and any of your action is left unquestioned because well you're more than human, you afford it. In this relationship Sydney couls break their arm on command or kill someone just because you said. Or if you don't like some religious fanatic audibly breathing heavily behind book stalls thinking they're being sneaky - you could try to deny your saintness which will leave Sydney questioning their thoughts about you. Okay, you're special, but you're not angel fallen down from skies, then what the fuck are you? That's right - you're temptation sent from hell to test their faith! Sydney still is obsessed, but now for different reason - now you're some kind of demon in their eyes and they become more aggressive in rhetoric and actions. They might try to purify or punish you or some shit, let your imagination get it from here I'm bad at this kind of stuff. And at intimacy.

Kylar the occultist

Still is loser and bullying victim but is more nonchalant about it and it's overal less severe (Robin's bullying is more about social isolation). Their main quest for this au is finding out what the fuck has happened to their parents and trying tp infiltrate Auriga cult. They're studying black magic and are very superstitious. You can befriend them and participate in their investigation(i haven't tought about it this far tho). Your main enemy in wooing Kylar will be their abysmal self-esteem and impostor complex. Kylar sees you as friend and won't do something to advance your relationship even if they themselves have feelings for you so it up to you whether confess feelings or keep things simple. You decide yeah i want to bang Kylar, they'll be in denial, like

- kylar i like you

-....no you don't???? have you seen me, why would you do that to yourself :(

After that you'll need some time to convince them otherwise and boom you get to date a beginning witch(as in gender-neutral occupation). You can also interact with their parents more and hang out in manor without being kidnapped.

So there's i guess part one of au lore, in part two I'll be re-writing whitney and robin and then i hope i couls expand more about these dipshits' relationships to each other. Not gonna lie i gave most of my thoughts to whitney since they're such an insufferable fuck and i really wanted to turn them into something decent but yeah for now that's kinda it

#swap au #dol #dol kylar #kylar the loner #dol sydney #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #fanart #i need tag for text posts #i need ask tag #degrees of lewdity

[notallthoseinheadspace]

Little hurt/comfort speculative post-canon TBB piece since I suspect canon is going to be all hurt.

Echo and Tech talk out their time under enemy control. PG, Gen.

CWs: PTSD, panic attacks, grief, mentions of injury

STRONGER

“It doesn’t get better if you don’t talk about it, you know.”

Snarling, Tech whirled around, unaccustomed anger biting under his skin. “You don’t - ah.” Wincing, he ducked his head and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the lights flickering to life across the island as he pushed his repaired goggles up to rub at the scars that spiderwebbed across his face. “Apologies, Echo. I did not realize it was you speaking. And, if you will forgive the insensitivity of the statement, it is… easy to forget that you were once The Algorithm.”

“Really,” Echo answered drily, gesturing to himself with his scomp link. Tech shrugged, slipping his goggles off entirely and letting them dangle from his wrist as he rubbed at his scars further.

“To me, you are as I have always known you, simply in better health than when we… initially met.”

“When you unplugged me from a cryo-tube I was wired into being forced to calculate plans to kill as many of my brothers as possible, you mean.”

“Well… yes.” Wincing, Tech slid down to sit against the sun-warmed paving stones, propping his back against the wall. After a moment, Echo settled beside him, close enough to very gently knock their shoulders together.

“I am aware that discussion of traumatic events can help reduce their psychological impact,” Tech began hesitantly, staring down at the goggles he was restlessly twisting in his hands rather than looking at Echo. “However, that would first require me to have a greater understanding of both my own prior psychological state and recall the conditioning I was subjected to on Tantiss, which I do not, and also comprehend why Crosshair was immune to such conditioning when I was not, and-”

The frantic, ever-hastening tumble of words was halted by Echo’s hand gripping his shoulder, giving him the lightest of shakes - everyone was treating him as though he was fragile, now, as though his scars had not healed.

“Tech, breathe.”

Tech sucked in a deep breath, then winced and coughed weakly, one hand rising to rub at the starburst scar high on his left pectoral, the bacta patch on it not entirely removing the pain. Perhaps everyone’s current treatment of him was not unwarranted.

Echo kept the hand on his shoulder, the gentle grip grounding, until Tech’s breathing had regained a more normal rhythm, and for several minutes they sat in silence, watching the moon-yos scampering about in the trees.

“I don’t imagine Crosshair’s going to use his rifle again,” Echo said softly, apropos of apparently nothing, and Tech exhaled sharply with another wince.

“I am certainly fortunate to have survived. A direct hit from a Firepuncher rifle bolt, particularly one modified as Crosshair’s has been, would typically result in death regardless of the quality of one’s armor.”

“I don’t think he’s ever been grateful to have missed a target,” Echo remarked, “even if you did pop up and declare ‘Crosshair, you missed,’ you little shit.”

“It was an accurate observation! I have not known Crosshair to miss a target without injury being involved, and I was unaware of his tremor at the time, so I had no basis for comprehending such a phenomenon! Also, I did not ‘pop up’ - ”

“No, you stayed down long enough to give all of us heart attacks, because your damn helmet fell off - ”

“I do not understand what the - truly inadequate, I might add - state of the Empire’s armor has to do with inducing myocardial infarctions in the squad - ”

“ - and we saw your face on the assassin Crosshair had just shot - ”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“….he would not be the first of us to kill a clone,” Tech said softly, leaning a little more heavily against Echo’s shoulder. “I would not, in fact, even be the first clone he had killed, and I was willing to give my life to ensure the survival of the squad previously. His actions were objectively correct, even if he had been aware of my identity at the time.”

“If he’d been aware of your identity, he never would have taken the shot,” Echo countered, shifting enough for his head to rest ever-so-gently against Tech’s.

“Not taking the shot would have been illogical. I was a threat to the lives of the squad at the time.”

“Feelings aren’t logical or objective, Tech.”

“I am aware, which is why they are often difficult for me to process. I am struggling to even categorize the emotions my experience as a CX-trooper have left me with, although I have identified guilt, inadequacy, anger, resentment, and what I believe to be grief. I was unable to resist the programming as Crosshair was, despite having been deliberately engineered for my intellect, for the strength of my mind, while Crosshair, who was created to - to shoot accurately - was able to resist the entirety of the reconditioning, and to escape Tantiss with Omega’s help, while I was so fully under the command of our enemy that I not only destroyed our home, I returned our sister to them!”

His voice had been steadily rising throughout, and it shattered into sharp gasps on the last words, prompting Echo to turn and gently pull Tech against his chest, wrapping him gently in an embrace and rocking them gently from side to side, stroking Tech’s hair as the other clone trembled against his chest.

The moon had fully risen by the time Tech’s breathing slowed again and he drew back slightly from Echo’s embrace, turning so that he was resting with his shoulder against Echo’s chest and his head tucked under his chin.

“I should have been stronger.”

“You were plenty strong, Tech.”

“Echo, I am aware you have not been present for significant portions of my - ”

“Tech. I can read a damned report whether I was present for something or not. And I’m not focused on what you did, I’m focused on what you didn’t do.”

“…please elaborate.”

“You landed the charges on the Marauder while Wrecker and Gonky were outside of it and gave them time to get clear, rather than blowing it up with them inside. You didn’t shoot Hunter, you shot down the pilot of the ship he was trying to hijack and let him swim away. You scared the civilians here, but you didn’t hurt any of them.”

“I killed numerous members of Rex’s team on Teth.”

“Do you want me to tell you how many deaths I’m responsible for? Because I’ve calculated that, you know. Should I have been stronger?”

“Echo, our situations were completely different and comparing them would be pointless. Furthermore, you were not deliberately mutated specifically to have a significantly increased intellect which should have offered immunity to - ”

“Have you considered that it wasn’t intellect that protected Crosshair?”

“Clearly it was not a matter of his intellect, as mine did not… ah.”

“He didn’t outsmart it, he out-stubborned it.”

“That hypothesis seems entirely reasonable, yes. However, I shall not endeavor to test it.” Wincing, Tech sat up slowly, bracing himself on one of Echo’s knees to rise to his feet, then offering a hand down, which was calmly accepted.

When they were both standing, Echo jostled their shoulders together gently. “So, feeling better?”

Tech blinked. “…somewhat, yes, thank you.”

“Anytime, brother.”

FIN

Short and kinda bad but I just needed them talking it out and Echo being his good ori’vod self. Tech is Not Coping Well and needed a hug.

The initial idea of this had less talking and Cody was there at the end telling them they both now understood how regs felt after Order 66, but that version failed to materialize when I got to my keyboard.

#the bad batch #TBB #tbb season 3 #tbb speculation #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb fanfiction #sw tbb #fanfic

[byooregard]

drama that I think happens in xaviers school for gifted youngsters. imagine this all as like some sort of yikyak posts im too lazy to format it

"guys living in the west wing isn't that bad you just hate people with mutations that aren't easy to hide and control" "okay but as a telepath the psychic vibes coming from there are sooo hard to be around. I'm always hearing the screams of untold millions coming from one of the rooms (not naming names) and I had to move out because I couldn't sleep"

"why are there so many day students this semester like seriously if your mutation is small enough you can still live at home why are you taking up space from people who *actually* need it" "hey as a day student I got kicked out of three public schools before coming here so maybe you should stop assuming things"

"tbh im just waiting until i get my high school degree and then I'm joining the brotherhood of mutants" "um... aren't those guys terrorists?" "they're only labelled terrorists because society is mutantphobic and the government is so awful at protecting mutants that they have to take extreme measures to protect themselves. you should go out and see real activism instead of the useless shit the x men are doing" "hey guys can we not talk about this magneto killed my dad"

"have you seen some of the new kids here lately. if I didn't know better I'd think they were baselines tbh like nobody cares anymore if your mutation is enhanced strength or cognition go back to public school" "my mutation is my massive cock and balls ;)"

"has anyone actually taken a class with wolverine??? hes always here but i never see him on the course listing??? what does he even do??" "hes the art teacher obviously"

"party tonite in the annex BYOB" "isn't that where the couple with a baby lives???"

"how can someone be a telepath if they can't read minds?? isn't that an oxymoron??" "telepath is an umbrella label that encompasses a lot of thought-based powers--some telepaths feel emotions more than thoughts, some are better at controlling minds than reading them, but a lot still call themselves telepaths because it's easier than listing all the specifics" "uhhh source??" "me? I'm an empathic telepath?"

#x men #x-men #x men movies #x men comics #cleb talky #mcu #marvel comics

[charmwasjess]

6, 13 and 18 (Dooku) for the fandom ask, please :D

6) Show us a bit of a WIP!

:D You get the Sifo + Dooku + Time Travel Piece that I'm "definitely" "not" "writing." Some Asajj + 20 year old Dooku team-up nobody asked for. Especially not Asajj. -

Asajj studied him again, more appraisingly this time. He did look disconcertingly familiar.

Did Dooku have an heir that she’d never heard about? She’d clocked the boy as younger, what with all his naivete and whining, but now that she really looked at him… Nineteen? Maybe twenty years old? The age lined up disconcertingly well with Dooku’s first days as Count. A hereditary title, after all, passed from father to son. The idea of Dooku reproducing was nauseating, of course, though it was at least a little funny to imagine the former Jedi’s face upon being informed that House Serenno required his “gift” to ensure the bloodline’s survival.

But no. Why would House Serenno surrender an heir to the Jedi? She didn’t need to see the long braid to recognize that this was clearly one of their Padawan Learners; he reeked of a sheltered Temple upbringing. She could practically smell the refectory milk on his breath.

“Why do you want to be the one to kill Count Dooku so badly, anyway?” she asked, instead.

“He killed my best friend!” His voice broke on the word best, but his fury streaked, vibrant as a comet in the Force.

Asajj almost choked on her laugh. It was so melodramatic. Cliche. Like a line from an overwrought holonovel, spinning out in predictable plot hooks before her eyes. This Jedi child was pathetic. She ought to get them into space and send him to look for Dooku out the airlock. It seemed like it would save her and the Jedi both a lot of trouble.

She thought of her sisters.

Vengeance. Thick and sweet and tangy, like spoiled cream clinging to her tongue. It belonged to her, but no less to the others whose lives Dooku had crushed out for no better reason than because he could. She was here to glut on the Count’s blood. Who was she to deny this hungry child his own right to the feast? Dooku made a big corpse. There was plenty for all.

“Do you know how to sit down and shut up?” Asajj turned briskly to the ship controls. They had already wasted too much time.

“Yes.” A lie. She could tell that without even looking at him.

“Yes, what?” She prompted, glancing back. Maybe she just wanted to hear him try to call her “my lady” in that ridiculous, overformal Coruscanti accent of his.

He swallowed audibly, clearly uncertain. He glanced again at the twin lightsabers at her waist and seemed to decide. “Yes, Master.”

Asajj couldn't help the small, startled laugh that broke from her chest. That hadn’t been what she was expecting. No one had ever called her that. She felt surprised at the strength of her own reaction. Perhaps this would actually be amusing. At least, for a little while.

“What is your name?”

“My name?”

Asajj rolled her eyes. “You have a name? Or should I just refer to you as ‘idiot’?”

She watched his hesitation, saw those big, guileless brown eyes drift and refocus. Black fucking stars, he lied artlessly, like a child.

“Sifo-Dyas. My name is Sifo-Dyas.”

13)What's a character or ship you haven't written/drawn yet but would like to some day?

I know I went backwards here writing the most unknown/unpopular character in the series with Sifo-Dyas to the most popular, but I'd really like to spend a little bit more time with Obi-Wan. He's got a large role in the next chapter of Twelves Months to Murder Count Dooku and I'm really excited. I really like the character. Kenobi changed something for me about him.

18) Type [charater]'s name and tell us what the autocomplete suggests as the next word

Lolol. "Dooku FOUGHT." "Dooku only" and "Dooku Nu" were other suggestions. Yeah, that really says it all. No notes, google.

#such a fun ask thank you so much Ant!!! #don't worry too much about Sifo-Dyas in the WIP he's just off playing with his clones #and Dooku fought Dooku only and Dooku Nu are my three main ways to write Dooku after all #answered asks #time travel au #why is that a tag I have now someone stop me