☆ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

Bye, I just realized I spelt soldier wrong 💀..this is embarrassing. 😭

Heathers (1989)

“Only for you” - Jason Dean x Fem!reader

Jason Dean x Fem!reader

“Our dirty little secret” - Heather Duke x Fem!reader

🧣 christmas cookies for two...

a/n: ITS THE FIRST OF DA MONTH, Christmas is in 19 more days. I have been waiting since January of last year, but as we all know it's just that time for Christmas fics.

warning: none, just fluff. (proofread)?

pairing: tom blyth x fem!reader

word counter: 416

⛄: Imagine spending Christmas with Tom Blyth, it would be magical, making snow angels with him with the freshly coated snow on the grass and everything sparkling with the snowy, white powder.

Even making a snowman and a snowwoman, and decorating them together. A hat, scarves, carrots, and rocks for the eyes and mouths, you and him standing back looking at the little cute snow couple that you two made together.

You, two just making those Pinterest-like hot chocolates with those little tiny marshmallows, candy canes, and whipped cream. Making cookies with him, like the both of you just making a mess in the kitchen, while trying to make gingerbread cookies. Homemade icing on your nose and his, as you two just continued to make a mess, trying to bake these cookies playful manner.

Going ice skating, the thick sheet of ice being carved with the blade, you holding onto his hand as your blade glides through the ice. Not without falling a few times first, before getting the hang of it. His hands holding, supporting you on the ice. Omg, sledding with Tom would be so fun too, climbing up a hill, and putting down the wooden sled on the tip of the hill, Tom hugging your body close to him as you guys go down the bumpy hill with the snow spraying you both.

Watching a bunch of movies, with many blankets, and pillows surrounding you both as you cuddled tight together watching cheesy hallmark movies. With the gingerbread cookies, you guys baked, some chocolate cookies, and hot chocolate with marshmallows.

—Also going tree shopping would be a core memory, standing out in the cold as your eyes brightly turn up in joy at the perfect tree you scouted, hurriedly getting tom attention. "Tom! Look!" You exclaimed, pointing at the medium-sized tree, "It's perfect" You smiled..."This is the tree, right!" He stood there beside you, and you nodded happily. "Alright," he gave you a smile, making your day.

Decorating the evergreen tree now standing in your shared apartment would be a core memory as well. With the red and white ornaments, and the glowing tree lights make the tree look magical, just missing the golden sparkling star. Tom helps you onto his shoulders, as you place the golden star onto the tree, completing the look wonderfully. Putting a smile on your face and his, you clapped your hands excitingly at the tree.

Ending off your perfect Christmas night with a kiss underneath the mistletoe.

✢ Hot Secretary

A/N: Thank you, guys, for 883 votes, I am so surprised how many votes were cast in the polls. Sorry for the fic taking so long, and also make sure to drink water. <3

WARNING: p in the v, unprotected sex, cheating, oral sex implied, creampie, affairs. [may be deemed as dark content]

PAIRING: President! Coriolanus Snow x secretary! reader

WORD COUNTER: 1.8k

+ TAGS: @wildcatglove13

Working for President Snow wasn't an easy task or job. You had to make sure that the president was on top of his tasks and ran errands for him, after all, he was running a country of Panem. A large population that needed dot be governed by someone with good skills and attributes such as President Snow.

It came with copious amounts of paperwork and documents that needed to be filled, checked, and printed. And aside from the tedious amount of labor, the pay checked out.

But lucky for you, you managed to land the job. It wasn't a brainer to impress your employer with someone of your talent and skill. You were currently sitting at your desk, your well-manicured nails typing down onto the keyboard, reading as you wrote.

Black letter filling out the blank white document in front of you. Along with exceptional skills, you also have the upper hand with your attractiveness, curvaceous silhouette, and beautiful face, though it is always stained with a serious expression. Your eyes were hidden underneath your Bayonetta glasses, reflecting the light of your computer. On top of it, you always wore a prim, proper white collar shirt, that was almost always 'too tight' holding your chest and wrapping perfectly over your stomach.

Leather pants that hugged your ass, and a stiletto on your feet. It was mostly the part that made him hire you, your looks.

Your hair was always perfectly styled and brushed. You were too busy typing away at the computer, the clicking of the keys ringing in your ears. Your beauty tends to seize Coriolanus' attention, his eyes focus on your meticulous form, if it wasn't your face, it was your bosom in your tight shirt. He would always see a strict expression on your face along with a cold demeanor, coming into his office, and delivering important documents with a monotone voice.

You would always catch him looking when you turned yourself around or picked up papers, his eyes getting a better look at your ass in your tight leather pants. You weren't dumb or too oblivious to take account of his actions, you simply disregarded them.

Simply minding your business as you made yourself busy. You worked for the Snows for about a few months now, knowing the marital problems faced by President Snow and the First Lady were hidden from the public. You learned and noted the habits of Mr.Snow cheating on the first lady, Livia Cardew. She knew as well too, but you only ignored it, it wasn't a surprise knowing that the whole marriage was arranged, but you couldn't help to have a little altruism when you overheard her crying.

But you minded your business walking away, the sounds of your heels clicking on the delicate tile floor. After all, it wasn't your job to know or advise... You were a secretary, not a therapist.

It was a regular day, clocking into the Snow's household, walking around and checking in the employees, with a clipboard in your hand, making note of certain things. Coriolanus from afar gazed at you, ignoring the wedding band on his finger, which he carelessly wore, examining at your body in the skirt you wore. The thoughts of temptation ran through his mind.

Hearing the sound of shoes on the floor, looking to the side, "Mr.President" You greeted formally, "L/N " he responded back, before stopping at your side, "Are there any updates?" He asked, "No, Sir" You looked up at him, before looking down at the clipboard. He leaned towards your ears, "I need you in my office" he whispered, and you nodded, your eyes flickering back at the emoplyees you were once speaking to. Before putting the clipboard between your arms, and following him.

Your heels clicked on the flooring as you walked into the office, standing near his desk, and you watched him close the door behind him, sitting down in front of you. "You called, Sir?" you questioned, "Yes, I did" He respond, "I just wanted to congratulate you— ..and your work here" he began talking, "Thank you, sir" you responded to the compliments nonchalantly.

"Y/N" he glance at your standing figure, "Yes, sir?" you answered,

"Do you have a significant other" he questioned, you felt your cheeks getting red at the personal question making Coriolanus chuckle from your antics. You cleared your throat, "No sir, why?"

He got up and circled around you, you watched.

"I was just wondering—the way you dressed seemed like you had someone you were waiting for" he mumbled, you pursed your lips.

Standing in the center of the office, before feeling his body leaning over your backside, feeling his hard-on on your ass. Parting your lips, you eyed as his hand covered yours, his breath tickling your ears.

"Did you think I wouldn't get distracted with you in that skirt" He whispered, he started grinding himself on your ass. "Sir-" you mumbled, his hands fondling your body, his teeth nipping your skin, slowly bending you over on the desk.

"President Snow-" you panted, feeling yourself getting wet underneath your clothing. His finger was dangerous getting closer to your panties, "Get on the desk" He said, before withdrawing, feeling the weight of him off your body. As you obeyed getting on top of the desk, your skirt hiking up your thighs. His hands splayed on your thighs, before pushing you down onto the desk, raising your legs up in the air.

You felt the weight of his eyes on your body, your ears ringing out the sounds of your tights tearing, revealing your damp panties. Before he yanked it off, the cool air of the office hit your cunt, a moan slipping out from your lips.

"President-" you whimpered, "Call me Coriolanus, dove" the sound of his belt unbuckling made you weak. You peek down at the bulge in his boxers. "Coriolanus, please" You mewl, "I didn't know the secretary was a little slut" He teased, rubbing the back of your thighs, pushing them against your chest. Before taking out his cock from his boxer, looking away from the lewd scene.

Slapping his cock on your pussylips, you whimpered. "Your fucking desperate aren't you" he laughed at your miserable display, your cheeks red, your hands on the backside of your thighs, raising your legs up into the air. He wanted to take a picture of your erotic display. He slid his cock into you, pushing himself deep into your pussy. You bent your back at the pain recoiling in your system. His cock stretches you open, biting your lip at the pain.

His hips smacked into yours, his cock massaging your inner walls, his animalistic pace, as his cock bullies itself into your cunt. God, the way you looked underneath him looked like it was straight from porno, it made Coriolanus smile at the sight.

A once serious and reserved women, crumbling under his touch.

Coriolanus fingers popping the buttons of your collar shirt, revealing your black bra underneath the light layer. His hands massaging your mounds, the very ones that tempt him underneath your tight collar shirt. Moaning from the single touch as he rubs your peaks harshly, forcing his cock into as he snapped his hips into you.

His hands gripping on your jaw, forcing you into a kiss. Feeling his tongue exploring your wet cavern, moaning against his assault.

Locking your legs around his waist, feeling yourself slipping into the pleasure. Your eyes heavy, the temperature of your body rising. Gripping your fingers on the edge of the wooden desk, feeling yourself coming undone. Your ears perking up at the groans slipping from his lips, his hands holding the sides of your stomach, snapping his hips into you.

"Wait—" you yelped, feeling him emptying himself inside you, the warm liquid painting your walls white. Before he pulled out of you, his cock coated mixed cum.

You cringe at the sticky sensation between your thighs, as his cum dripping from you. Looking between your legs at the sticky mess, "Fuck" Coriolanus muttered, his eyes flickering to your limp display as he tucked himself into his briefs. He smoothed out his hair, before throwing you a was of cash. "Buy some birth control pills, I don't want another one running around" he groans.

You weren't lying if you said you were shocked but only nodded to his words, and got up from the desk. The cum leaks out as you slip your panties on and your skirt. You wondered how many women he did that to, not just you, fixing up the buttons to your top and walking out of his office. Though days from the incident, you still worked and completed papers, still typing away on the screen in front of you, but time again it happened.

More times than he buried himself into you, fucking you on his desk or between his legs sucking on his cock with your plump lips.

He would leave little gifts on top of your desk, with expensive jewelry inside, with a letter from him. Opening a letter with your manicured nails with dainty words from him and faux promises inside, even if you were to accept his words, it wouldn't be possible because of his wife. Putting the letter face down and staring at the gift bag with the luxurious brand etch on it.

You plainly ignored it, going back to daily tasks. And time again when you went out with Coriolanus to satisfy his pleasure, it would be meeting at one of his expensive penthouses or a lavish hotel, it was the same thing, time and time again, with him on you and touching you in places a married man shouldn't do to other women. It wasn't a surprise being Coriolanus's little secretary and him screwing up during hours or after. The affair wasn't hidden from the employees inside the Snow's manor, and it wouldn't be a surprise that the First Lady knows it.

But more of a surprise if she confronts her husband about his infidelity.

Looking at the computer screen you typed away, your ears perking up at the sound of heels on the tile floors, the steps echoing and bouncing around the walls of the west side of the manor. Looking up at the sound, you weren't surprised by the appearance of the First Lady. "Mrs Snow " you greeted blankly. An expression of fear, anger, and disgust printed on her face, "Where is the president?" She asked holding her hands to herself, "He's in a meeting" You answered, the answer seemed like something she wasn't looking for.

"I'll tell him that you came to see him—"

"No..he isn't in a meeting is he?" you heard her voice getting louder and enraged at every word that came out of her lips, "The President doesn't like anyone knowing where he is, he enjoys his privacy" You answered her coolly,

"He probably fucking one of his whores—and you are one too, aren't you, Y/N" You finally stopped typing and lifted your eyes from the computer screen, "Like I said, Mrs Snow, the president like his privacy.." you fully looked at the teary women in front of you,

"-And I prefer not to tell you about mine—I'll tell him that you stopped by, Mrs. Snow" The sentence leaving your lips was the final nail of the coffin for her, as she broke down onto the floor, her wails echoing around the manor. You stared at her weepy form before you called maids to escort her away, you wouldn't lie to say you did feel bad for her.

But you are just Coriolanus's little secretary nothing else, not a counselor, or an advisor just a cumdump for him and only him.

You squeezed your thighs feeling his warm cum leaking out from you as you stared at the First Lady getting escorted in front of you.

only his cumdump...and nothing else

A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their stage names, either."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple. Something easy, yet not so simple.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

Did I do this right 🤌

Bruh

why is nobody talking about how Rick Riordan ended Bianca in the same book she was introduced in.

IN THAT DAMN GOLDEN ROBOT 👹

Wattpadd couture 💀😂😂

Can I ask for a enemies-to-lovers with the spider kids x white fem! reader?

y/n giggled as her blonde hair was flowing through the wind, tucking a piece behind her ear before pulling it up into a messy bun. "im so happy!" her blue eyes close as she laughs in a way thats not like other girls

Me when Annabeth and Percy fell into Tartarus.