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indecisivemuch · 4 months ago

Note

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore.

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off.

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own.

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be.

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near.

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him.

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.”

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand.

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words.

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word.

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you.

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters.

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years.

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand.

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention.

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts.

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you.

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you.

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him.

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying.

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to.

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on.

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love,

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do,

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago.

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before.

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility.

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you.

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ��h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?”

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew.

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.”

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly.

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner.

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two.

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints.

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that.

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment.

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.”

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

-------------------------

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join my Luke Castellan taglist (or to remove yourself from)

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan #luke castellan fanfiction #pjo fic #pjo #charlie bushnell #pjo imagine #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #pjo series #friends to lovers #fluff #luke castellan fluff #indecisivemuch's requests done 📥

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hollisxwrites · 1 year ago

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could you write a percy x daughter of dionysus reader? 🧎‍♀️🙏🏼

lay all your love on me

AGED UP percy jackson x daughter of dionysus! reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: inspired by the "lay all your love on me" scene in momma mia!, just take out the funny background dancers. pretty spicy, not fully on smut, but definitely some heavy making out and innuendos. underwater kissing, mention of underage drinking and the reader being a little bit of a troublemaker, some language, possibly can be seen as slightly angst at the beginning with some little bitty bit of jealously. i really like this one!

summary: the reader is bored on a beach day with her boyfriend, percy, so she decides to tease him a little bit, which ends up with her and her boyfriend making out on the ocean floor LMAO.

Laughter filled the air as my boyfriend, Percy, and I sprawled out on the beach of Camp. It was one of the rare days of peace we had at Camp, a beautiful, glorious, Sunday. Percy looked stunning, as always, the sun warming his freckled face, and the sea making his already perfect hair even curlier. His swim trunks, even though they had unicorns in shark onesies on them, clung to his figure perfectly. I took a sip of my champagne that we had managed to steal out of the cabinet that my dad kept near his desk, and I tried to pry my eyes away from Percy. He was chattering out about something that had happened with the younger campers the day before, watching the waves from his perch against a rock. I wanted to distract him from the mundane talk of camp, so I decided I would mess with the boy a little bit.

I stood up from where I sat near Percy and pulled off the oversized tee shirt that I had on over my swimsuit. The swimsuit was plum purple, and I knew Percy loved it, he made it abundantly clear every time I wore it. I stood near the water, about ten or eleven feet away from Percy when his conversation finally died down. “You look...beautiful, dear gods.” He choked out, his voice straining a little bit.

I smiled and adjusted my hair, so it framed my face. “Thank you, darling.” I took another swig out of my champagne flute and turned so my back was to Percy. Soon enough, just as I expected, Percy was beside me. He moved to put his hand on my lower back, but I swatted his hand away. I looked over and saw the little pout on his face, and knew my mission was already succeeding.

“I noticed you talking to Connor a lot yesterday, what’s that about?” Percy asked, his tone almost a little bitter, even though I could tell by his demeanor that he was joking with me.

I shrugged. “I lived in the Hermes cabin for a long time, Mr. D never wanted to claim me because he didn’t want to have to punish his own daughter. I used to get into a lot of trouble at Camp.”

Percy chuckled at this. “Oh, I know. What did Connor want, though? You guys don’t usually talk like that.”

“Don’t worry about it, Perc.” I looked him in the eye. “He was just asking me if I knew who had stable duties this week, since we both are in trouble with Chiron right now.”

Percy sighed, letting his eyes wander down my figure, which sent electric shock through my entire body. “Okay, I’m just not used to being so jealous. Any guy I see talk to you feels like a potential threat.” He moved closer to me, our fingers millimeters away from touching.

“You have no reason to be afraid of other guys. You know I’ve only ever had eyes for you. You have all my love.” I said, comforting the boy.

He nodded at this. “Sorry, I feel so possessive of you sometimes, you’re just so fucking beautiful, I know any guy would want to have you, but you’re mine.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “That’s why I love you so much, Perc. That is exactly how I am with you. I don’t want anyone else to even look at you.”

Percy leaned down a little bit, probably trying to kiss me, and I connected our noses, but never our lips. I moved away, pushing his muscular chest a little, and went to take a sip from the glass still in my hand. He smirked a little bit, finally catching onto the game I was playing with him. I set the glass down in the sand, and walked further into the water, thus further away from Percy. I flipped myself so I was facing him again. “Don’t go wasting your emotion, Perc. Lay all your love on me!”

He giggled, obviously getting the ABBA reference I was making here. “Okay, miss disco queen.”

I laughed, getting close enough to kiss him again. This time, just our top lips touch before I pull away and move back to the rock we were leaning against earlier. Perched again on the rock, I looked Percy in the eye. His eyes wandered once again to my figure in the swimsuit, but not in a way that made me uncomfortable, in fact, he made me feel so loved with his gaze. He moved towards me this time, and finally brought us together into a real kiss. My back pressed against the cool surface of the rocks, and I was fully immersed in the kiss. His hands went to my waist, pulling my chest flesh against his, causing my entire body to feel ignited by his touch.

He separated us, leaving me panting and my knees weak. “Two can play this game, disco queen.” He ran off into the water, diving into the depths of the salty sea.

“Not fair!” I shouted out after him, still trying to compose myself after the earth-shattering kiss we shared. Sure, as a Dionysus kid, I may have a lot of wit and a lot of charm, but I could not breath underwater like Percy could. Suddenly, I saw a mop of blond curls pop up from the water about half a mile into the distance. “Percy Jackson!” I yelled again.

I saw, or at least I thought I did, him flipping me off from the distance, and that made the desire in me to catch him even stronger. I hopped in the water and started to paddle my arms, quiet poorly, trying aimlessly to catch up with the boy. I felt a hand grab my calf, and I yelped as I was pulled into the water. I came face to face with Percy. I hated to say it, but he looked even more attractive underwater, if that was even possible. His lips met mine, once again, and due to his touch and manipulation of the water, I could breathe, ish. His hands gripped me, pulling me further down into the dingy water. Being underwater with Percy was always a thrill, especially when we were making out like this, tongues clashing and hands being nowhere and everywhere all at once. When he finally parted from me, both of us were panting like dogs. “Gods, I love you.”

I giggled, pressing a lingering kiss into his jawline. “I love you, too.”

He bit his lip as I continued to press kisses into his jaw, his neck, and eventually his collarbones. Maybe it was the champagne going to my head, or maybe it was my handsome boyfriend, but I had never been happier than I was in this moment. My kisses went lower and lower down his abdomen, and I’m sure what you can guess what happened next.

But, as they say, what happens in the ocean stays in the ocean, or something like that.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson show #percy jackson x you #percy jackson fluff #percy pjo #percy jackson imagine #percy jackon and the olympians

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hansolen · 1 year ago

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one more love song?

pairing ⇾ luke castellan x hades’ daughter reader (gendered stuff isn’t mentioned anywhere in the post so it can be read as gn)

word count ⇾ 3k

summary ⇾ luke is a simp, tries to confess, you guys share earphones and sit near the lake at night. the moon loves you 🫶

author’s note ⇾ so most of this is just happened to be written as luke admiring the reader rather than what i was actually going to go for, but i’m really happy with how it turned out :) hope you enjoy it as well 💌 wrote this all in one setting. when inspo hits.. it hits like a truck 🚛 this one is for my quiet people, and maybe a little self indulgent. guilty as charged your honour. no use of y/n.

you had a thing for luke castellan, and he had a thing for you too. it was no secret to anyone. but none of the other campers understood why you both preferred to dance around each other’s feelings rather than addressing them. even though everyone could feel the immense tension you both carried around whenever you were near each other, no one chose to mention it. it would be like taking a gun and pointing the muzzle right at ones own head — it was a death sentence really, hearing you both deny it. so they all just went along with ignoring it like you both pretended to do.

you were the daughter of hades, the king of the underworld and part of the trinity. that definitely added a little intimidation to your already mysterious aura. luke on the other hand was a possessive guy, even if he didn’t show it. sure, he was extremely confident, and even a little egotistical - yes, but all for the right reasons of course (as per him). but he was possessive nonetheless. that’s why it killed him inside each day that he couldn’t call you his, and himself as yours.

he really didn’t like anyone else approaching you with any unwanted intentions. though, don't get him wrong, he's well aware that you could protect yourself. hell, you could protect the entire camp just by yourself alone, but still — he felt a pang of jealously whenever some apollo’s kid talked with you for too long. or when your discussions with some guy from the hephaestus’ cabin were too long. he knew that you guys were just discussing your plans for some of their inventions and how you could help by designing their ideas into structural sketches. afterall, you were good with sketches, a hobby of yours, those from cabin 9 made sure to utilise to their fullest. even though he knew it all, he still felt some unwanted feelings swirl inside him.

he wanted to confess to you, oh he wanted to do that so badly. but he just didn't know how to.. you didn't seem the kind who’d like the usual route. for the sake of olympus itself - you didn’t even send him any signs, other than meeting back his longing gaze with just as much passion. he knew there had to be something between you two. there’s no way it could be all in his head.

but you — you never tried to make the first move, shit, you didn’t make any moves at all. and luke knows he’s a confident guy, he knows he’s amazing and all that glory speech he gives around to the new comers but oh you. you just make him rethink it all. he doesn’t know how to act around you - he feels so different around you.

as if you put some kind of spell on him that makes him loose this carefully handcrafted personality, his façade. and he's back to being the kid he was - just trying to prove himself somehow in some way. but at least you never abandoned him.. nor did you ever make him feel unwanted. unlike his.. his dad. he doesn’t need to impress you, you’ve made that clear with your actions. but still he - he really wants to.

𓇚

he recalls back when you still pretended to be unclaimed and stayed at the hermes cabin. though later on (like a whole month later) everyone found out that you knew your dad was hades and you shifted to the newly made hades cabin. it happened in such a funny manner where you stated it to the suprised chiron like it was just another fun fact about you. totally not some very critical and important information. camp half-blood having a kid of one of the three and not just any but of hades, who was always so adamant on not sending his kids to camp that the gods had an entire incident regarding it. but here you were.

anyway that’s not the point. he just really liked you and had felt a pull towards you since the beginning. he observed you from afar during your first few weeks at camp. when it was your third week at camp and you had developed the constant habit of staying up every night and sneaking out. he followed, ofcourse he was just being a good head counselor. afterall till you were in the hermes cabin you were someone he had to make sure followed the rules or whatever. he didn’t care for that much, he just wanted to know what you were always up to.

you always hid away by the time he followed you out. he had made sure that this week, this day, he’d finally follow you without you hiding away in the shadows. of course you weren’t dumb either. you could feel another shadow added to the ones you were controlling, and you felt like having a little fun with the castellan boy. so you let him follow you. (and luke found out about that fact weeks later, and safe to say he was annoyed that he wasn’t slick enough. though he got back on you, he showed you just how smooth he could be during sword fighting practice. spoiler: by the end of the match you were under him with a sword pressed on your neck and his smirk making you feel things.)

back to what happened on your third week at camp - as he followed you he realised you were headed towards the lake. oh so this was your favourite spot. he looked at you from afar, you looked breathtaking.

the moonlight shined on your figure sitting by the lake. you were probably listening to some music, since you had your earphones in.

he held his breath, he wanted to carve this scene in his memory forever. you truly looked like a goddess, the serene view and a serene beauty (you). a perfect combination indeed.

after giving himself some pep talk mentally and encouraging himself to actually go to you, he finally did. and oh boy was he glad he did - because that was the start of your friendship, and something more.

he still fondly remembers how you smiled when he finally came and sat beside you.

“finally came out of your hiding spot, castellan?” you said in a light tone. “you knew?” he asked suprised, but not really. “i know everything that goes in the shadows.” you said and smiled while taking off one earphone and handing it out to him. he took it gratefully.

that day you shared an earphone with him and in return took a piece of his heart with you.

that was the beginning of whatever the hell was going on between you and luke castellan. he understood later on what you had meant by the shadows comment when a week later you had casually revealed who your father was and shifted cabins, much to luke’s displeasure.

but you guys remained friends nonetheless and continued to keep each other company on moonlit nights.

𓇚

he still remembers when you first came to camp. you were so eerily quiet. your presence drew him to you like a moth to a flame. your eyes felt like they held galaxies and whenever you met his gaze he felt his heart could explode. though you didn't smile often, but oh god’s when you did grin at some stupid lame joke he made, or when something silly happened, he just found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with you.

though he notices. he notices how you keep your smiles to yourself and put a hand over your mouth whenever you do laugh. the reason? he truly doesn’t understand. because why in the world would you do that? you’re the most gorgeous being to have graced this earth, why would you not let him get addicted to your smiles and the sound of your melodious laughter which is sweet like nectar and has the warmth of ambrosia. as he knew it was a rare sight, he made sure to capture the memory to replay it in his head whenever he misses you.

you're so beautiful to him and your presence is so comforting. the deathly touch your aura carries has makes it all the more breathtaking. oh he's in it bad. he knows it.

𓇚

both your secret meet ups began increasing as weeks went by. you both talked about everything under the sun (or the moon, in your case). and even though you weren’t much of a talker when you were in groups during the day, luke felt glad that atleast when you were with him you spoke your heart out.

you made him feel so much at ease. even with all his responsibilities at camp and his plans.. and everything else that eats up his soul — in moments such as these, he feels like just another teenage boy. not the kid who got abandoned by his parents, not the teenager who had to protect his friends and had to prove something to the gods, not the head counselor and the greatest swordsman to have been in 300 hundred years, but just- just another teenage boy, a boy in love. oh he loved you. so much.

and that's why he decided he was finally going to confess to you tonight. he was going to set up a beautiful moment and hold your hand while looking in your eyes and confess how much he adores you and finally ask you to be his.

he felt a little nervous, which is so unlike him. c’mon, he has fought innumerable monsters and survived so many deathly quests, how is finally telling you what he’s been wanting to since forever making him more nervous than either of those situations? oh the things you do to him..

when he reached there you were already sitting near the lake at your favourite spot. as soon as he came closer, you turned your head towards him with a soft smile and said, “hey you” “hey me” he replied. he doesn’t miss the way you put an automatic smile on his face, as he sits beside you. you both sit in comfortable silence, your bodies making contact from the shoulders. neither of you move away, finding comfort in one another’s presence and touch.

being a demigod was.. anything but a normal experience to say the least. but finding someone who makes you feel.. more closer to the human part of yourself was something not everyone could find. but you both were so glad you did with one another.

as moments passed by, luke felt you lean your head on his shoulder. he relaxed into your touch as he looked down at your face to find your eyes closed. he knew you weren’t sleeping, just resting. he found himself forming a small smile as he looked at you.

then he started, “you know, i wanted to tell you something today.” you hummed in response waiting for him to continue. “i..” he felt his throat dry up. it’s always so easy to talk to you, so why is it that right now he feels unable to form words? your presence is always so calm and serene so why does his heart feel like it’s going a million miles per hour?

“hey.. hey look at me” you said in your calm voice as you softly held his face. he met your eyes, and oh he swears he could just get lost in the galaxy that lays within your eyes. you look at him with you sweet smile and say, “you can tell me anything, you know?” “i know.” his reply is almost immediate. you just smile at that “then go on”.

he closes his eyes to compose himself. he knows that he doesn’t need to pretend with you. but he also wants to tell you everything he feels for you and how you’ve taken all over his body, mind and soul. but he can’t formulate them into words. he just— “i love you too castellan.” “what” “what? you were trying to confess right? i only helped you.” you said smiling softly at him. “i.. well i..” he was dumbfounded. he had thought of so many ways this would probably go and the many ways he could say it but you.. you said it first.

“is that a pout?” you ask with a giggle. he feigns offense, “i do not pout.” “oh that was definitely a pout.” you teased. “it wasn't.” “oh it so was.” he rolls his eyes. “whatever. i just wanted to make it romantic or something i don't know. i mean i even got you a cassette tape with songs i dedicated to you and—” “you dedicated songs to me? and got them in a cassette tape? how even- when did you get the time to get that done? did you go out of camp for-” you said suprise clear in your voice but he interrupted you. “well obviously i dedicate songs to you infact they were so many that i had to choose the best of the best. and how i got the cassette and the player is just part of the trade secrets, darling.” he winked. and you just giggled and kissed him.

luke had imagined kissing you before, but it was never as close to the real deal. he was addicted to say the least. your lips tasted so sweet and felt so soft. for being the kid with the aura of death, you sure brought back life to him.

by now you were on his lap with his arms wrapped around you. you both were just sitting on the grass and taking in each other's presence and feeling peaceful with how close your hearts were.

slowly you took out your earphones from your pocket and gave him one wire. “so, one more love song?”

author's note ⇾ aand that's the end haha. hope you liked it <3 this is my first fic ever like everr and i didn't even think i’d be able to write something that i would actually wanna post, but something in me lit up when i saw my favourite childhood book series was finally getting the adaptation it deserved and then this came out of it <3 would love to know your thoughts on it.

#𓇚 kalopsia #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson #🏹 acara writes #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan x y/n #percy series #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell #pjo x reader #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo

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queer-little-demigod · 10 months ago

Text

i like me better when i’m with you - luke castellan

summary when a new kid comes to camp, luke gets a bit more stressed than usual, and he goes to his safe space—you.

fic type fluff

pairing luke castellan x fem!Apollo!reader

word count 1.2k

warnings stressed!luke, very much fluff

masterlist

dividers from this post of @cafekitsune ! credits to them and do go check out their posts <3

When people thought of the best swordsman in camp, their first thought was Luke Castellan. The calm Hermes cabin counselor, the one who took every unclaimed camper under his wing. It also meant he was thought of as the only one to beat Clarisse in a fight, the one who had better technique than the others by light years.

But for you, Luke was the sweet boy who brought you flowers every other day, the boy who called you ‘sunshine’ to play around, the boy who held you so gently and kissed you so sweet. To you, Luke was just a soft sweetheart who loved you to the ends of the earth.

But ‘only for you’ as a statement held fast and true with him.

He never acted the same way around other campers the way he acted with you. Not only did they never receive even the slightest easy praise as you did, but they never got that blind trust, that unwavering faith he had in you. Maybe the trust bit was a bit exclusive to Annabeth, but even then that was because they were close. Family.

So it did come to you as a shock when Percy came to camp and that side came out in Luke.

After poor Percy’s unfortunately encounter with Clarisse, you had spotted Luke with him and decided to come over. As the counselor of the Apollo cabin, you additionally decided to help your boyfriend and his new little stray.

“Hey Luke,” you smiled, approaching them both as they talked under the shade of the trees. You leaned your arm against his shoulder, smiling at Percy in a friendly way.

Luke took a second to just look at you. He took in the way the dampened sun kissed your hair, making it shine ever so slightly, the way the shadows fell cleanly on your face to highlight the contours of your face, the way you were so at ease around him and the new camper.

He was so used to seeing you that he only had to take a second to appreciate your features and presence.

“Oh, Percy, meet Y/n, Apollo cabin counselor,” Luke said with a slight smile as he looked at the boy.

You put a hand out to Percy. He did really look like a sweet boy with his soft-looking face, blue-green eyes, and curly gold hair.

“Hey Percy, welcome to camp half-blood,” you smiled. “I’m Y/n, Luke’s girlfriend,”

You could practically hear Luke roll his eyes beside you, his hand resting sneakily against the small of your back as it always did.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n,” said Percy with a small smile.

“Aw, he’s so sweet for a kid on his first day,” you said, looking at Luke, who laughed a bit and looked down, running a hand through his dark curly hair. “What’re you two up to?”

“Nothing much, sunshine, just trying to find out who’s this guy’s godly parent,” Luke shrugged, looking back at you.

“Nice,” you laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I won’t hold you guys up for too long, though. Don’t worry,”

However, once you left, as usual Luke felt your absence instantly. It wasn’t the literal absence, obviously, which everyone felt, but he always felt like a part of him was missing when he wasn’t around you. As if part of his happiness wasn’t there because in truth, it wasn’t.

It also meant his safe space was not around instantly. It meant that his confidant was too many steps away to be immediate, to be accessible.

So he waited, as always.

He waited for the sun to go down, for the time for responsibilities to go down with it. He waited for the moon to rise, for the sky to turn from cornflower to depthless midnight blue.

The camp was quiet, deathly so, with the distant call of owls from the woods and the rustle of leaves when the scarce wind blew. The night was a mask which cloaked his sounds, his footsteps, his presence, as he walked down the mossy stone pathway into the trees, towards the mirroring lake.

There you sat, the daughter of the sun, looking ever-radiant in the moon’s soft glow. Your body was a silhouette against the silver of the ethereal light, your calculating eyes cast towards the lake, where there seemed another world to mirror this.

Lost in your own thoughts, thoughts which were kept at bay during the sun’s time, you didn’t hear the quiet footsteps, the shift of the pebbles on the lakeside, come up behind you and rest his hands on your shoulders.

“Luke, you scared the hell out of me!” You exclaimed, laughing softly, looking up at him with shining eyes.

He shrugged and sat beside you, leaning back on his palms as his long legs stretched out before him, feet a good way away from the water.

“It wasn’t intentional,” he smiled, looking at you.

Your brows quirked up, amused. “Oh, is that right?”

“Yup,”

“Don’t pop the ‘p’ like that you sound ridiculous,”

“I can never sound ridiculous, I’m too good looking for that,”

“Can’t say I agree,”

He looked at you with mock offence and grabbed you around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he ruffled your hair, ignoring your hushed protests and struggles.

You finally squirmed out of his grip, laughing softly.

“You’re such an ass!” You laughed, shoving him by the shoulder.

He winked at you, smiling in that same mischievous way that reminded you that despite his responsibilities, he wasn’t quite the adult he portrayed himself as. He was just 19, not even at legal drinking age, for gods’ sake.

But he had to admit that your laugh was the sweetest, most beautiful thing he’d ever heard in his life. It felt like the spring’s first sun—warm, gentle, and comforting. Perhaps even familiar, he would say.

“Now tell me what’s wrong, love,” you said, your e/c falling to rest on his own, holding what looked like concern.

Was he being concerning? At least he must be, for you to look at him as if his puppy just got run over…

‘Safe space, Luke,’ he reminded himself. ‘She knows you too well, she gets you,’

He sighed and nodded, “Well, for starters, Percy’s still unclaimed and will not let the whole ‘where is my dad’ thing go,”

“Baby, he’s 12, of course he’s in shock, he can’t just let things go,” you said.

Of course, Y/n L/n, the voice of straightforward reason.

“I know but…” he sharply let out a breath, trying to find the words which were on the tip of his tongue but were stuck in his throat. “He’s just…he’s not accepting things the way they are. He’s so damn persistent, constantly questioning the way things work.”

You moved closer to him, moving such that you could sit behind him and pull him close to you, letting his back rest against you while your legs stayed on either side. He felt your hands start to play with his curls, fingertips running over his scalp gently.

His whole body tingled, his skin warmed from your touch. Not only was it because you kept your own skin a little warm on cold nights like this but because of how soft you were with him, because of how gentle your touch was. Because he felt a blush creep along his cheeks at the familiarity of the gesture, at how affectionate you were.

“But look, it means that I’m answering questions that no other camper’s asked me before, and I don’t know how I feel about that…unpredictability,” he explained, staring out at the lake. “Plus with day after’s capture the flag and with my training schedule being booked up back to back, I cannot handle those questions because they need time to be thought over and I don’t have that kind of time,”

Your hands in his hair paused as an amused tone came with your words, “…is Luke Castellan admitting to me, Y/n L/n, that he’s stressed? You stressed, baby, is that it?”

He laughed at the way you talked, like he was a child, with that sweet tone, higher pitch, and general air of playfulness.

“No, I’m not,” he protested, looking up at you, a small smile dancing on his lips as he laughed softly.

Gods, his laugh was everything. You enjoyed the rise and fall of it, his deep voice vibrating through your body with how close he was. It wasn’t explosive, nor was it polite. It was just him being a kid, him being himself, unrestrained by the image of a calm and reserved counselor that he had on most of the time.

“That’s a lie,” you smirked, giggling softly, tilting his head back so he could look at you properly.

He smiled a bit, as your finger traced up the line of his scar, and he stuck his tongue out at you jokingly.

“Fine, tell me more. Get it all of your chest,” you winked, leaning down to kiss his forehead softly.

So he talked all his worries away, till the moon rose high and the water stopped rippling. He talked till his throat ran dry and his eyes started to droop as sleep’s staying caress enveloped you both.

“We should get back,” you yawned, feeling him sit up and out of your arms.

He nodded, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “Yeah, we should…”

He, as a gentleman, stood up first and helped you up, smiling at you as you dusted yourself off and followed him back through the quiet woods and to the cabins. You looped your hand through the crook of his elbow, resting your head against his shoulder affectionately every now and then, smiling up at him.

The trees weren’t as quiet as the night, nor was the grass, as the crickets chirped softly amidst the foliage, and the leaves rustled with the slightest bit of wind that danced through them.

“Can I bother you for a little kiss before we go back to our cabins?” You asked, standing in front of him at the split in the road which led to the Apollo cabin and Hermes cabin.

Luke thought about it for a moment just to tease you, earning a whack on the arm from your end and a laugh.

“Obviously,” he chuckled, pulling you closer by your wrist, his other arm coming up to encircle your waist, as your head tilted up for your lips to meet his in a soft kiss.

His hand left your wrist to cup your cheek while your arms rested around his neck, holding him such that he stayed down a bit to your level. Your lips moved in sync, the action already a habit with the number of times you both had kissed in the past two years of you both dating.

Despite that, butterflies erupted in your stomach at the way his lips felt against yours, the way he held you so tenderly.

Once air became a problem you both had to pull away, and a light blush dusted your cheeks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then,” you smiled, winking at him.

“No doubt, sunshine,” he smiled back, ruffling your hair gently, earning a sound of protest from your end as well.

“You know I hate that nickname,”

“Too bad, sunshine,”

All you could do was roll your eyes and press a soft kiss to his cheek before turning back and heading back to the Apollo cabin on soft cat feet, making little noise as you fell into your covers, giggling softly at the ghost feeling of his lips back on yours.

Stuff was better when he was with you.

Hi! I t’s me, Lea! I hope you liked this imagine, feel free to request <3 the ending is a bit eh but otherwise I hope you liked it <3

#Luke Castellan #luke castellan x reader #apollo reader #x fem!reader #fluff #luke x fem!reader #queer little demigod

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goldencherriess · 2 months ago

Text

The supreme lord of the bathroom.

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Fem! Reader

Summary: A new arrival at Camp Half-Blood announces new opportunities.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: angst if you squint, mentions of blood

Previous part || Series masterlist

Y/N blinked against the sunlight. It was pouring out the window onto her face like a golden cascade. Her ears caught sounds of laughter and chatter. It wasn’t the first time she woke up in the middle of a morning chaos. Life in Cabin 11 had always been that way, too lively for her likeliness. People always shuffling, talking loudly and giggling. It was a cabin which burst with life, but it was also too overcrowded. She rarely felt she got a breather to herself. Most of the time she was yearning to be left alone to her thoughts, but always a Hermes kid jumped at the opportunity to talk to her. She always shut them out. A side of her felt grateful for the warmth she was greeted with when she had first stepped into the cabin, but another side of her was longing to know to which cabin she truly belonged.

Someone jumped on her bunk bed, dipping the mattress. “Wake up, sleepy head!”

“I’m already awake. You lot had awakened me up,” she replied groggily, opening one eye and gazing at the person who was currently taking most of her bed.

The boy only shrugged innocently. “That’s Cabin 11 for ya. You’re stuck with us,” he grinned. “For a while,” he hastily added once he saw Y/N furrow.

She only sighed, before getting up. “It’s been four years, Luke.”

Luke was the first who befriended her the day she stepped into the camp for the first time. She could still remember the warm smile he approached her with.

“Yeah, but others had to wait longer. They still got claimed, though.”

“And others didn’t,” replied Y/N bitterly.

Luke cast his eyes down. “I know, I’m sorry.” A smile spread on his lips again. “You know what I’ve heard?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, while she gathered her hair into a ponytail. “Amaze me.”

“The new kid. He killed the Minotaur. And Annabeth thinks he’s the one. You know, he might just be. Play your cards right and you might get yourself a quest. The quest.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she let her hair fall back down. “Really?”

Luke opened his mouth to reply, but familiar hooves entered the cabin and interrupted him. The tall and lean figure of Chiron stood in the doorway, clapping his hands. “Everyone, everyone. Your attention, please.” Y/N turned her head, curiously taking in the sight of a golden-haired boy beside the centaur. “This is Percy Jackson, I trust you will see to whatever he needs.”

She turned back towards Luke. “Is this the kid?” she asked him, pointing towards the blonde.

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

A grin spread out on Y/N’s face, illuminating her sharp features. “Great. I’ll make the introductions. Don’t interrupt me and let me approach him first. This could be important.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“Promise me, Luke!”

Luke raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I promise! Just don’t scare him off.”

She ignored him and took small steps towards the boy, analyzing his every move. She could tell he was feeling out of place, confused and furious. She could tell because she saw her younger self in his shy eyes and unsure steps. She crossed her arms and leaned on the banister beside his sleeping bag. He was just crouching and taking something out of a backpack when she spoke up. “So, you’re the one who killed the Minotaur?”

He got up and turned around abruptly. His gaze landed on Y/N and she thought his eyes resembled the deep sea and its secrets. “How did you-”

“News travels fast,” she shrugged.

He only huffed. “Look, if you want to give me a hard time, just do it tomorrow. I can’t do any more today.”

“Are you the kid who killed the Minotaur? It’s a yes or no question,” repeated Y/N more firmly, straightening her back and distancing herself from the bannister.

The boy’s eyes travelled to the horn besides his backpack.She followed his gaze. “So, you did. It’s true what they say.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, shuffling his feet.

“What’s your name?” asked Y/N, taking a step closer towards the newcomer. She could feel Luke’s gaze burning holes into her back.

“Percy.”

She smirked. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Percy. I’m Y/N.” She stuck out her hand in greeting, and he shook it hesitantly.

“Heard what happened to you on the hill,” a familiar voice said. Luke came up beside her, approaching Percy just as he did once to her. “And I just… wanted to say I’m really sorry.”

Percy’s gaze slipped towards Y/N, who was still closely watching him, before it fell, aimlessly looking around and taking in the sight of the wooden floor.

“I know what you’re going through. Believe me.”

“You might not believe it yet, but you’re one of us,” said Y/N, lowering her head to catch his gaze. “You’re a demigod.”

He lifted his gaze, latching onto hers. He almost started at the intensity in them. They strangely reminded him of a thunderous sky in a storm.

“I’m Luke. You met Y/N here. We’re your friends now.”

“Percy,” he replied, shaking Luke’s hand before his eyes panned to Y/N. She hesitantly smiled, before she turned around. “Settle in, no one’s doing your bed around here!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Bossy,” he whispered under his breath.

Luke chuckled lightly from beside him. “She means no harm. It’s just the way she is. We figured she might take after her godly parent.”

“Who’s her godly parent?” asked Percy, taking his gaze off Y/N, who was just picking up a set of arrows and a bow.

Luke scratched the back of his head. “We, uh, we don’t know. She’s unclaimed. Has been for four years now.”

Percy nodded slowly. He understood. “Just like me,” he murmured.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Y/N loved to watch the birds fly and sing between the emerald trees. She would sit for hours, glancing at the skies every once in a while, while she cleaned her arrows and bow. Today was no different. Sitting under a cooling shadow of a pine, she glanced upwards, catching the sight of an eagle slashing the skies in two. Annabeth was sitting besides her, talking her ear off. “He drools when he sleeps.”

“Does he?” she replied absently.

“Yes, but that’s unimportant. Irrelevant. I think he might be the one.”

Y/N’s lips curled. “I think so too. We might get that quest after all, Annie.”

Annabeth smiled back, her teeth glinting in the sunlight. Not a second later, her face turned serious. “Have you talked to him yet?”

Y/N raised an arrow to her eye level. It glistened. “Do you think it’s clean enough?”

Annabeth’s gaze slid to the silver tip of the arrow. “Yes. Did you talk to him yet?”

“Yes, I did.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And he seems sad.”

“Obviously he would. He’s new and unclaimed.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed and she let her gaze slide away. “No, wait- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Annabeth stuttered.

The eagle let out a cry and it flew away. “It’s quite alright, Annie. It’s the truth,” she smiled bitterly. “Plus, this is why I want that quest. A chance to prove myself and to get his attention.” Her ears recognized Luke’s voice, coming out of Cabin 11. Percy was walking beside him, his eyes shining in wonder. He was looking up at him like a child would look up to their older sibling. She recognized the look. She turned back towards Annabeth. “Got a strategy for Capture the Flag yet?”

“Working on it, but it’s coming around nicely,” smirked Annabeth.

“Never doubted it. Meet you later to talk it through?”

“You got it.”

Y/N smiled before she waved her goodbye. Her steps carried her to the boys, before Clarisse La Rue, the resident bully of the camp (Y/N still vividly remembered her first week. She almost got herself beaten up by her at a Capture the Flag game, before a gust of wind hit Clarisse in a tree trunk, knocking her out for a half of day), bumped into Percy. He grunted, rubbing his shoulder. “Hey!”

Clarisse turned around and pushed him. He fell, the cold earth hitting his back. Y/N sped up, her bow clutched in her hand.

“Woah! Hey, knock it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on,” voiced Luke.

Y/N reached Percy, holding her hand out to him. He clasped it and she helped him to his feet. He threw her a shy smile and she acknowledged it with a nod.

Clarisse’s face morphed into a look of false astonishment. “Wait, so this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?”

“Uh, yeah?” Percy replied, looking around.

Clarisse smiled wickedly. “I’ll bet.” She took a step towards him. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy?”

Y/N’s eyes shifted from Percy to Clarisse, her knuckles turning white on the bow.

“You better be ready for it when it comes.” Clarisse snapped her head towards him, scaring Percy. He took a step back. She laughed and turned on her heels.

“Don’t you get bored, La Rue? Picking on kids half your size?” questioned Y/N, her voice firm and sure.

Clarisse turned around slowly, her face as still as a stone, a cold and deadly look in her eyes.

“Oh, right. You’re doing it for daddy,” continued Y/N. “Not working though, am I right?”

Clarisse’s lips twitched in anger. “Still unclaimed, L/N?”

Y/N felt a pang in her chest, but she smirked nonetheless, “Still afraid of me?”

Clarisse only scoffed before she turned her back on her, fisting her hands.

“Well, she seems nice,” said Percy, pointing at Clarisse’s retreating form.

“Ares kids,” sighed Luke. “They come by it honestly.”

“Don’t mind her too much,” said Y/N, her hands finally relaxing on the smooth wood of her bow.

“You’re not afraid of her,” stated Percy, turning to look at her. Once again, he saw that bold look in her eyes.

“Why should I? She’s just insecure. I’m afraid of nothing, I won’t start shaking in my boots because of a jealous Ares kid.”

“Why don’t they mess with you?”

A smirk bloomed on Luke’s face. “They know better.”

“Luke’s the strongest swordsman at camp and Y/N’s the best archer you’ll ever meet,” voiced Chris, a boy with an earthly brown complexion and jet black curls.

Percy blinked and Y/N could see the gears in his head turning. “So they leave you alone because’ glory’ ?”

Luke nodded.

“So if I get glory Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?”

“You learn fast,” said Y/N, regarding him with a glint in her gaze.

“Exactly,” added Luke.

"And people think I’m a big deal?” continued Percy, looking up at Hermes' child.

Luke crossed his arms, nodding his head hesitantly. “Well, sorta, but-”

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me,” the blonde said, turning to look at Y/N, as if asking her for her approval. Her smirk fell. It was as if she was looking into a mirror, seeing her pain reflected in a kindred spirit, in the eyes of a boy who felt utterly confused and lost and furious at the world.

“You can’t force the gods to do anything,” interjected Luke, before throwing Y/N a worried glance.

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?” shrugged Percy, slowly moving his gaze off Y/N to Luke.

“Maybe.”

Y/N’s voice outpowered Luke’s, her hand once again clenching her bow, until her knuckles turned painfully white. “Definitely!” The boy in question gaped at her.

A smile shone on Percy’s face, his eyes glinting with determination. “Well, great. Where do we start?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Y/N’s hands never quivered when she held a bow and an arrow in her hand. Whenever she held the weapons, she felt she had a sense of control she had lost the moment she found she was a demigod. She inhaled and slowly exhaled, grounding herself and emptying her head of thoughts. She slowly pulled the arrow and released it. The arrow cut the air and hit the target. A smile broke on her face and she lowered the bow. She turned to look at the golden-haired boy, who was already gazing at her with awe shimmering in his eyes. She handed him her bow. “Your turn.”

He took the bow out of her hand. “I wanna be very clear about this, I’ve never done anything like this before, and it looks super dangerous.”

Luke lifted a shoulder. “And you never killed a Minotaur before either, ‘till you did.”

“There’s a first for everything,” added Y/N, taking out an arrow. Her eyebrows disappeared under her hairline and she held out the weapon. Percy, unsure, shifted his weight, before he accepted the sharp, silvery arrow.

An Apollo child drew out a lighter, but Y/N raised her hand in a warning, her head shaking in a very definite and clear “no”. Percy raised both of his arms and closed an eye, trying to focus on the target but it blurred in front of his eyes, much like the air would dance in a very torrid day in downtown New York.

“You’re holding it wrong,” stated Y/N from beside him.

“Am I?” frowned Percy.

She sighed. “Yes.”

Percy could feel her come up behind him. Her fingertips touched his elbow, raising it slightly. “Stay straighter.” Percy straightened his back, feeling warmth creeping up his neck. “And relax your hold on the bow, it’s not going anywhere.” His fingers loosened around the bow. “Focus.” Percy thought that focusing would be a bit too hard when he could literally feel Y/N’s breath near his ear, but he tried nonetheless.

She took a few steps back. “Release the arrow.”

And he did just that, except the arrow didn’t comply with his will, it flew over everyone’s heads and it stabbed the dark earth. Apollo’s children shrieked and fell to the ground, in an attempt to shelter themselves from the furious arrow. Percy himself fell, a grimace painting his features. Y/N pulled her lips into a thin line, staring at the place the arrow landed. It shone in the sun.

“Should I try again?” questioned Percy meekly.

“No!” Everyone yelled.

“Tough luck,” said Y/N, looking down at Percy.

“Right,” he mumbled before he stuck his hand out, a silent plea to be helped to his feet.

Y/N extended her hand, but she only took the bow out of the boy’s hold. “See you around, newbie!” she yelled once she turned on her feet, marching towards where the arrow was mockingly glinting in the sun rays.

She was pretty sure she heard him swear under his breath.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The light was throwing pretty shades under the tree. A wind picked up and Y/N’s hair ruffled. She looked up at the tree. It was a beautiful pinetree. It was also a lifeline. She heard the stories about it, about how Thalia sacrificed her life to save Luke, Annabeth and Grover. Annie recounted it too many times, Y/N could now recite it in her sleep. She reached out a hand and touched the rough surface of the deep brown bark. It was like a prayer and she almost had the sudden urge to climb it, to regard the world, the wide, swaying blades of grass. To let the winds whip her face in a gentle caress, to let the smiling sun shine on her.

She wasn’t afraid of heights. Growing up, while her mother was still very much alive, her cheeks still bursting with colour, she would get all her pants ripped just because she was stubborn enough to climb trees. She’d be closer to the sky, she used to say as an excuse. But then, she turned 5 years old and the wooden, rustic cabin was replaced by towering sky-scrapers. The once fresh mountain air was now thick and heavy. And the damp, dewed earth was taken by concrete floor. She hated the city, but it seemed that the city hated her back, as she did not find her place there.

Light footsteps spoiled the silence and she knew who it was, before she turned around.

“I think you would have gotten along,” Annabeth voiced.

Y/N turned around. Annabeth was looking up at the tree with longing in her eyes.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She took a seat under the tree’s shade. Her friend followed suit, comfortable silence enveloping them both like gentle hands. Distant laughter could be heard and Y/N basked in the joyous sounds.

“I watched him. He’s awful at archery and sword making.”

A snort escaped Y/N’s lips and she turned to look at her friend. “He is more than awful at archery. He’s horrendous. Never letting him get anywhere near a bow and an arrow again.. A danger to humanity.” She shook her head, laughing softly to herself.

Annabeth lightly smacked her arm. “Do not laugh! This is serious stuff! He needs to be quest worthy!”

Y/N’s chuckles subsided, a ghost of a smile still present on her lips. “You know I want this as much as you do, Annie. I’m just saying things as they are. Why sugarcoat it? He has no talent in archery.”

Annabeth huffed. “I’m still keeping a close eye on him.”

“You do that,” Y/N nodded. Then, as if she suddenly remembered something, she turned her whole body toward Annabeth, criss-crossing her legs. “What about Capture the Flag? Any progress on that?”

“Yes and no. Still figuring things out.”

Y/N started nodding, her lips slightly parted, but Athena’s daughter interrupted her. “You’re on my team, obviously.” And she bumped her shoulder with hers.

A grin illuminated Y/N’s face and she giggled, bumping Annabeth right back. A blowing horn cut the air, announcing that it was dinner time. Annabeth got up with a grunt, dusting her pants, before reaching a hand out to Y/N and smiling down at her. Y/N let herself be pulled up and she threw Annabeth a mischievous grin. “Race you to the tables?”

But she didn’t give her time to answer, as her feet had a mind of her own and sprinted across the hill, down to the camp.

“You cheater!” she heard Annabeth yell, a note of laughter in her tone.

The sun was casting down, bathing everything in fiery orange and Y/N was feeling good.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Is there a Greek god of disappointment? Maybe someone should ask him if he’s missing a kid” Y/N heard Percy say, as she tried to catch her breath (she won the race as she proudly teased Annabeth about it). She picked up an ivory plate, before she waved her friend goodbye, catching sight of Percy’s golden hair.

“Oizys… but she’s a goddess,” replied Chris, as Y/N squeezed herself between him and Luke. “And her whole thing isn’t really disappointment, it’s more like failure.”

She wished for spaghetti, like her mother used to make her in the cold evenings (and then her aunt tried to pick up the recipe. Her spaghetti always turned out to taste like cardboard, the sauce too gelatinous, but the thought and her trying were endearing. She ate them all the same). The spaghetti morphed themselves in her plate, swirls of steam rising into the air. Its savoury aroma tickled Y/N’s nostrils and her stomach grumbled.

“How did the first day go?” she said, as she caught Percy’s blue gaze.

“Awful,” he replied, playing around with his food.

“Well, every first day is awful,” she shrugged. She remembered how miserable she felt on her first day at camp, missing her aunt and feeling confused.

“Thanks, very reassuring.” He threw her a sarcastic smile.

“You’re welcome. Just a reality check.”

“What Y/N is trying to say is that this was just the first day, the others won’t be as bad,” voiced Luke.

“Yes, cause that’s exactly what I was trying to say,” said Y/N, rolling her eyes with a hint of a smile on her lips.

Luke bumped her shoulders with his. “Tone down the sarcasm. It’s his first day.” He then turned to look at Percy, reassuringly smiling at him. “We’re gonna find the thing that you’re good at. I know it.”

A bell chiming cut through the air and Luke turned around. “Our turn.”

“Our turn for what?” frowned Percy, looking at Y/N as she got up.

“Prayers,” she smirked, before gulping down a fork full of spaghetti. They tasted just like she remembered.

“Burnt offerings,” added Luke, picking up his own plate. “The gods like the smell, so it gets their attention before you say a prayer.”

Percy frowned. “They like the smell of burnt mac and cheese?”

“They like the smell of begging,” chuckled Chris, before taking his plate and leaving the table.

Y/N cracked a smile, spiralling the spaghetti on her fork, the sauce dripping down the side of it, vermillion on silver.

“You burn what you’ll miss the most. Then they really mean what you’re about to say, so they listen,” explained Luke.

“Do they, though?” mumbled Y/N, mouth full of food.

Luke didn’t seem to hear her, as he left the table, back straightened. Percy stared her down, lips slightly parted. Y/N gulped down the spaghetti, the sauce burning her throat. “What?” she asked harshly. Her eyebrows pinched.

The boy jumped, as if out of a daze. “You just- You got something on your face.”

“Do I?” She hastily wiped her cheek, a wild look in her eyes.

“Not there. There,” he replied, pointing at the corner of his mouth.

Y/N wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Red sauce painted her hand and she scoffed, before she licked it. Spices and the taste of home invaded her mouth once again. “Thanks,” she mumbled before she turned her back on him, taking steps toward the fire in the centre of the dining pavilion.

The flames were dancing playfully. It was as if they were twirling in a never-ending tango and for a moment she thought she saw a woman smile in the golden light of the flames. She blinked and the flames stared back at her. She scraped the remaining spaghetti off with the fork into the fire. The flames heightened and the smell of home reached her nostrils. “To my father. Please, show yourself,” she whispered.

She gave up guessing a long time ago. Her first guess was Apollo. But then again, she didn’t have a talent for singing, nor did she have a knack for writing (and if you were to ask her, she didn’t make a good nurse either). After a while, she realised that she might be the daughter of a minor god or one of the many children of a major one, a nameless and faceless child in a crowd of thousands.

The fire gave one last puff and crackle and she turned back to the table, where she put back the plate. Percy was still there, watching her every move. Her eyes snapped to his. They really resembled the ocean. Her lips curled slightly, in a smirk. “See you tomorrow, newbie. You’d better show your Minotaur-killing skills at Capture the Flag.”

And she turned on her heels, marching towards Cabin 11.

“Wait, what’s that?” she heard him yell.

Her smile broadened, her fingers twitching at the thought that she’d hold her bow again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Capture the Flag was a glory induced event for the demigods at Camp Half-Blood. For Y/N was no different. She looked forward to the energised atmosphere, the wind-swept woods, the cathartic battle cries. She loved the feeling of freedom and the confidence she felt when holding her trusted bow in hand. But most of all, she looked forward to winning.

“The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor,” Chiron’s sure voice boomed across the woods. Y/N stood proudly with the bow in her hand and a fistful of arrows on her back, “As always, there will be no maining and no killing. I trust these rules will be respected. Any magical items you may possess, are permitted as well. Every camper who is not injured has to play. Prisoners may be disarmed but may not be bound or gagged. Let the games begin!”

A conch horn blew, announcing the start of Capture the Flag and Y/N grinned, a sense of confidence surging through her veins. The Red Team let out furious battle cries and The Blue Team responded just as much.

“All right. We have twenty minutes before the second conch and game on,” said Annabeth as she came up to her, Luke and Percy ( who was very much fidgeting, but Y/N chose not to say anything about it, as she thought it would hurt his ego. Not that she cared, but she needed her team to focus and win). “You know what you're doing?”

“Yes, m’am” nodded Luke.

She turned towards Y/N, who smirked. “Always.”

Luke started to walk away, but Annabeth speaking up stopped him in his tracks. “Hey. Today feel like a winning day to you?”

Luke slowly nodded. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Y/N saluted Annabeth and Luke before her gaze slid towards the blonde, who was silently watching the interaction. “See you later, newbie! Try to not get yourself killed!”.

And she was off, on her way, running through the woods, going over Annabeth’s plan. Do what you do best, climb up trees, arrows ready. Watch over Percy, make sure they end up near the river. I’ll be right there, watching on, she said to her.

Her feet skidded down muddy paths, the smell of fresh grass and pine trees enveloping her. She heard an eagle croaking and she looked up, catching sight of it as it flew across the camp. She stopped, heaving. She turned towards the tree beside her and she put the arrow on her back, before she proceeded climbing it. The rough bark scraped her palm, drawing blood, but she felt like a child, playing in the backyard. Once she reached a safe branch, she looked at the horizon, the red helmets of the rival team weaving between the emerald green of the woods. She scoffed before she closed her eyes, inhaling. A wind caressed her cheek and a second conch blew. She snapped her eyes open, her mind void of any other thoughts beside the desire to win. She jumped from branch to branch, from tree to tree before she came across a clearing. She recognized Percy’s blonde mop of hair, as he laid on a log with his eyes closed, his fingers playing with a leaf. She leaned against the bark, watching him.

For a split moment, she wondered what was going through his mind. He looked so peaceful, different from the many times she felt him tense or stiffen. She also had the urge to just let her eyes close and enjoy the silence and the sweet sounds nature had to offer, but the scarlet helmets of the opposing team caught her attention. She straightened her back, slowly taking out her bow.

Percy warily sat up, watching as Clarisse took off her helmet and chucked it towards the woods. “Flag’s that way. It’s not here,” he pointed to the other side of the woods.

“We know,” replied Clarisse. “Yeah, glory’s fine. Revenge is more fun.”

She slammed her spear onto the ground. The weapon crackled to life with orange light. Y/N tightened her hold onto the bow and she took out an arrow, watching as Percy hastily grabbed his shield and sword.

“No maiming. It’s like the one rule,” he said, body stiff.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll lose dessert privileges for a while. I’ll live,” smirked Clarisse before she attacked Percy.

Y/N swore under her breath as she watched the boy struggle, swiftly dodging every strike. She raised the arrow and the bow, targeting one of Clarisse’s team mates. Percy fell onto his knee, after he managed to counterattack Clarisse’s crackling spear. Y/N inhaled and exhaled before she released the arrow. It swished, cutting the air, before it stabbed the earth near the foot of The Red Team player. The boy backed in shock, and Clarisse looked around, eyebrows furrowed. “Who’s there?” she yelled.

Percy threw a glance upwards, his gaze meeting Y/N’s. She gave him a solemn nod, before she backed into the shadows. The distraction gave him enough time to swipe his sword at Clarisse. She met his attack with one of her own, pushing him with her spear. He fell backwards, over the log, the wind knocked out of him. Y/N grimaced, she took out another arrow, ready to intervene once again.

“I’m actually not interested in maiming or killing you, believe it or not,” Clarisse stated. “I just want you to admit you’re a fraud. It’d make me feel better.”

Y/N raised the bow. The arrow was ready to be launched.

“Are you feeling up to that yet?” asked Clarisse as Y/N released the arrow. It implanted itself at her feet and the girl took a step back, shock painting her features. Percy got up, speeding through the woods.

“Guess that’s a no,” said Clarisse, after she recovered from the shock, taking after him.

Y/N put the bow on her back and she jumped from the tree, landing on her feet.

“Great aim!” she heard a familiar voice say.

Y/N smiled. “Thanks, Annie.”

The girl appeared beside her, a blue Yankees cap in her hand. She was grinning. “We’re winning this.”

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, a sense of urgency taking over her brain as she remembered that Percy was still very much alone in a three-to-one fight, but a blood-curdling scream interrupted her. She snapped towards the source of the sound and let the feet carry her to it, the woods whizzing past her. She stumbled onto the shore just as Luke and their team arrived, triumphantly holding the flag and cheering. The scarlet flag was swaying in the wind.

Her gaze found the blonde. Clarisse was holding him by the armour. She pushed him away, once the Blue Team invaded the shore. Percy fell to his knees, his chest heaving.

Y/N let out a breath in relief as she approached the boy. “You alright?”

He looked up to her and she noted his left eye was slowly turning purple. Blood stained his cheek. He tried to catch his breath, gulping. “Yeah,” he managed to say.

“You did well,” she replied as she stuck out her hand. He looked at it, before his hand touched hers, and she heaved him up. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze met hers. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

“Not bad, hero,” Annabeth voiced as she took off her cap, appearing before them.

“Were you here the whole time?” questioned Percy, a note of annoyance seeping into his tone.

“Yes.”

“You were here the whole time and you didn’t help me?” He briefly glanced at Y/N. “I mean, even Y/N helped, but you didn’t?”

Annabeth simply shrugged. “Yes.”

“Why?” asked Percy in disbelief.

Y/N glanced behind her shoulder, catching sight of Clarisse scowling her way. Y/N figured Clarisse might have realised where the arrows came from. She threw her a brief smile.

“Listen… Percy,” she heard Annabeth say. “I’m sorry.”

A splash echoed and Y/N whipped her head around. Percy had fallen into the water, angrily staring at Annabeth. “What is wrong with you?” he yelled. He got up, small waves washing onto the shore.

At first, Y/N thought her eyes were deceiving her, but they couldn’t have, they never did. She had the best aim and target in the whole camp, they never let her down, not once. She watched in amazement as Percy’s injuries healed right before her eyes, water dripping down his arms and face. Her lips parted.

“I don’t understand,” said Percy, looking at Annabeth before he moved his gaze onto Y/N.

A blue glow caught her attention and she raised her gaze. A shining trident was hovering over Percy and Y/N blinked, a puff of air escaping her lips.

“Your dad’s calling,” smiled Annabeth in awe.

Y/N’s lips twitched and she felt how the blood in her veins turned to ice, the green-eyed monster invading her thoughts. Perseus Jackson had been claimed, in just a few days. She remained unclaimed up to this day, even after four years of waiting, of praying and of capturing flags.

Suddenly, the idea of getting a quest spurred her on and she knew that Percy’s arrival at camp and claiming hadn’t been a coincidence. She could feel it in the wind. A storm was bubbling.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: and we're off to a start! I'm very excited to share the next chapter. Stuff is about to go down.

If you'd like to be added to my main tag list or the series tag list, drop a comment or send me an ask!

Lots of love xx

Main tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead @asgards-princess-of-mischief @islayhawkin

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#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x fem!reader #pjo x reader #pjo show #percy jackson spoilers #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #fanfic writing #my writing #masterlist #angst #fluff #laura writes

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thaliagracesgf · 1 year ago

Text

i hail a cab with a goat, and make some questionable decisions at a party

author’s note: i want to make it, like, really, really, clear that this is not a fic glorifying sa or being a victim. what the reader goes through here is a horrible experience, one that’s happened to me and countless other women (and other people!!). this fic is for anyone who, in the words of rachel sennot in bottoms, has been “gray-area-d,” and felt completely lost afterwards, not knowing how to feel or what to think. this is one example of how you deserved to have been treated, and i’m sorry if this or something similar wasn’t your experience.

content warnings: sexual assault (not graphic and not by luke! r is sort of tied down and has their shorts undone), violence (luke is not happy about this situation), alcohol (r is drunk), talking about it afterwards?, talking about monsters (on a regular pjo level), swearing.

word count: 6.6k. i had a lot to say. so sorry.

this is the first fic i have written in a while, i hope you enjoy it!

⭑

seven a.m. in the camp half-blood dining pavilion saw the same faces every morning. you, silena beauregard, clarisse larue, and annabeth chase. your little group of friends spanned six years, at seventeen, fourteen, thirteen, and eleven, and your best friend, who had been off at college all year, made it eight.

you didn’t remember becoming friends with silena and clarisse, although you figured hannah, your best friend and silena’s older half-sister, must have introduced you, and clarisse came along with her.

you had met annabeth and hannah when you were just thirteen, when you had followed a friend to connecticut in the middle of pre-algebra.

“do you understand any of this?” you whispered to grover. he gave you a look as if he had never seen a fraction before last week, and you sighed. your teacher, a kind old woman named ms. lucy, gave you a look. when she gave the class a new problem to work through, she came and knelt by your desk, looking over your shoulder at what you had managed so far. which was a whole lot of nothing, unless you included a sketch of grover that would make picasso proud. you shrunk sheepishly in your chair.

you looked to your right, as if trying to see how bad it really was compared to your model, but he was gone. you turned back to ms. lucy.

“did you see grover leave?”

“hmm?”

“grover. did he go to the bathroom?”

“i assume so, dear. if you convert the decimal—" but grover’s things were gone. you felt terrible. you knew you were a terrible student, and ms. lucy was so kind to you anyways, but it wasn’t like grover to walk out of class like that. he was terrified of authority.

“i have to go,” you mumbled to ms. lucy, throwing your things in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “stomachache.”

she looked genuinely concerned. “would you like me to let the nurses know you’re coming?”

“no… no. that’s okay.” and you ran out the door.

it wasn’t too hard to find grover. he was sitting in an empty classroom just a few doors down, but what was weirder was that he was watching a video on the projector. weirder still, he was talking to it. you knew it was rude to eavesdrop. it didn’t stop you from doing it.

“chiron, i can’t just leave. she’s here, and she’s in danger. she needs a protector. anything could come for her at any moment—" was he talking about you?

a deep voice over the projector, whose face you could hardly make out through the low-quality image, answered: “i will inform her mother and she will go home. she will stay there until we can send gleeson to collect her and—"

“why can’t you send gleeson for these kids?”

“he’s too far, it would take him a day at least to reach them. i already told you, this was a request from hermes himself. he wants his son and his friends collected as soon as possible, and—"

who the hell was gleeson? and hermes… who names their kid after a greek god? at least choose one with a better name than hermes. it sounded like a disease. your mother had named your brother after some greek hero, but he didn’t go by it. and at least it was, like, a human name.

“he’s the god of travelers.” you were starting to worry that grover might be on drugs. what on earth had they put in those enchiladas at lunch? “can’t he get him, like, a car? a day could be too long for—"

“grover.” the voice boomed. that shut him up. “you will go. you will escort the son of hermes, the daughter of athena, and the daughter of zeus to camp, and then you may return to the city. this is not up for discussion.” you were really starting to think that the booming voice might have been two booming voices, but the door was closed and the audio was already crackly, so you decided it didn’t really matter.

you heard grover’s voice say, “alright,” defeated and almost mournful, and then the message cut off. your eyes widened as you realized that grover would probably step outside any second, and you would have no excuse as to what you were doing with your ear to the wall. you turned slowly, and winced as your shoe squeaked on the linoleum floor. you started speedwalking. no sense in trying to hide anymore, you were just interested in getting as far away as possible before-

“oh, gods.” grover’s voice echoed between cinder block walls and metal lockers. “how much did you hear?”

you turned, your fingers nervously twisting the straps of your backpack. “i mean. not everything. just. you know.”

“almost everything?”

“yeah.”

“this is not good. this is really not good.” grover wasn’t talking to you anymore. he was pacing the short ways of the corridor, head in his hands, muttering to himself. “my first mission and i’ve already messed it up completely.”

“how could you have messed it up completely? you haven’t even met these kids yet.”

“oh, gods,” grover groaned.

“woah, dude. are you like, hindu or something?”

“what?”

“you said gods. plural. i read this book—"

“okay,” grover interrupted. “you need to go home.”

“okay. that was rude. also, it’s like the middle of the day. my mom’s at work and my stepdad will kill me if i come home early.”

“your stepfather. perfect. just climb in the back window of your room, and when your mom gets home, tell her that chiron says you need to go to camp immediately.”

“what? what the hell are you talking about? who— is that who you were talking to on the phone?”

“what?”

“the phone call. the one you were mad at me for overhearing…”

“okay. first of all, that was not overhearing, that was eavesdropping. second of all, i’m not mad. this just complicates things slightly. third of all—"

“dude, you need to—" grover glared at me, and i shut up.

“third of all,” he repeated, “that wasn’t a phone call. it was an iris message.”

“a what?”

“nevermind. not important. ask about it at camp.”

“why do you keep talking about a camp? i haven’t been to camp since music camp in second grade, and they don’t want me back. i was really, really, bad at the recorder.”

“you played the recorder?” grover looked suddenly very interested. “nevermind. you need to go home.”

“dude. i’m telling you, i. can’t.”

“you have to—"

“take me to connecticut,” you suggested.

“what?”

“isn’t that where you’re running off to?”

“you can’t come to connecticut with me—"

“why not? you seemed pretty adamant on the phone—"

“iris message”

“that you needed to be with ‘her’. based on how insanely you have freaked out, i’m guessing that was me. so take me with you.”

“i know you have no idea what is going on right now—"

“thank you for finally acknowledging that important part of this conversation.”

“- but taking you to connecticut would be an astronomically bad idea. like i-would-get-fired kind of bad idea.”

“you’re twelve. how on earth would you get fired? child labor laws are—"

“i’m nineteen.”

you laughed at that one. “yeah, sure.”

grover rolled his eyes. “look, i really, really, wish i could explain more, but i need to go. and i really, really need you to go home.”

“ok.”

“like really, really need you to listen—" he paused. “okay? great!”

“if it means that much to you, i’ll go home.” grover sighed with relief.

he was eating his words. and a tin can he had picked up off the street. you had followed him out of the building, watched him call a cab, and then, at the last second, jumped in after him, slammed the door, and told the driver to drive before grover could figure out what was going on.

after your initial panic, when you realized you were hurtling up fifth avenue at three-hundred miles per hour with three old ladies behind the wheel, you had straightened yourself out, and made grover explain everything. he had, reluctantly, when he came to terms with the fact that you were in too deep to back out now.

he explained camp, the greek (not hindu) gods, and the ladies in the front (who had one eye between them) were very helpful about filling in the details. so, so many details. he explained that he didn’t know who your parent was, just that you were powerful, and that he was planning on asking your mom before everything went up in flames.

he explained that he was going to connecticut to escort three (now four) demigods to camp half-blood, and that they would likely be tailed by monsters the entire way back. four demigods as powerful as you, and one forbidden child — a child of zeus, poseidon, or hades, as he had mentioned — would attract a lot of attention.

and you did. it took you a month to get to camp after you found thalia, luke, and annabeth, constantly being thrown off course by monsters, over which you got to know them better than any friends you’d had in your life (with the exception of maybe grover and your little brother). your mother was worried sick, but you iris-messaged her (grover finally got through on that one) every so often, letting her know you were okay. she was surprisingly understanding about camp. she apologized that she hadn’t been the one to take you herself, and that she had been forced to hide the truth from you for so long. the calls always ended though, when she tried to tell you who your father was. the water would shut off suddenly, the rainbow disappearing along with your mother, so you learned to avoid the topic if you wanted to continue talking.

when thalia died, you were in shock. you sat at the edge of long island sound at camp for three days, staring into the ocean. you didn’t speak, even when you were claimed, as you sat, by your father, poseidon, and shuffled your things from the hermes cabin into cabin three. it was just another loss — you could no longer sleep in the bed next to luke’s. there were no familiar faces in cabin three — no faces at all. you were completely alone.

eventually, an older aphrodite girl came by the cabin. she introduced herself as hannah, and she showed you around camp, forced you to sit with her and her siblings at dinner, dealing with chiron and mr. d’s disgruntlement herself, and at the campfire. she dragged you to the center of the amphitheater, dancing slowly at first, and then faster, until you were laughing and finding luke and annabeth in the crowd and dragging them to dance as well.

you missed hannah so much. she wasn’t that far, a first year at barnard this fall, where you would hopefully be in a couple of years. you weren’t ready for college yet, you thought, so you would take a gap year (though you hadn’t been in school for years) and stay at camp, while chiron would help you convince the admissions committee (using the mist) that you had a perfect gpa, excellent extracurricular activities, and a stellar recommendation letter from a highly admired ancient greek scholar by the name of professor c. brunner.

sitting at breakfast with you was probably miserable, you could admit. you were counting down the days until hannah came back, and your friends were definitely tired of it. but for some reason, this morning silena was practically jumping up and down with something.

“will you stop?” you asked. “you’re shaking the entire table.”

“i can’t, i’m sorry.” she seemed sincere in her apology. “i just— oh, you’ll see.”

you didn’t see, in fact, as someone jumped out from behind you and wrapped their arms around your head, their sweatshirt covering your eyes. “who—" you started, before you got a whiff of lavender-vanilla perfume and jumped up from the table.

hannah. you shrieked, probably waking up half the camp. you spun around and tackled her to the ground, hugging her so tightly you would probably cut off her circulation.

she pushed you off, laughing, and got to her feet. “it’s good to see you too, babe. what’s up with all of you? you never call, i feel like i’ve been completely cut off.” (you had iris-messaged her last week for five hours).

“your sister is still absolutely obsessed with beckendorf,” you said, sitting down.

“hey!” silena protested.

“but of course he has no idea that he likes her.” silena turned pink. “no one here is good enough for annabeth, obviously—"

“i never said that, clarisse doesn’t let any boys near me.” you stick your tongue out at her.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” clarisse said, feigning obliviousness. “you hang out with luke all the time.”

“he’s always hanging out with that new kid.” she grumbled. “or—"

“speaking of, clarisse definitely thinks this hermes boy is so cute— you haven’t met him, he got here a few months ago, but his name is chris, and i think they would be so cute together. she’s out of everyone’s league, obviously, but if anyone would be good for her—"

“gods, you would think you’re the aphrodite kid, listening to you.” hannah smiled. she stole a bite of your french toast.

“i’m just excited to see you,” you said, laying your head on her shoulder. silena and clarisse smirked.

“she’s leaving somebody out here,” silena said, smiling.

“i know, it’s weird, she never shuts up about him otherwise,” clarisse added, narrowing her eyes at you teasingly.

“oh, who could you possibly be talking about?” hannah twirled a piece of hair. she hasn’t even been here, but one doesn’t forget their best friend’s crush of four years in a few months.

“i do not,” you protested meekly.

“you knew who we were talking about, though”

“i spend a lot of time with him, that’s all. there would be a gaping hole if i told you about my day and didn’t bring him up.”

“would you stop pretending as if you aren’t in love with each other, please?” annabeth interrupted. “you’re worse than them, at least they can admit it.” she gestured at clarisse and silena.

“i am not in love with him, annabeth.”

“you’re always starting at him.”

“i’m in conversation.”

“with your eyes. that is literally textbook romance.”

“i could so admit if i was into him,” you say, cutting her off. “i admit things like that all the time. i told you i thought jack was cute. you know that kid from demeter?”

“we all know you made that up,” annabeth said, crossing her arms over her chest. silena gave her a light push.

“don’t be so quick to accuse, annie.” only you and silena ever called her that. “i don’t think she made it up. i just don’t think she’s as into him as she is into him.”

“would you drop it, about luke, please?”

“hey, you said his name, not me,” silena smiled. “but sure. i don’t believe that you’re not into him, but i’ll drop it if you can prove that he isn’t into you.”

your heart sank. you weren’t sure why, but you suddenly felt nauseous at the thought. hannah’s hand rested on your knee, as if she could sense it.

“how am i supposed to do that? i can’t read minds.”

“hook up with jack at the campfire.”

“what?”

“flirt with him! you were just talking the other day about how you’re eighteen and you haven’t even had sex yet.” hannah covered annabeth’s ears, to which she shoved her off and glared. “jack’s, like, really hot. i saw you staring the other day.”

“when luke wasn’t around,” annabeth added, one eyebrow raised.

“you want me to have sex with jack?”

“i’m not saying that. just flirt with him. see what happens. we’ll— she gestured between herself, clarisse, annabeth and hannah— see how luke is doing.”

“okay, he isn’t going to be doing anything,” you said. “i don’t see what this accomplishes.” but even as you were saying it, your mind betrayed you. you thought for a second and conjured an image of strong arms holding you, soft lips kissing yours with the bonfire light in the background. maybe you were near the beach.

“we’ll see,” silena smiled.

you didn’t want to go all the way, or anything. you knew that. but… jack was really hot. and sweet. he was always catching little kids falling off of obstacle courses with soft bushes, and growing them flower crowns. it couldn’t hurt to talk to him, see what happened. maybe he’d ask you out, or something. bring you flowers on a date. and you guessed you wouldn’t mind making out with him.

the campfire roared in the middle of the amphitheater. the only people there were the older campers, and some counselors trickling back in from tucking kids into bed. you had helped luke with the hermes cabin, because he had so many kids to take care of, and you had none.

you pulled the covers over katie, a girl a little younger than annabeth, who had gotten to camp a few months ago. she was still unclaimed, but with the way she spent all day in the strawberry fields, and the plants tended to shoot up around her, you were fairly sure where she belonged.

you kissed the top of her head, and stood up, looking around the dark cabin for luke, seeing him kneeling beside a little boy, probably about the same age as katie. the boy sounded like he was crying.

“hey, connor,” luke whispered, rubbing circles on the kid’s back. “it’s okay. it’s okay. i get them too.” you realized that the boy must have been afraid to fall asleep. “travis is right above you, he’ll protect you, okay? nothing bad can happen to you here.”

he looked over at you, before turning back to connor. “and we can play poker tomorrow, you’re getting pretty good.”

“are you leaving?” the boy whispered, choking a bit on his tears.

“just for a little bit, kid. i’ll be back soon, i promise. i’ll be here when you wake up. i’m not going to leave you anytime soon.”

“okay,” the boy mumbled. luke pulled the covers over his shoulders, and ruffled his hair before turning to you.

“let’s go,” he mouthed, gesturing at the door. the two of you crept outside, luke much more stealthily than you, closing the door silently. “god of thieves,” he shrugged, but he didn’t grin as he usually did when he bragged. you didn’t have to ask why, but you played along.

“yeah, yeah, i know,” you said, rolling your eyes. “can we go now?”

“yeah, ‘course,” he said. he slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him as you walked, and you couldn’t help but think of silena’s words as you rested your head on his chest.

arriving back at the campfire, you pulled yourself away from luke, walking over to hannah. she smirked at you, pulling you in for a hug.

“you don’t have to do this, you know,” she said.

“i know,” you replied. “i want to. he’s cute.”

and he was, you thought, as he led you away from the campfire. you’d sat for an hour, letting the flames dance over your skin as you talked with him. he made you laugh, even blush when he grew a flower out of the stone to tuck behind your ear. when he grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, you felt dizzy, though that might have been the alcohol.

as you walked further away from the amphitheater, you spun around in the grass, laughing, and he laughed with you. or at you? you couldn’t really tell, and you didn’t really care. you just wanted to kiss him. you didn’t notice that you weren’t heading near the cabins until he stopped in a little cove at the edge of the forest.

“why are we here?” you asked, a little dazed.

“come on,” he said. “you know why.”

and then he was kissing you. it was messy, and made you kind of uncomfortable, but you told yourself to get over it. you couldn’t expect it to live up to the time luke had kissed you, on a dare, when you were thirteen. nothing would ever live up to that, because you couldn’t have him. he hadn’t even cared when you had left him at the party, talking up some girl you couldn’t really see on the other side of the fire.

you blinked, pulling away from jack. you hadn’t realized as you were thinking it, but you had admitted to yourself for the first time that yes: you did want luke. really, really, wanted him. you pushed back on jack lightly.

“i’m sorry, i don’t think i can do this right now,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth on the sleeve of your hoodie — luke’s hoodie, that he had given you that night after he kissed you, when you were shivering outside, staring into space because you couldn’t understand what you were feeling.

“come on, it’s fine,” jack replied, pulling you back into his arms. they weren’t like the arms you were picturing earlier. no, you could admit to yourself new that those had been luke’s. your mind was reeling— you knew that you couldn’t have him, that he would never like you like you liked him, but kissing jack felt wrong. not that you had really been kissing him back.

“i want to go home,” you said, and you weren’t sure where you meant. back to the campfire, to luke and hannah, back to your cabin? maybe even back to your mom on the upper east side, who you missed every day but couldn’t live with during the year for the sake of your little brother, who was too young to know that he, too, was a son of poseidon.

“really? you were flirting with me all night,” jack mumbled into your lips. “stay a little longer.” it was true, you had been flirting with him. you figured you could at least make out with him for a bit. you resigned, letting him lower you onto the grass, and reluctantly letting him run his hands along the hem of your shirt.

hannah was getting worried, and luke could tell. he had forced himself off when you were clearly interested in that demeter guy, who luke knew and was friends with but suddenly hated with all his guts. he had forced himself to be interested in getting the details on silena and beckendorf, which he didn’t really realize he was getting to share with you later, resigning to glancing too often through the flames of the fire at your face, and the way the flames made you look like a goddess. no, he thought. you always looked like a goddess.

but hannah, who had just arrived back at camp for the summer that morning, was biting her lip, and looking around with a bothered expression on her face, and luke had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, that he needed to know you were safe immediately.

he walked over to hannah, probably too quickly, and didn’t waste time asking how she was, or how college had been. “where is she?” he demanded, too forcefully. he would have to apologize to hannah later, but he only had one thing on his mind.“what’s wrong?”

“oh. hey, luke,” she said, still in a sort of trance. he snapped his finger away from her face, shaking his head.

“hannah? where is she?”

she shook her head and widened her eyes. it was clear to luke that you had picked up that habit of staring out at nothing when you were deep in thought, usually not about pleasant things. “she’s with jack,” she said. “they left a little while ago. i just… i don’t know. i should go check that she’s back at her cabin by now.”

“yeah, yeah we should,” luke grumbled, and started taking the steps out of the theater two at a time in an effort to get out. hannah followed— you had told him that his stress could be contagious.

you weren’t in your cabin. you weren’t in the demeter cabin either, and the pair of them woke up a bunch of kids as you barged in, which he was sure mr. d would have a lot to say about in the morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

he ran across the basketball court, hannah close behind.

“i have an idea of where they might be,” hannah said, pointing in the direction of the woods.

“how do you know?”

“because i showed jack that spot when we were fourteen,” she said, grumbling. luke clearly wasn’t the only one who cared about you.

“i thought you were gay?” luke questioned, not slowing down.

“yeah. like i said, fourteen. people explore things, figure themselves out.” gods, she thought, men could be so incredibly stupid.

they ran faster than ever to the edge of the woods, where sure enough, they found you, lying on a mossy stone with jack hovering over you. luke wanted to run to you immediately, but hannah held him back — no easy feat, but she managed.

“hold on, romeo,” she strained. “you can’t just barge in there and—” then she heard it— the unmistakable sound of your voice, and the word stop.

“jack…” you mumbled. you were so drunk. you weren’t sure where you were anymore, and you didn’t really remember walking over here, though you knew you had. “jack, we can do this later, i’m tired—”

“you’re fine, it’s fine,” he said quietly, starting to undo the zipper of your shorts. you reached down to stop him, but he pushed your hand away, and as it hit the stone, moss started growing over it, holding it there.

“jack, stop it,” you said, more forcefully this time. you realized that he didn’t even know what he was doing, and for some reason that scared you more. he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but he wanted it— he wanted you held down, and he didn’t care that you didn’t.

he shushed you, but looked up at a rustling in the trees, and a familiar grunt.

luke broke out of hannah’s arms, but it didn’t really matter, because she had been letting him go anyways. he stormed across the clearing, and while you were still dazed and confused, you couldn’t miss the entirety of jack’s weight being ripped from on top of you, and you thought you saw a fist collide with his face.

hannah, however, rushed to your side. she didn’t particularly want to see luke end up bloody and beaten in the infirmary, but she had bigger fish to fry right now: namely, you. she tore up the moss, no longer strong as jack’s focus was elsewhere, and redid your shorts for you. there were tears on your face as she pulled you to your feet.

there was so much noise. jack was shouting at luke, but you couldn’t make out the words. you could hear the music and the gleeful sounds of counselors from the amphitheater, but it seemed worlds away from you.

as hannah led you out of the woods, much faster than you could really manage, your head began to pound behind your eyes. a splitting pain hit your forehead, and your vision went black and spotty. you stumbled forward, relying entirely on hannah to keep you upright, but one stray tree root took you down. you swam between consciousness and a dark, dark sleep. there was screaming, it was hannah, and then the familiar deep voice of clarisse, barking orders. you thought you heard annabeth’s name, and then two strong sets of arms lifting you up, and carrying you away.

you woke up at the bottom of the sea. no. that wasn’t right. the bottom of the sea was soft, covered in mud and sand. you tried to stretch your body, hitting plastic walls. as your eyes focused, you could make out cartoon fish swimming entirely too close to your face, and you sat up with a start, splashing water all over a corner of the infirmary.

a kiddie pool. they had filled a kiddie pool with salt water, and left you in it overnight to soak, like one of those colorful dinosaur toys that grew in water. and the worst part was that it seemed to have worked. you felt brand new, like you had slept for a hundred years, and at the same time followed a very strict workout regimen, taken a juice cleanse and eaten like a king. you groaned, and slipped back under the water.

you stared at the ceiling, watching wooden beams ripple with the surface of your personal ocean. you wondered if your father ever felt like this is in the pacific, if he could be that big if he wanted to. your camp necklace floated up before your face, crossing a familiar face lurking over you.

you sat up. cara fletcher, hannah’s friend, held out some nectar. you shook your head.

“i’m okay.”

she raised an eyebrow.

“fine,” you sighed, taking the flask and drinking. it did help. you felt like you could take on the minotaur.

“your friends were here all night,” she said. i kicked them out around ten because they were falling asleep on each other, and i didn’t need any more cracked skulls when they fell off the stools.

“more?” you asked. she sighed, looking over her shoulder.

“your boyfriend beat that kid up pretty bad last night,” she said. you didn’t see jack lying on any of the cots, but a head of dark curls lay a few beds down, and the body attached to it did not look to be in great shape.

“he’s not my boyfriend.” you answered quickly, not taking your eyes off of luke. “is he okay?”

cara seemed to make out which he’s you were referring to. “i wasn’t talking about him,” she said. “hannah told me what happened. if you ask me, luke didn’t do nearly enough damage.”

“don’t tell him that,” you said. “and he’s also not my boyfriend,” you added as you processed her words fully.

“not yet, he’s not.” hannah said, strolling in with three bagels in hand.

“i thought i told you to go to bed,” cara scolded, taking her bagel. “you’re going to drop dead one of these days.” hannah smiled, ignoring her as he sat down next to her and put her arm around her shoulders.

you glance between them, ideas churning in your mind, but they were quickly interrupted by the bagel being shoved in your face. you had always thought that the harpies must have spent some time in the city— they made a dam good bagel.

“so.” hannah started. “you are going to tell us everything you’re thinking right now, because i see you looking over at him every two seconds, and don’t think you’re getting out of any of it.”

“i’m eating,” you grumbled. hannah reached to snatch the bagel away, but cara swatted her hand back.

“she’s recovering.” you stuck your tongue out at hannah.

“i don’t care,” hannah said. “spill.”

“look, i don’t even know what happened last night—”

“because you were really, really, drunk,” she interrupted.

“do you want me to speak or not?” you demanded.

“okay. fine. but just so you’re aware, he swooped in and defended you, and beat the shit out of that little asshole, who, just between us, mr. d is fucking fuming with.” trust hannah to get distracted two seconds in. demigod adhd was no joke. “he dragged him to the big house this morning himself, severe concussion and all, and according to lee, chewed him out for about an hour. something about the sanctity of drunkenness and how it is not to be weaponized… even chiron was surprised.” she paused for breath.

“anyways, the point stands— he,” she nodded her head at luke, “was quite literally your knight in shining armor, and if you still don’t think he is absolutely enamored with you—” and you were pretty sure you heard a cot creak— “then i swear on my mother i will call her down and force her to do something about this because i cannot take it any longer.”

“he was just being a good person, hannah,” you muttered. “he’s just like that.”

hannah looked as though she were about to scream, but cara rubbed her hand along her thigh, calming her before she spoke herself.

“there’s something more than that, isn’t there?” she asked softly, and you thought she was staring directly into your soul. “there’s a reason you don’t think he likes you.”

you hesitated, splashing the water around in your pool and making eye contact with a cartoon fish as you worked up the courage to say what it was you knew you had to get off your chest.

“before last night,” you started, your voice cracking as you spoke, “it was just me thinking i wasn’t pretty enough, or good enough for him. that he wouldn’t look at me because there are so many other girls at this camp who are obsessed with him. and i don't think i realized that i liked him either. but now…” a sob came from the back of your throat, and you looked up at hannah, tears streaking your red face.

“why would he want me now?” you sobbed.

“hey. stop that,” hannah started. “what jack did to you wasn’t your fault, and everyone knows that.” she was trying to make you feel better, but the news that your pathetic love life was the talk of camp wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“it was, though,” you said quietly. “i led him on. i never told him no that strongly, and i was flirting with him all night. what reason did he have not to think… not to…” you were hyperventilating now, your words coming out in broken syllables.

“i’m a fucking slut, and now everyone knows it,” you managed. you sank back into the water to slow your breathing, but tears still streamed down your face.

“that’s bullshit,” came a voice from elsewhere in the infirmary. you could have thrown up then and there. you pulled yourself up by the walls of the kiddie pool, looking down the aisle as luke castellan limped towards you. his scarred eye was bruised and bloodshot, and he had a massive scrape running up his left arm, and that was just what you could see. the tears began to fall faster.

“luke…”

you were thirteen years old again, at the top of half-blood hill, holding grover upright. you were watching desperately as he stumbled upward, through the pouring rain, carrying a screaming little girl who was trying with all her might to run back and help her friend. all four of you were sobbing, exhausted and beaten. seeing them all like that was ten times more painful than the gash in your side.

“that’s bullshit,” luke repeated. you got up from the pool and held his face in your hand, inspecting the bruise. you took the rest of the nectar cara had given you, holding it to his lips, but he pushed it away. “you’re not a slut,” he said. suddenly everything about your conversation came rushing back to you, and it hit you that you had just admitted to him that you were in love with him.

you turned your head. hannah and cara were gone, slipped out the back door. you turned back to face luke, face red and tears pouring over your skin.

“that wasn’t your fault. you didn’t owe him anything. he‘s disgusting, and deserves to have his fucking dick cut off.” you laugh, despite everything.

“i think mr. d may have actually taken care of that,” you whispered.

“good.” you looked at him for a while. his eyes were so beautiful, a deep, deep, brown that reminds you of the otters that hung mysteriously around your upper east side apartment when you lived in the city.

“why did you have to fight him?” you asked, reaching up to his face again.

“you were in trouble,” he said.

“luke.” the tears were threatening to fall again. “you could have seriously hurt yourself. i just… why? why not just pull him off of me?” you needed an answer. you needed to know why, why on earth he had put so much of himself in front of you, in front of jack’s fists.

he looked down at you, a pained expression on his face. “you know why,” he whispered.

he looked down at your lips, and you shook your head softly. you looked down at your feet. you were so afraid, afraid that he wouldn’t be interested now that you didn’t want… that. from him. yet— that you considered looking up and letting him kiss you.

he shocked you when he wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him, holding the back of your head into the space between his chest and his shoulder.

“okay,” he whispered. “that’s okay.” then, softer. “i love you.”

you couldn’t say it back. not yet, not now. but you held him tighter, holding on to him like he was the only thing stopping you from falling into tartarus.

“i’ll be here forever,” he spoke into your hair. and you believed him.

the hermes cabin hosted a movie night that night. you were watching the incredibles two, at a request from connor stoll, who was currently involved in an intense argument with annabeth over which installment was better.

“i think i’m going to start calling you that,” luke whispered in your ear. “jack-jack.” you glared at him. “‘cause, you know, your last name’s jackson-”

“yeah, dude, i got the joke,” you said. you rolled your eyes, nuzzling your head into his chest. you could stay like this for a while, you thought, and as you closed your eyes, you felt him press a kiss to your head — something you had told him was okay. you couldn’t wait to bring him home for a weekend. maybe annabeth, too. you couldn’t help but think she would get along great with your brother.

⭑

a/n: hello loves! i hope you enjoyed this, please please leave any feedback or anything, and let me know if you would like me to continue this story/write more of luke and the reader's past. i hope people enjoyed the little hints at percy! so excited for this reader and to explore all her relationships.

#pjo x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan x you #luke castellan angst #luke pjo #percy series

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the-mandawhor1an · 6 months ago

Text

Europa (Frankie Morales x afab!Reader)

ausa est quoque regia virgo nescia, quem premeret, tergo considere tauri, cum deus a terra siccoque a litore sensim falsa pedum primis vestigia ponit in undis;

the regal maiden even dared to climb atop the bull's back unaware of who she mounted, the god first from land and then from shore set treacherous footsteps toward the waves, then he goes further and carries his prize across the wide ocean

Summary: One of your friend’s bachelorette trip takes a sudden turn when a stranger makes advances at you. Prepare to be swept off your feet like in the old tales of the ancient world.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ content, MDNI! No one has a name but Frankie; Slightly dubcon; abduction but make it sexy; the cap stays on; non-explicit descriptions of sexual acts (it’s Frankie, you know what he’s known for); oral (f recieving); fingering; overstim; piv (be responsible and use protection!)

A/N: This is my part for the Pedro Pantheon event hosted by @beskarandblasters – Kel has since left Tumblr but I finally found inspiration to write this, so I’m still publishing it. My ‘prompt’ was Frankie as Zeus and I relatively quickly settled on the abduction of Europa. (The other idea was maybe writing about Hermes’s parents but that would be another Maia, haha) Idk, it felt like a nice story to ‘modernize’ and put Frankie in there. I’ve not specified if he actually is the god Zeus, but it can be interpreted, I guess.

It’s my first time actually narrating sex, so be gentle in your criticism. It’s not proper smut, because I still struggle with being super explicit. Feels vulgar and every fiber of my being hates being vulgar. (more power to you if you can write that shit because you can bet your butts love reading it)

The jetski… I guess I have to blame YSD by @swiftispunk for that one

The Latin part on top is from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The translation is not completely mine, unfortunately my Latin is close to nonexistent these days.

divider made by @saradika-graphics

and the biggest smooches to @janaispunk for beta'ing for me 💜💜💜💜

It's days like this that make you appreciate not having any ties that weigh you down. Sure, being single can be lonely, but at least you don't have to justify going on a 3 day Bachelorette trip with your friends to anyone. And you'll be the only one who doesn't have to worry about falling for a stranger at the beach.

The four of you, all dressed in light, flowy dresses to cover your bikinis, arrive at the beach. The white sand is warm underneath your feet, sinking in with every step towards the beach bar. The air is fresh and filled with laughter as you approach the bar, the blue of the ocean slowly merging with the changing sky. Sundown is approaching, although you’ll probably have an hour or so of sunlight left. The bride to be orders the first round of drinks, colorful cocktails. The others talk about their relationships, what their partners are doing while you are out here in literal paradise. You drown out most of the noise, not wanting their discussion to ruin your mood, not interfering with their dialogue either. Part of you can't help feeling jealous, but the thought doesn't linger for too long, as a good looking stranger appears.

He wears a light shirt and cream colored shorts, the only unusual sight is the navy blue cap that hides most of his what you assume to be dark brown hair. He is very tan, his skin speckled with freckles. A smile is plastered on his lips and you can't help but feel a little flustered when his brown eyes meet yours for a moment. He is gorgeous, like the gods had sculpted him with the utmost care to not make a single flaw. His eyes are dark, his nose prominent and his lips look plump and soft. His beard is well groomed, although one spot on his jawline is missing hair. Weirdly enough, the bald spot almost looks like a heart.

“Looks like you’re having fun here, ladies. Any chance I can join?” he asks as he leans on the bar with one arm, facing your group. It should be obvious with your friend in all white, but she is willing to let the stranger in on the secret.

“I’m getting married soon and I wanted to take a little trip with my friends.” She raises her hand to present her engagement ring, a relatively big diamond that sparkles in the slowly setting sun.

“Oh, congratulations,” he replies with a genuine smile. “I hope he knows he’s a lucky guy.” His gaze wanders between all of the women, finally resting on you for just a moment too long to be accidental. “And your partners are fine with you girls going out for multiple days?” Again, his gaze is fixed on the bride, who gives off group leader vibes right now. And that’s when a mischievous grin forms on a few faces and suddenly all of them look at you.

“Some of us didn’t need to talk to anyone about leaving for a few days,” your best friend says, giving the man incentive to flirt with you rather than her. You dart her a disapproving look, but now the handsome stranger fixates his attention to you. So much so that he actually switches his place to be closer to you.

“Nice friends you got there, huh? I’m Frankie,” he takes a sip of his drink. His smile sure is contagious, having you practically beaming at him when you state your name.

“They are the best. I was the first to start the ‘single forever’ jokes, I don’t mind the teasing,” you explain and take a sip of your cocktail. “What about you? You’re at the beach all by yourself.” He chuckles, a deep rumble that you can barely pick up audibly, but you feel the vibrations.

“Waiting for my next victim, possibly.” You furrow your brows the same moment when he lifts his hands apologetically. “Sorry, it’s a joke. I live in the area and I just enjoy being here, especially around sunset. Maybe it’s a little rude of me to just approach a group of women clearly enjoying their time but I couldn’t help it.” His index circles the rim of his drink. It almost seems like he is in deep thought, or perhaps just nervous?

You smile. Part of you wants to think he is nervous because of you. His interest in you is obvious. “How long have you been single?”

“It’s been a while. I mean, I sometimes miss it, but … I enjoy not having to justify anything. I’m independent and I guess that’s what’s off-putting to so many men in the first place.” You shrug, it’s not like you miss your ex or anything. Sometimes it’s lonelier, yes, but, over all? You’re happy.

“Sounds more like you’ve met the wrong men. If you ask me, that is.” Frankie takes another sip and mirrors your shrug. As much as you don’t want to agree, it does sound like he’s on to something there.

“You’re probably right,” you finally confess with a sigh. Your friends never complain about their partners either, so maybe you’re just unlucky with your choice of men.

“The sun is setting,” the bride interferes, just as you're about to ask Frankie if he'd be the right kind of man. You shoot him an apologetic look as the girls detach from the bar to head down to the shore. He smiles back at you and nods. You feel his gaze linger on you once again as you tread towards where the waves softly caress the light sand rhythmically. The setting sun paints the sky in the most beautiful shades of pink and orange and shifts to purple where it reflects on the water. It really feels like you’re in paradise, an otherworldly escape to mark the beginning of a new chapter in your friend’s life.

“Thank you for taking us here,” you start, resting one hand on her shoulder. The others join in until all of you are intertwined.

“Of course,” she replies. ”All of you have been in my life for years. I wanted to make sure you know that I appreciate it. And I love y'all. So much. I know times were tough sometimes, and they might be when I turn into bridezilla,” she laughs, “but I know you'll always be there for me. All of you are my best friends and the best bridesmaids I could ever wish for.” A quiet sob escapes her lips as the whole group envelops her in a big hug. You exchange ‘I love you's and stay like this for a good minute.

As the sun draws closer to the horizon, the saturation of the scenery changes drastically. You never thought you’d see a sunset like this ever, but here you are.

“All that’s left is for our nun to find a man now,” Bestie intercepts, poking your side with her index. With your middle finger raised, you stick your tongue out towards her. “Frankie looked interested,” she adds. Of course she eavesdropped on your little conversation. Despite what you had told yourself before this trip, you can’t help it – you think about his soft smile, how his cheeks show a little shadow where dimples form.

Your gaze scans over the horizon. Birds fly high in the sky and far in the distance are little spots moving on the water. You assume these to be boats, maybe even yachts, when a noise draws closer. At first it is low, almost like a mosquito whirr, just deeper, but as it gets louder you can identify it as an engine. A white jet ski appears in your peripheral. “Well, speak of the devil,” you hum as you recognize that same navy blue cap.

“The beach is so large and yet you decide to come back and interrupt us once again,” you roll your eyes at him, a sheepish smile plastered on his face. How could anyone be mad at him? Somehow, he is like personified sunshine. Just… making you smile even if you didn’t want to.

“I’m really sorry. But I have my reasons. No one this pretty should shed tears on one of the most beautiful beaches on this planet. It destroys the magic.” He grins as he dismounts from the jet ski. With an outstretched hand, he offers the girls to take little spins.

No one accepts the offer at first. That is until your best friend sits on the machine and draws small circles on the water, revving the engine whenever the back of the jet ski is pointed away from the group. The water that gets kicked up paints a rainbow against the colorful sky. Frankie stands beside you, taking the sight in just like you are.

“Looks fun, huh?” he leans over and asks. You nod, but don’t turn your head away from the water.

“It does.”

“You should try it.”

“I can’t. I’m … I’ve never been on one.”

“It’s not that hard. Wouldn’t say like riding a bike but you’ll get used to it quickly.” Now you turn your head and watch him bite his lower lip, practically gnawing on it until he realizes you’re looking at him. “If you want to, you can hop on while I drive you around.”

Originally you want to decline the offer, but you’ve never been one to make the best choices. “Alright. But don’t rev the engine like that. I will jump off,” you finally say with a nod towards your best friend, who has the time of her life. Something in the pit of your stomach warns you to be careful, but those warm, deep brown puppy eyes make you forget any walls you had put up.

It's your turn and despite his offer, you sit in front. Frankie has no issue practically welding himself to your back to be able to touch the handlebar. The girls cheer from the shore as the engine starts and you slowly glide over the water. Maybe you should worry about not wearing a life jacket, but then again, you are in shallow water.

Right?

You're distracted by the sensation of him pressing into you, your back melting into his chest. The water is nice and just the right temperature, not too cold on your skin whenever a few drops land there after a turn. “See, it's not that bad,” Frankie hums from behind you, taking one of his hands from the handle to glide over your thigh. A shiver goes down your spine and you inhale audibly.

As you turn back, a grin is plastered on his lips. You mirror the expression. “You were right. Not bad at all.” Your gaze lingers on his lips. He's so close, all you'd have to do is lean in and…

“You want to go a little faster?” he asks, interrupting the mental image that had just formed in your mind. Soft lips on yours, his scruff scratching your skin gently. Burying your fingers in his hair. Fuck. Part of you wants to go all the way with him.

With a nod you give him permission, holding onto the handle as well, just to make sure you won't fall off. Frankie shows you how to steer and accelerate, allowing you to try for yourself. His arms wrap around you while you take a few turns. It might be your mind playing tricks on you but you're almost certain he is grinding into you. Plus, you can't deny that you enjoy the sensation.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” he whispers in your ear and leans down, placing a kiss on your shoulder. A little groan escapes him as he once again rolls his hips against your butt.

“Frankie,” you hiss, but as one of his palms brushes over your thigh again, you turn silent.

“Let's get out of the water, huh?” The purr in his words drives you mad, an ache forms in your core.

Fueled by your reaction, Frankie continues to place soft kisses along your neck and shoulder. Completely distracted by the sensation of his lips on your skin, you don’t pay much attention to where you are going.

It is, in fact, your friends’ voices calling your name that pull you back to reality, barely louder than a whisper over the roar of the engine underneath you. You turn your head, the shore behind you is so far away you can barely make out your friends in the distance. Not only that, the distance is increasing. You face Frankie as best as you can without completely letting go of the handle.

“Frankie, what the actual fuck? This isn’t funny!” you scream at him. A normal conversation was off the table the moment he decided to take you out on the open ocean. The jet ski slows, the engine’s roar dying down to a low hum as you glide over the water with the leftover momentum.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. His eyes avoid your death-stare, but as you try and dismount from the machine, he wraps both arms around your torso, effectively locking you into place. “Hey, relax. If you jump off you’re out in the open. Shore’s too far away for you to swim. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“That’s very comforting while you’re pressing me into your chest.” You try to push away from him, to no avail. “Just take me back. Please.”

“Can I show you something first?”

Part of you wants to spit a ‘Fuck no’ into his stupid, pretty face but it’s like you’ve suddenly forgotten how to say no. Something in the softness of his gaze convinces you to at least try. If he wanted to hurt you, he would just do it, right?

Right?

“You better make this worth the almost-heart attack I just had,” you finally grumble, your face turned forward. He places more kisses on your neck as the journey continues.

A short travel later, you end up on another beach. The sand looks cleaner than the beach next to the bar, and it is suspiciously quiet. The sun has set, only the orange tint on the horizon remains. Frankie is not even an after thought as you walk over the beach towards the forest that presumably separates you from civilization.

There, in the shade of large palm trees, you find a small hut. Fairy lights are attached to the roof, giving off soft, colorful light, inviting you to come closer. The door is open, so you set one foot inside. “Hello?” you call out and wait for an answer. Carefully you walk inside further and look around.

The inside is dimly lit, warm yellow lightbulbs create an overly cozy atmosphere. The hut barely has more than a bed, a small bathroom and a tiny cooking corner. It shows no signs of any recent tenants, the bed looks freshly made, though. You see no phone to maybe figure out how to get back.

You’ve wasted all your time being in awe of the little getaway house, as now Frankie appears in the doorway again. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he apologizes. You scoff and cross your arms in front of your chest. That’s not enough. You shake your head. “You’ve abducted me, Frankie. What the actual fuck, are you going to murder me now?”

Frankie tries to come closer, but you take a step back. He looks heartbroken at the realization that you are, in fact, scared of him. A little.

“I don’t want to do anything,” he again pleads. A hand reaches out to you, touches your arm and you let it happen. “I will not hurt you. I might be an idiot but I’m not an asshole. I wanted to be alone with you and thought the jet ski would impress you.”

“And what an idiot you are. A normal person would just ask to be alone with someone, not kidnap them.” And he knows you’re right. Although the jet ski left an impression. It’s hard to deny that.

“Would you have abandoned your friends for a stranger?”

“Well, you’ll never find out.”

He sighs in defeat. You let your guard down, even as he draws in closer until you’re standing chest to chest. Slowly you start to believe him not wanting to hurt you. “Do you want me to take you back?” he asks. His eyes are darting between your eyes and your lips. Your heart rate picks up. The sensation of his lips on your skin still drives you wild.

“Yes, please.” You look up to him, into the chocolatey brown eyes of his. His lips curl up into a smile as a thought seems to materialize.

“What?”

“It’s such a shame.”

“What is?”

Now both of his hands are on your arms, the top of his fingers barely graze over your skin and cause goosebumps to form. “You have such beautiful eyes. It is a shame that all they’re full of right now is the anger you feel for me. It’s a shame that your soft and warm skin is covered in goosebumps due to my touch. And the biggest shame of all is that your lips quiver with rage when all I want to do is kiss them to show you how sorry I am.”

That hits you like lightning.

Your eyes widen but before you can properly react to anything he said, you feel the same soft lips you had felt on your neck, now on your own lips. He’s soft and careful at first, but as soon as your arms wrap around him, any regards are thrown out the window. A soft, breathy moan escapes your lips as he pulls you in closer, allowing you to feel the muscles underneath his shirt.

“Allow me to make it up to you, beautiful,” he purrs against your lips. How could anyone resist?

How can you?

Instead of an answer, you catch his lips once again. Frankie takes that as a clear yes and pushes you into the wall behind you. Now that you're pinned, he lifts one of your legs by the knee. The kisses turn more heated as he grinds his pelvis into yours.

The softest little curses escape his lips whenever they let go of yours. He's rock hard when he grinds against you. Fuck. The feeling drives you insane, even though you're still separated by various layers of fabric. Your body may not show it externally, but you feel the heat traveling to your core. Every little whine and moan that echoes in your ears makes your muscles contract, practically screaming for relief. It would pull you to your knees if you weren't pinned to the wall.

Does he know what he does to you? How badly you suddenly crave him?

Something sparkles in his eyes as they meet yours. His pupils are blown out, nothing more than pure darkness. And still there is this sparkle.

Some time later you find yourself on the bed. The mattress is so soft it practically envelops you in a hug, as if you are embedded in a cloud. Your dress and bikini have long been discarded when Frankie kissed nearly every inch of the skin he exposed. Right now you should feel vulnerable, naked in a stranger's bed, but you don't.

Perhaps you're incapable to see the situation for what it could have been, because the same man that took you here is currently deeply immersed in between your legs. How can you think straight when his grip is unmoving around your hips and he drinks you up like a man close to death from dehydration. The moans that vibrate against your core send shivers through your entire body. He ravishes in the sweetness of you, undeniably turned on by the noises he elicits from you.

One thing bothers you, though. When you look down, hoping to meet his eyes, all you see is the visor of his cap. It is downright rude of him to obstruct your view like this. As you reach out to take the cap off of him, he protests with a low growl and pulls away. Again, the vibrations of his voice on your skin make you writhe, but he holds you where you are. “Frankie,” you whine. With a sigh he adjusts the cap so you can see his face, smiling at you softly. His skin glistens in the low, warm light. Without breaking eye contact, he dives back in, but this time a finger joins in in hopes to coax more noises out of you. He cocks an eyebrow when you moan softly. His eyes are completely dark with lust when he dares to try a second finger.

It is too much.

Your head falls back and your eyes roll into the back of your skull as you feel pleasure take over and you revel in pure ecstasy. There’s only one word on your tongue, his name over and over, like a prayer. You ride out the waves of your high as best as you can, but Frankie continues to touch you, feel you, taste you, and it is too much to handle. Before you can feel another orgasm build up, you grab hold of the arm that still pins you to the bed.

“Frankie, please. That’s enough,” you plead with him. You look down to see him watching you intently. With one last kiss to your inner thigh, he lets go of you and crawls upward until he’s eye to eye. Half of his face sparkles, but now that little spark in his eyes is missing and the warmth has returned. The cap gets pulled down into its correct position and he plants soft kisses on your cheek.

“If you want me to do something else, you’ll have to tell me.” He continues to pepper kisses all over your face. He lowers his body onto yours, allowing you to feel his weight and also how painfully hard he still is, turned on by your pleasure. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he purrs into your ear.

“Fuck, Frankie, fuck me,” you gasp.

And fuck you he does. Hours upon hours you two are one. Sometimes it’s you on top, but most of the time he hovers over you, relentlessly snapping into you while his lips capture yours. He whispers the filthiest things into your ears to drive you mad. “You feel so fucking good.” “You’re all mine.” “Just look at how beautiful you are when I fuck you.” “You’re so gorgeous when you cum, fuck.”

When he is finally done, the sun is about to rise. The sky is changing colors once again when he plops down on the bed beside you. Both of you are spent, out of breath and sweaty, but nonetheless he pulls you into his chest and places soft kisses on your forehead. “Fuck,” he whispers and you can’t help it, you chuckle. “Would you have come with me if I asked you?” he wonders. As if that is of any importance now.

“I don’t know,” you reply and kiss his jaw, specifically the little patch that looks like a heart. “All I know is that you won’t have to abduct me next time.”

Gently, he catches your lips with his and kisses you again. “Next time?” There is hope in his voice and his eyes once again remind you of a puppy all of a sudden.

“Stop pretending you don’t know that I enjoyed that,” you reply. Now it’s you who kisses him and places one hand on the back of his head.

“Me too,” he whispers in return.

“Where even are we?” you ask and turn around to look outside of the little hut, press your back and butt into him. The beach is close by and besides you and Frankie there was no sign of life all night long. “Doesn’t have a name… yet,” he says with a shrug. So this is his island but it doesn’t have a name?

“It doesn’t have a name? Why not?”

“Haven’t found one I liked.” Kisses are planted along your shoulder and neck. “Your name would be quite fitting, I think,” he adds. Either it’s the kisses or the night you two shared, but you like the idea.

“Can’t deny that it sounded good when you said it over and over again.” Now you shrug and turn your head to look at him again.

“Guess it’s official then,” he finally says with a wink.

#wolke schreibt #triple frontier frankie #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #afab reader #female reader #beskarandblasters #pedro pantheon

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gh0stsp1d3r · 6 months ago

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hellooo! I just had to request this I know its corny and technically it makes no sense but in a way it does. Like a story with the song Helpless from hamilton lmao. Like reader eliza luke is hamilton and maybe like clarrise is angelica not in the like romantic way just in shes the readers sister!

ℋℯ𝓁𝓅𝓁ℯ𝓈𝓈

How’d you know I love Hamilton, anon? LUKE AND HAMILTON? I love it.

Warnings: not too sure on Clarisse’s age but i think she was around a year older than Percy?? In tlt she would have been 13/14, but my timeline is most definitely off so…

i. “Boy, you got me helpless. Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit.”

The second his eyes met yours, you felt your heart race against your chest. You swallowed the lump in your throat as he sent a small smirk to you, before going back to talking to his friends.

You looked down at the floor now, you’d only been admiring him and for some reason, felt attracted to him more than you had anyone.

ii. “I'm helpless. Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in 'em.”

When you first started dating, you always told him how much you loved his eyes. They were beautiful.

You got lost in them often, when sparring and even when you both taught some campers together. The younger campers teased and gossiped about you both while you rolled your eyes at them, telling them to shut it.

No one has ever seen an Ares kid be as soft as you are with Luke. Even Dionysus is confused at it.

iii. I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight. We were at a revel with some rebels on a hot night.Laughin' at my sister as she's dazzling the room. Then you walked in, and my heart went "boom"

Clarisse was talking and you turned your attention back to her, laughing at something she said.

As you leaned against the wall, a boy had caught your eye. He had brown curly hair, he looked to be the same age. He was holding a cup of something and looked at the others partying. He had a scar that ran down his cheek.

He was undeniably attractive.

You met Luke at a party. His first party he’s gone to, your sister stood next to you. She was younger than you, 11, She was brave, not afraid of anything really. And despite only knowing her for a year, you loved her.

Granted, you were 15 at the time, but you couldn’t leave her in the cabin alone, especially after she begged to come. You stared at the boy from afar, the more you looked the more interesting he got. He was talking with some friends.

She began to talk about something before realizing you weren’t listening. Her eyes went over to where you were looking, and they landed on the Hermes boy.

She quirked an eyebrow at you, a small smirk on her face. “Do you like h-“

You quickly snapped out of it, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Shhhh. Clarisse!”

“What?”

“Do you know him?” You asked her.

“It’s Luke, he’s a counselor. Annoying as sh-“

“Language.”

“He’s annoying as shit. Good swordsman but annoying.”

“How have I never realized him?” You muttered to yourself.

“Probably because there’s a million Hermes kids. Kinda hard to keep track. Plus, since you train with the…” she paused to do her best impression, which was just a high pitched squeal. “Aphrodite kids, you don’t see them much.”

“Huh.” You murmured.

“Are you gonna stand there gawking all day or are you gonna actually go up to him?” she asked you. You sighed, looking over to him again. You thought for a moment before shaking your head.

iiii. Tryin' to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom. Everybody's dancin' and the band's top volume. Grind to the rhythm as we wine and dine

“Oh, seriously, you’re not gonna live a little?” One of your friends asked, coming up to you.

“I’m good.” You shook your head.

“You’re coming.” She told you, and before you could even protest, she dragged your hand and dragged you to the dance floor. You sighed, shaking your head as you slowly began to move to the music, your friends wildly and loudly cheering you on.

A smile on your face, you glanced back at the boy in the corner, your smile faltered.

V. My sister made her way across the room to you. And I got nervous, thinking, "What's she gonna do" She grabs you by the arm, I'm thinking "I'm through.”

It was then that you noticed Clarisse go over to him, tired of your gawking and ogling, even on the dance floor.

Vi. Then you look back at me, and suddenly I'm helpless. Oh, look at those eyes, oh, look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit. I'm helpless, I know down for the count and I'm drowning in 'em.

Your eyes widened, and you pushed yourself out of the crowd, watching her grab his arm and point over to you. His eyes snapped from her small form to you, a soft smile making its way onto his face.

Your eyes looked into his from across the room, both of you seemingly lost in them as Clarisse slipped away from Luke and made her way back to you. But you didn’t even notice.

You knew at that moment, that you loved that boy with all your heart. You didn’t believe in true love at first sight until you felt it.

#luke castellan pjo #luke pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell #pjo fandom #pjo fic #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo tv show #pjo series #the last olympian #percy jackson show

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yenqa · 2 years ago

Text

die first

❥・ genre ⇢ enemies to lovers, angst, hurt no comfort, demigod/percy jackson au, reader is child of athena and jake a child of hermes warnings ⇢ major character death, blood and monsters, weapons (swords), pain?? crying, plz tell me if there’s more pairing ⇢ son of hermes!jake x child of athena!reader (female) wc ⇢ 855

dying wasn’t really like a big deal to you.

it was until you were thrust into a world where you had to fight mythical creatures every day just because you were a demigod.

you were tired, actually. you couldn’t get close to anyone without being scared of their death or even dying.

so, you closed off. you couldn’t be hurt if you didn’t even know them, right?

when there was a war against kronos, you didn’t care that everyone was dying, i mean, you didn’t even know them.

an unknown monster scratches your shoulder, and you yelp, pulling yourself together to stab the monster basically on you. watching the dust coat your newly cleaned sword.

"what happened, sword girl? can’t keep up with the battle?" jake teases, slicing through the three coming for him.

you sigh "now’s not the right time for jokes, jester," you say, trying your best to hold off monsters coming at you.

jake was basically the only person you knew. well, sort of.

he was the only person to ever capture the flag with you watching, and he laughed as he ran with it. that day, the opposing team won, which also resulted in you gaining a new enemy—technically, he was your only enemy, but who’s counting? ever since, you’ve been trying to one-up each other at everything, from who gets more oracles to who can skip rocks the farthest.

you wipe the sweat off your forehead, catching your breath before charging at the monster behind jake, missing the stab to the heart just by a few centimeters. the dust explodes over you.

"gross," you whisper quietly.

"care about me that much, sword girl? i didn’t know you wanted to keep me alive that much," he says, with your back pressed to yours.

"you wish."

the battle continues, with a swarm of monsters surrounding you two.

you try to slice the few monsters coming for you, quickly taking your sword back to stab another. you can feel blood forming on your shoulder from the scratch, growing stiff and tired.

focused on your shoulder, you don’t realize that a pit scorpion was creeping behind the small crowd you gained.

"y/n watch out!" jake yells, and you aren’t sure why.

he launches himself in front of you, shielding you from the sting.

he instantly falls to the ground, a red welt forming on his chest.

"fuck, jester, why would you do that?" you help him up. letting him lean on you as you fight through the crowd.

he speaks incoherently, and god, you walk as fast as you can.

"healers? healer, i need a healer!" you cry and cry.

but no one answers; people drop to the floor, fighting as you look around as quickly as you can. where the fuck are the healers?

you scream in pain as another monster claws at your leg. you do your best to kick it off, running to wherever.

"chaewon, do you have ambrosia?" you quickly say, and she seems shocked, "n-no i’m sorry, y/n. but there are more healers over there." she points, and you nod, putting jake's weight on you as you pull him as fast as you can.

"ambrosia! i need ambrosia, please!" you beg.

you’re quickly given a bag of ambrosia, you quickly lay jake down, forcing open his mouth and stuffing the sweet food in.

"jake? jake are you there? fuck—can you see me?" your vision blurs as tears start wetting his shirt. he chuckles weakly.

"don’t fucking laugh, jester? are you there?"

"you called me jake."

"what? what are you talking about?"

he smiles ever so slightly and says, "you called me jake, you never call me jake."

you scoff lightly, "i do, all the time. but that’s not important," you say, wiping the tears forming again. "are you okay?"

"i feel sleepy."

you cup his face, and you feel his thumb on your cheek, wiping your tears away.

"jake, please, keep your eyes on me." you beg, and he smiles.

"i love it when you say my name; can you say it more often?" he whispers.

"i’ll say it whenever you want, jake, just please. stay awake." you sniffle.

"don’t cry, pretty. please don’t cry."

"i’ll stop, just please, stay awake."

"i’m sorry."

he slowly closes his eyes, letting his body go limp.

"fuck—jake, are you there? please. jake?"

you call his name an infinite number of times. but he never answers.

and you pray and pray that you die instead of him. you beg to every god ever known, but none of then ever answer.

you lay on his chest, wetting his shirt with your flowing tears.

you feel a soft arm on your back, which you rip off.

"get the fuck off me!" you yell, turning with puffy eyes to see a scared chaewon.

"oh shit—i’m sorry chae, i just-"

"it’s okay, everything will be okay, y/n." she cuts you off, placing her soft hand on your back once again and slightly rubbing it.

but it’s not okay. it’s not okay at all. not when you're still alive, and jake's dead right in front of you. nothings okay.

you didn’t care much about anyone, but watching him die in front of you made you realize, you’d do anything to die first.

taglist ⇢ @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

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moon-tells-stories · 1 year ago

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Dear diary, i’m an idiot

Connor Stoll x gn ready

Part two of Heart Problems

Connor is completely in love with you, here is the embarrassing tale of how the new Apollo kid realised it.

Remy wanted to disappear from the face of the earth.

Why?!?! WHY WHY WHY??!?

Honestly at this point they deserved the “most likely to find themselves in awkward situations award”

Their father was the god of prophecy so why couldn’t he sometimes send Remy some sort of sign like: “hey! you shouldn’t do that!if you do you’ll find yourself in awkward situation, my dear!”

Could all of this even be considered an awkward situation?

What do you call it when you ask your crush’s love to set you up with him?????

Remy really really just wanted to hide themselves under their blankets and never come out.

Remy’s demise started when they found out that their father was actually a god. Their life completely turned upside down and they found themselves in a strange camp for demigods.

The first two day were spent in the Hermes cabin waiting for their father to claim them.

It was there that everything started going to shit.

Honestly at first it wasn’t so bad, Remy had finally found a place with people like them, that didn’t judge them or made fun of them.

Plus, the counsellor of cabin 11 was quite hot.

Connor seemed like a nice guy, obliviously without counting his mischievous eyes that made Remy think he had stole their wallet at first.

(he didn’t, but his younger brother did)

From what Remy had gathered he was the typical son of Hermes, with a pendant for trouble and great lying and stealing abilities.

As the counsellor of the Hermes cabin however Connor knew how to make people feel welcomed, he showed Remy around camp, introduced them to the rest of the Hermes kids, he taught them how to use a sword and reassured them that their father would soon claim them.

Remy couldn’t help it, he was cute, with his beautiful blue eyes and pretty brown curls.

They spent those two days hoping, praying, begging that their father wouldn’t be Hermes so that they wouldn’t be related.

Thankfully on the third day Apollo claimed them and they soon joined cabin 7 and met their siblings.

With the possibility of being related to Connor gone, Remy decided to shoot their shot. (like a true kid of the god of archery)

The problem was that while being generally friendly, Connor still seemed to prefer to stay with his friends, so every time Remy tried to talk to him he would simply joke around a bit but never really go into deeper conversation topics.

Remy’s new brother Will told them not to take it to heart, that Connor was simply a bit of a reserved person, he liked to joke around and talk to people but it took him a while to fully trust them and get close to them.

So, Remy created a perfect foolproof plan.

Said foolproof plan was the worst idea they’ve ever had. Damn them and their stupid crush.

Connor was close to most of the oldest campers, among whom were his brother Travis and his best friend.

Remy absolutely refused to ask Connor’s brother, it would just be extremely embarrassing, so they decided that his best friend was the best option.

(wrong.

completely and absolutely wrong.)

But in Remy’s defence how were they supposed to know?????

You seemed kind and when Remy asked you to help them with Connor you didn’t seem to mind.

(if only they had noticed the strange look in your eyes)

You promised Remy to try and help them, telling them a few things about Connor and offering to rely a message to him. Remy had thanked you profusely and felt warmed by your kindness.

In the end however Connor didn’t come to the offered meeting, obliviously it had hurt a little but after all he didn’t own Remy anything and they weren’t going to be an asshole about the rejection.

They thanked you for your help dismissing your apologies because it wasn’t your fault either, feelings can’t be controlled after all.

Then they went on with their life like normal, after all it was just a little crush, Remy didn’t even know Connor that well, so after around a week they were fully over it.

The revelation arrived after a particularly draining day spent helping Will in the infirmary.

Will was finishing putting away some bandages while Remy waited for him, Will turned towards them with a smile.

“So, what do you think about your first month at camp? Did you make some friends?” their brother asked them with a curious and caring expression.

Remy shrugged with a smile “it was nice, i met lots of kind people” they started recounting to their brother a few names and episodes that happened during the month, when your name came up Will sent them a confused look “really? how did you meet them?”

Remy felt a bit embarrassed but decided that it’s not really something to be conscious about, it’s normal to have crushes and even more normal for them to not always be returned.

“I had a crush on Connor and asked them to try and set us up” they laughed a bit awkwardly “it didn’t end the way i wanted but they were very kind and nice about it”

Will looked absolutely horrified.

Remy started feeling a bit worried when he breathlessly asked “sorry?”

Remy shrugged trying to play it off “yeah, it’s whatever really, i guess he didn’t return my feelings, it’s fine, it was just a crush” they say genuinely, but Will cringes.

“oh gods- you asked them to set you up with Connor?” he asks looking as if he wants to either laugh hysterically or face palm.

Remy shrugs “pretty much, was that wrong?” they ask self consciously, Will shakes his head softly with an embarrassed smile.

“No, it’s just-“ he takes a breath “Remy, Connor is in love with them.”

Remy just wants the ground to swallow them up.

How in the gods’s names do they always find themselves in such awkward situations?!??!

Sure, the rejection had hurt, but- how will have Connor felt? The person he apparently loves just tried to set him up with someone else.

Remy really really did not mean for things to get like this.

Remy understood the true extent of their idiocy at the camp fire.

Connor was sitting next to you as you conversed happily with Annabeth Chase.

And gods, that look.

Remy had always been a romantic at heart, they loved to watch romance dramas and daydream about meeting the perfect person for them.

Watching Connor look at you as if you had hung all the stars in the sky made Remy squeal with joy, whatever slight hurt they might have felt at the rejection had been completely forgotten because it was so oblivious that he was absolutely and totally in love with you that Remy couldn’t even feel bitter about being rejected.

They just wish you would simply notice too and finally get together because from what Will had told them, you and Connor had been in love for years.

The entire camp was just waiting for you to notice as well.

Dear diary,

This first month in camp half-blood has really been something.

A lot of things have happened, i finally know who my father is and i even have some siblings now!

I’ve made lots of friends here, and i’m pretty sure that a cute guy from Demeter cabin is flirting with me :)

Before i can however relax and fully enjoy my new life here, i need to complete a mission that i have personally assigned to myself.

Perhaps i’m not a child of Aphrodite but i’ve watched enough dramas and telenovelas to be able to complete this personal mission.

My attempt at getting together with the cute counsellor of cabin 11 failed miserably, but it’s fine because i decided that this time i will be the one doing the setting up part.

My personal mission this summer, is to help Connor Stoll get together with the one he loves.

PS: second personal mission is to not get into other awkward situations- Remy’s embarrassing era has come to an end, long live Remy’s love guru era.

-Remy

#connor stoll x gender neutral reader #connor stoll x you #connor stoll x reader #connor stoll #percy jackson imagine #annabeth chase #pjo x you #pjo x reader #non binary oc

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soranihimawari · 1 year ago

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Chances are Earned

Word count: tba

Pairing: Itadori Yuuji x reader//strangers -> potential lovers

Rating: t/m (teen+/mature for violence maybe & old world godlike powers)

when you lock eyes, this is one of the first scenes i think of...

“What do you mean I can’t take the exam?! You know I was on special leave!”

“And I’m telling you, Mx. YN, Yaga did not inform me, so you aren’t able to retake it.”

At seventeen years of age, you were having a discussion with your teacher who, mind you, had been giving these make up exams for students where missions for exorcising curses had been granted. Just because you aren't on the front lines doesn't mean you're not truly fighting either. If anything, your work behind the scenes along with the other medics in the sorcerer community has anything to add, you were always talented. Ever since the night your older cousin told you what she and her friends fought over summer vacation that one time you were nine years old. That aside, you chose to follow her in her footsteps in order to do your part to ensure the safety of humans everywhere.

You sigh, thanking them for their time, and retreat back to the school medic wing. Your cousin, Shoko, is still filing something or other for another student and you explain your situation. She isn’t really paying any attention, you’re gone to fetch some waters. In the midst of all this, you peak into an empty classroom. It’s there you meet him. Him is one of your most respected and revered peers since he did eat an ancient relic: Sukuna’s finger.

You’re very nonchalant when you pass each other again during mid morning break. He talks playfully about his plans for the weekend with his classmates. Unlike me, I’d be stuck editing and re-reading some case files, deciphering if the victims were caused by curses or humans.

•Itadori, Yuuji: filed special case.•

You recall seeing the file Shoko babes you from reading from, however Gojo-sensei noticed in his passing of the exchange and conveniently emailed you a copy. Every report involving Yuuji came to you from Gojo all except the one he’s about to go on.

[[Four days later]]

“Medic! Shoko?!” Gojo is holding a slumped over Yuuji.

“She’s gone ho—! What happened sensei?!” You inquire.

Yuuji is barely breathing when he is laid down on the examination table.

“Call Shoko, get checked out by her. I’ll take care of him,” you say.

Gojo id about to protest, but he sees the cursed energy float around you like Hermès’ serpent staff. There is something odd about healers in the sorcerer communities. Those tied to the ancients seem to have stronger concentrations of one of their talents. For example: in voodoo there is legends of the Shadow Man; in Greek mythology, there is Hermes god of speed and healing; but there is one more old world god from a pantheon outside of your realm of knowledge. Gojo smirks when your fingers have that kind of kahjal black: Ra the Sun. You harness what you can to save the boy on the table and he breathes easier with you.

“Nnnhnn,” Yuuji groans as he starts coming to.

You sit on a chair next to him and take notes. It’s been a while since you’ve healed someone who isn’t yourself and you’re almost too scared to poke his cheek which now is gaining more color. Yuuji sits up suddenly and looks around the morgue before settling on you. He studies you, curious and ask, and for the first time in his mind, Sukuna is quiet.

“Hi,” your day as the light flickers above your head.

“You made him shut up,” Yuuji is cautious.

You hold up your hands in protest. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…? You were unconscious and it seemed like you were in pain a-and I’m really sorry.”

Standing to walk away to grab your things, partly embarrassed and partly because he seemed either happy or relieved (you couldn’t tell which). Itadori Yuuji, when he can, he learned tommaintain a sense of respect and accountability for those who heal people. He has seen so much death that perhaps now is a good time to actually… live; so he stops you with just one question:

“What’s your name?”

“…” you mumble it under your breath before his boyish smile encourages you to repeat it.

“Thank you,” is what he responds with.

It seems today was a good day for luck to have shown you favor.

Ever since that day, whenever there’s a mission to complete, Yuuji asks your cousin if you’re free the night or the whole day before. You’re not really dating nor are you letting your imagination get ahead of yourselves, but you do enjoy the company of his classmates as well. Nobara thinks you’re brilliant and Megumi recognizes the talent you have. You’ve spent your lunches with them in either a classroom or they stop by the medic wing. One time, the three of them walked in as you were studying the flowers died and nearly dead on the table and you tried your best to have them become lively again—the vibrancy holds true for a few seconds and the flowers wilt and turn to ash.

Sighing, you mumble, “not good.”

“Yuuji did bring canned coffee for you though,” Nobara says, noticing how her classmate seemed to have blush marks under his eyes.

Megumi looked between the can of coffee to Nobara’s mischievous face, to Sukuna’s vessel and finally on your face… he connected the dots as he stares at Nobara for dragging him to a supposed “lunch”-date.

“Oh c’mon, ‘gumi,” she whispers. “Ya gotta admit this is nice.”

Megumi grunts sort of reminding himself they’re all teenagers in a high school surrounded by the occult practices of exorcising curses.

“‘S good to feel a little normal, right?” is all the Fushiguro boy says.

It’s not until two months later you are pivoted against Nobara for a sparring match with Gojo-sensei as the instructor. Somehow there is even some things which should remain secret. Like now, how you read Nobara’s movements after only seeing her attack once and how you laugh saying you’re having fun as phantom serpents wrap around your arms when you swing a throwing tomahawk her way and slice her face. It’s a rough cut, but not deep enough to require stitches, but when Nobara counters, you seem to dodge certain nails of hers. You’re not one to be outmatched by a peer, yet you are forcing her to think outside the box in terms ending this. You glance over at her teacher who just nods to stop this.

“‘M sorry?” you ask after Nobara walks away exhausted because for once her solutions weren’t sticking.

“You did good as a sparring partner,” Gojo is pleasantly surprised. “Think you can square off against Megumi tomorrow?”

“I have to check with Shoko, but sure?”

“Good, now go on get cleaned up and go back to class,” he instructs. “I have to make a quick call.”

[[Summer 2005]]

The first time you’re going to be able to arrive at the shores of Okinawa is also the first time you’re cordially invited to hang out with Gojo and his students. Why you were signed off by Shoko and even Yaga to go. Gojo must have framed it as a team bonding experience in order for you to be included. What you didn’t know was what led to this: rumors around the campus was that one strawberry blond who would not stop talking and asking about you caused this invitation to happen.

Room arrangements were made and more often than not you do not break any habits that were synonymous for you to breathing. At the sunrise, you were found on the sandy shores across the safe house listening to the world around you. Everything was harmonized from within outward. Nobara seemed to wake earlier sometimes, she sees you and says nothing as she goes to text her classmate. The two switch places for a moment and before long, the sun light kisses your skin and a phantom sigil under your eyes glow a deep kahjal black. You do your Sun salutations prior to realizing you’re not alone.

“You can join me if you like to watch,” you call over your shoulder on the second day.

Itadori Yuuji, Sukuna’s vessel, special grade, does just that. He sits with you one morning on the shore; you brought two blankets and he comes dressed in his long pants and tanktop; you’re dressed similarly except you bring a coat with you. Together you’re both overlooking the skies between the space of dawn and first light; Sukuna remains silent for now, learning more about what his vessel seems to be attracting to. Both of you glance up at the fading of the night and you face the boy you brought back from the brink and finally truly sees you in all the glory associated with the sun.

“Don’t be scared of me, ok?” your voice is low and gravely like you needed a pot of tea with copious amounts of honey.

“You think I find you spooky?” he seems a bit playfully amused, but he pipes down when you give him a forlorn look.

“Many didn’t like what we can do,” you carry on, closing your eyes trying to drown out the screams of those in your last you couldn’t save and those who were angry you let their loved ones pass on.

His gives you a once over and hums before you continue to meditate. He follows your lead on the next breeze that dances across the seas ahead of you. Just beyond the horizon, the rays of the sun start to shine.

Strength comes in many forms, so when he sees the sigils appear, he makes an attempt to hold your face. Gently, whispering to you a word of thanks, causing your lips to curl into a grin.

There is beauty in giving another a chance. Chances are earned, you reason and for right now, this individual holding your face, is smirking flirtatiously at you. And before the mayhem in the future no one can really predict, both of you decide to give romance a chance.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #jjk x reader #🎋.jjk🎋#🎋.itadori yuuji x reader🎋

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circusgoth-dotcom · 9 months ago

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Sunday

Ship: Nancy Downs & Cohen Flamme (foster parent-foster child relationship)

Word Count: 733

Summary: Nancy seeks comfort from her foster dad when things are shitty at home. CWs for implied poor homelife, mentions of conspiracy to murder, mentions of food.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

Cohen had just come in from his garden when Nancy, his foster daughter, had returned from school.

“Welcome home, flower,” He hummed, dusting off his hands and turning to face her, a frown quickly creasing his calm expression. “My, you look beat, is everything alright?”

“No.” The shadowy girl’s response was a reluctant growl as she tossed her bag to the floor. Instinctively, Cohen knew everything from that simple word.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about, Cohen?” She kicked her bag aside and bee-lined for the cabinet. “You know how it is.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. Let me,” he halted her from digging further into the cabinet where he kept his teas and hot cocoa mixes, then pulled down Nancy’s favourite, a spicy cocoa mix with chilli powder and cinnamon. “You just relax.”

Huffily, Nancy sat at the kitchen table, her turquoise eyes never wavering from Cohen as he prepared her drink. He continued, “I knew today wasn’t one of our days together, and yet, I’d see you come all the same. Would you like to talk about something else?”

Nancy popped up and began examining the plants her foster parent had brought in from the garden. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Offerings to Lucifer, refreshing the protection on the house for the new month, good luck charms. Anything to keep our spirits up… ah, I’m making a Hermes candle for a client, too.”

“You’re good with plants. Can’t you poison Ray?”

Cohen scoffed. “As much as I’d like to, Nancy, it’s not in the cards. The best thing you can do for people like that is not to let their negative energy get to you. I’m sorry there’s not an easier way to get rid of him, seeing as the police aren’t worth dog shit.”

Nancy finally grinned. “Amen, Cohen.”

He smiled back, stirring the powder into a mug of hot milk. “Why don’t you put on some music?”

Nancy shrugged and turned her attention to the radio on the windowsill. She messed with the dials until she found something to her liking, shaking out her wrists and stretching her arms above her head.

“Here you are, love.”

She took the navy blue mug and held the rim up to her lips, breathing in its enticingly spicy aroma. Relaxing, she began to drink. “Thanks, Cohen.” She murmured.

“No thanks is needed. I’m happy when you’re happy.”

Something on your mind, wanna leave me behind, wanna leave me behind…

Perking up, Cohen turned up the volume on the radio, singing along, “You’re spinnin’ me around, my feet are off the ground, I don’t know where I stand, do you have to hold my hand?”

Nancy snickered at him through the steam of her drink. He glanced at her. “What? It’s a good song.”

“You’re such a cornball sometimes. I’m glad you’re not my real dad.”

“Oh yeah? Then you shouldn’t be embarrassed when I—” he took the mug from her and set it on the counter, wrapping his hands around her and gently forcing her to dance with him. She laughed louder. “Dance with me, Nance!”

“No! I won’t do it, I’m not six anymore!” She insisted, letting him swing her around.

“I know you know the words, flower!”

She rolled her eyes and belted out the words with him; “Oh-woah, when you walk into the room, it happened all so soon, I didn’t want to know, ‘cause you really have to go!”

They continued to sing together even when Nancy broke away to tend to her drink. Cohen was glad to see a glow under her heavy make-up as the song came to a close. “Feeling better?”

She shrugged, masking her relief. “Yeah, yeah, sure, a little.”

“Good. Now, go put your bag in your room. I’m going to call your mother and then we can start working on dinner.”

Nancy nodded and finished her cocoa, then picked up her bag and headed for the stairs. She then paused, looking back over her shoulder. “I… I didn’t really…”

Cohen met her eyes. “I know. You don’t have to say it out loud if it's too hard right now.”

She nodded again and disappeared up the stairs. He sighed as he watched her go. In all contexts except biological, Nancy Downs was his daughter.

#self shipping #self shipping community #safeshipping #self insert #gay self ship #trans self ship #familial f/o #circus scripts #🔮My Daughter is A Witch🐍#🐍📿.s/i

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uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years ago

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baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (vaguely s8). Tags/Warnings: not-too-graphic smut, hunting-typical violence, witches using glamors, soft, loving, childhood friends-to-lovers, glass injuries. Word Count: 14,729 (hence why it took so damn long lol) Notes: howdyyyy. sorry for the brief absence, i was packing up some end-of-the-year things at home, finals, etc. this is for my dear friend and ultimate supporter @lacilou, who requested something that was so up my alley that i just HAD to write it. here ya goooo! Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

You had never seen Dean grovel before.

It started with some gentle offers, and then his pride caved, and he really started to dig in. If you played bait for the witch the three of you were currently hunting, Dean would, (in order), clean your weapons himself for a month, buy you dinner from your favorite place, and let you do at least one donut with Baby in the nearest empty lot. You planned to say yes either way, seeing as people were dying here—and it’s not like the three of you had any other options. But the longer you held out the more Dean added. You stewed on it, until even Sam offered up the passenger’s seat for two weeks. Once you’d amassed a good collection of favors the night before your hunt—

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you crossed your arms.

“God,” Dean cursed, and slumped forward against the table of your motel room in mock-exhaustion. “Only took you two fuckin’ days.”

Sam, who was leaning against the counter of your kitchenette, cooly twisted off the cap of his bottle and smirked around it. “You’re just mad cause’ she played you. Donuts in the Impala? Really?”

“I think that’s fair,” you spoke up, “What’s our witch’s name again?”

“Hermes,” Sam and Dean said, rolling their eyes in unison.

“Well—I’m the one who’s gonna have to be touched by this creep. That’s worth wheelies in the Impala, if you ask me,” you argued. On the motel bed in front of you, you were sorting through the suitcase that carried your entire life in it. There was supposed to be a nice night-out dress in here somewhere, but it’d probably been ruined by monster blood a millennia ago.

“Don’t even joke,” Dean warned, but he hesitated, like he’d been considering the Impala doing wheelies and mentally measuring how cool it’d be.

“You know…” Sam trailed off, and in the corner of your eye you watched him straighten up. “If this really bothers you, you don’t have to do it. We’ve found other outlets before—this one just so happens to be the easiest one. A harder solution never scared us off before.”

“Exactly,” you snapped the lid of your suitcase shut. “So I can handle an easy one, like you said. I’m complaining for the fun of it, I promise. A witch killing and robbing people is nothing new, and neither are creeps—so I’m not exactly intimidated.”

Stepping away from the bed, you presented your dress to the two. It was almost a little too plain, but you got out so little lately that anything, even willfully being seduced by a witch in a sleazy bar, sounded fun. Little things like that reminded you that the hunt was an adventure as much as it was a job. A pretty shitty adventure, maybe, but after the apocalypse optimism had become a need as much as it was a balm. You were stuck in another lousy motel room in another city you’d never seen. Yet, sometime in the next week you’d be terrifying Dean out of his skin doing donuts in his car, and Sam had been happy lately. You hoped it was your influence.

His concern for you, as usual, boosted your optimism well into next week. You were more of a realist by nature. But if your positive outlook was waking him up and following him to bed every night, yet again, you and Sam Winchester had established another unspoken cycle. You watched his back and he watched yours. Sam talked to you about how he felt and you talked to him, both out of fear of burdening Dean. He gushed about the books he liked and the science articles he read, you fell in love with him every time, and together you relied so heavily on the other that you doubted Sam could breathe if your lungs weren’t working. You saved him and he saved you until you owed each other eternally. It’d been that way since the first time your parents had dropped you off at Bobby Singer’s, when you’d befriended the only other hunter-kids you’d ever met.

A few years back, the horseman Death had called your relationship uniquely symbiotic. To this day, you still wondered what he’d really meant. Feeling Sam’s warm eyes catch yours over his drink almost gave you your answer. But like always, your train of thought chased the soft line of his bicep against his shirt sleeve or the dimple of his cheek instead. This time, Sam was comparing the neckline of the dress to your shirt, imagining you in it. Flushed, you folded it against your stomach and set it on top of your suitcase. You played with a hair tie on your wrist and reminded yourself that Sam wasn’t looking at you that way.

Dean whistled at the dress. “Man. Maybe we don’t even need the witch-killing spell,” he gave you an appreciative smile, “this guy’ll explode the minute he sees you.”

“That better be a compliment,” you glared at him, and for good measure, Sam swatted him on the back of the head.

“You’ll look just fine,” Sam assured, sounding unenthused.

It was your God-given job to keep him on his toes, so you flicked the bottom of his beer as you passed him and warned with a smile, “That better be a compliment too, Winchester, or you’re both in trouble.”

“Mom, Dad,” Dean whined, “please don’t flirt in front of me.”

In an instant, Sam slipped his bottlecap off the counter and you rolled your hairtie off your wrist. Dean had just collapsed face-first into his bed when both projectiles whizzed off him, ricocheting onto the carpet. You hadn’t realized Sam had moved at the same time until his bottlecap had popped off Dean’s head, startling you into bubbly, shoulder-shaking laughter. Sam didn’t laugh—he rarely did, not since he was a kid—but he smiled, and for now that worked for you.

“Tomorrow, you’ll get some kind of DNA off of our witch at the bar, we’ll do our spell, and we’ll follow you in the car to make sure you’re safe,” Sam decided, softening his voice. He said this mostly to himself, and you indulged him even if you knew your game plan, just because you knew it was a comfort to him to list it out for himself. Years of staying home while Dean and John were off hunting had narrowed his life into lists—of school assignments, of tasks to handle while they were gone—and he’d never grown out of it. You imagined it was why he was so meticulous. “Then, we’re clear.”

“People saved, things hunted,” you drawled, listing each on one hand, “family business—”

“—done,” Dean finished, giving a thumbs up where he was faceplanted in his bed. With that, he rolled over, turned off the bedside lamp, and flushed your room into cool darkness. “Night’.”

You and Sam chorused your goodnights to him. Then, Sam turned toward the window over the kitchenette, adjusted the salt there with the back of his hand, and closed the curtains to cut off the last slivers of moonlight.

As a hunter, it was in the job description that you had some precautions about the dark. With Sam there, across from you, you forgot all notions about being afraid. You enjoyed looking at him even more than the next girl did, but with darkness came a new depth of intimacy. Without sight, you could only collect context from the low timbre of his voice or his presence next to you. It was about feeling instead of seeing. And Sam, with the sweet way he said things and the gentle way he navigated the dark, was nothing but feeling.

The moment was brief, but Sam found your shoulder and followed it up to your temple, which he kissed. Like the lists, it was a ritual he’d never grown out of. And you never wanted him to. You could feel the warmth of his breath, of his hand, flushing through your whole body like the sweet-tasting humidity before a healthy storm.

“Goodnight, ____,” Sam murmured near your face. He was like you, so if the dark made you more honest then it made him more honest; Sam sounded like he loved you.

You leaned into the brief contact, squeezed his wrist, and resisted the surge of hope pressing up your throat. “Goodnight, Sam.”

It should’ve been sad, how happy you were to be out despite the circumstances, but you knew even the best covers had a sliver of truth to them—and tonight, you wanted to flirt, to feel pretty flirting, and to kill some damn witches. Being covered in monster grime didn’t make anybody feel beautiful, and suiting up in a skirt and wedges to masquerade as a fed didn’t count. The hunt rarely gave you an excuse for self-confidence. If this was one of those times, you weren’t about to let it pass by.

And truth be told, you’d been under fire for so long that one witch didn’t feel like much of a threat. You weren’t so stupid that you neglected to realize what Hermes was capable of. But after your five-hundredth witch in over fifteen years of hunting, the fear of danger was nothing more than a wisp of tension floating at your shoulder. If it bleeds, you can kill it, Dean always said. And witches definitely bled.

Knowing that Sam and Dean were watching your six, that wisp of anxiety disintegrated entirely. It was so natural to have them there, Sam on your right and Dean on your left, that you usually dreamt with each brother somewhere in your peripherals. Hazy flying dreams and late-to-school nightmares included. Well, the school nightmares were less strange—once upon a time, you’d really gone to school with Sam and Dean.

Your parents were hunters. That made you like any other sullen, directionless hunter kid in the business, desperate to follow in their parent’s footsteps but terrified of becoming anything like them. Most pure-bred hunters like you didn’t have the fortune of an Uncle Bobby, though. Looking back, you wished you’d had more time with your parents—but you were grateful for the days they dumped you on him. Around when you’d entered middle school, Bobby’s house had become something of a hunter daycare. He wasn’t big on the idea. Obviously. But Bobby melted like all grouchy old men inevitably did, and soon your days spent racing to get him books and spell ingredients overlapped with his days babysitting Sam and Dean.

Dean was two years your senior, and had usually been the bane of your existence. But you’d both existed in the strange place between a hunter and a liability for your parents, so together, you were eager to please, learn, and emulate. Dean had done this because he’d wanted to graduate to a full-on hunter, but you were content with bringing phones to Bobby and helping without being in the way. Sam was much of the same. He was… He was quiet and sweet and he’d cut out the gum Dean had put in your hair without wrecking it. He wrote school essays that were cool instead of boring, and made everything seem interesting and beautiful. Dean had embodied hunting to you, then, and Sam was the breathable living space between.

You loved Dean, and you’d learned a lot from him. But you lived and breathed Sam—and the new, exciting proposition of a home somewhere else—because of the ideas he represented. Being a hunter so young had gutted your faith, and Sam, somehow, had rerouted it all. He’d shown you that there were seams between hunts that you could use to find your footing. Bobby had taught you how to be smart, Dean had taught you how to be practical, and Sam had promised you that all of this wasn’t for nothing. You figured that was why all of the hunters you met were weapons more than people; Sam Winchester hadn’t cupped their face on Bobby Singer’s porch and kissed them like they were still human.

That’d been more than a decade ago, and you could still feel how the rain had made your hair cling to your face, how the shoulders of Sam’s sweater were damp from the weather. The kiss had been brief and childish and a little unmoored. And yet it’d carried you through everything, even the literal end of the world, Sam going in the cage… all of it. He’d been your living space.

That had been built on the rare weekends you happened to be at Bobby’s at the same time, so having a few months of school together bonded you for life. They purposefully forgot to mention that John was settling them in your town and your school, hoping to surprise you. In hindsight, it was a sweet gesture, but there was a bold line between your hunting life and your school life for a reason. High school was awful for you. Your parents’ deaths had left you as exposed as a bloody nerve. With no one else around, your foster family unaware of… the real world, and a valley between you and the life you used to know, hunting was all you’d had. You’d spiraled into it deeper than you ever had before. One misstep in the hallway had spilled all of your research books and spell ingredients out of your backpack, immediately casting you as your school’s new resident freak.

Neither of the boys knew about… the bullying. It was such a pathetic word. You never told them, probably because school was as much of a sore a subject for them as it was for you. So they’d turned up, gleaming with excitement, only for whatever image they had of you as some tough, unflinchable hunter to shatter.

You’d been eating lunch comfortably alone, fork in one hand and research book under the other. All at once your table was crowded with your grade’s most self-absorbed clique, all of them probing you, asking you questions, and giggling amongst each other even at your innocent answers. They stole your book and read it out loud to each other. They prodded at your backpack, searching for more joke material. It happened so often that you knew better than to lash out, as you’d done before—or react at all, as you’d done before—and resigned yourself to another ruined day.

Then, Dean’s hands had cooly landed on your shoulders. Hey, ____, Sam had greeted warmly from your right, and you remembered how he hadn’t bothered to hide his scowl. Are these jokers bothering you?

It was such a movie moment, a book moment, that the only thing you could call it was wish fulfillment. There’d been plenty of times when you’d wished they’d been there, or wished you could tell them about something that’d happened to you. But actually having it happen—Dean swooping in with that suave grin, Sam refusing to let you carry your own backpack…

You felt like you owed them. It was a small, easy kindness for them to pay, but after months of loneliness and alienation and absolute, incomprehensible loss, it’d been a surge of heat in an ocean of ice. Sudden and unexpected and life-giving.

Since then, you couldn’t remember a single time you hadn’t been in that same position. Standing there, with Sam and Dean on either side of you. As the Impala pulled up to the bar your witch often skulked, you looked reflexively to your left, and there was Dean in the driver’s seat. For once, you were upfront with him—Sam needed room in the back to perform the witch-killing spell.

“And you’re sure you can… hook him in?” Dean asked, gesturing blandly with one hand.

You bolstered yourself, so the smile you gave Dean was a bit more confident than you felt. “Well, his past victims have all looked like me. And, no offense, but I’ve been swindling guys like this since I was sixteen. I’m not too worried about that part.”

Sam sighed so deeply that you and Dean twisted to look at him. Realizing he’d done that out loud, he bumbled awkwardly over his own reaction and coughed. “Uh, yeah. But, uh, I’ll have to do the ingredients in order, so it might take a second after we get his DNA for the spell to go through. You’ll have to… to distract him, until then.” Sam flashed you a tight smile. “I’ll be fast, I promise. You won’t be stuck with that guy for long.”

“Good,” you said. The eye contact you were sharing suddenly felt purposeful. You eased yourself away from his gaze, though it was more of a lurch than a very casual, not-at-all tension-filled turn.

There was a brief lapse in the conversation that made your skin prickle from your spine to your neck. You could feel Dean’s smug amusement from behind his binoculars, simmering, which didn’t help. The focussed silence that usually settled over the three of you on stake-outs never came, so you rushed to fill it.

“...So,” you opened, “if our witch uses a glamor to make himself appear more enticing to each of his victims, then how can I be sure it’s him?”

“He’s gonna be the best-looking guy in the place,” Sam explained. He’d reined in whatever had bothered him earlier, apparently, because his tone became halted and professional.

Dean sprung up, whistling. “That’s how—there ya go, he’s right there.”

You leaned around Dean, trying to get some idea of what you were hunting, but his big ass binoculars were in the way. The witch was only just across the street, yet Dean adjusted the focus on the lenses, apparently aiming for a microscopic look. You lowered them from his face so you could see past them, and behind the eyepieces he was so flushed his freckles had disappeared.

“I mean…” Dean cleared his throat, but his blush only spread further. “Wow. Just. Wow, that’s a good-looking dude.”

You were already opening your mouth to tease him, but everything you’d planned to say, along with any idea of what your name was, where you were, and what you were doing, drained from your grip like a fistful of sand.

Wow. That was the only word you could remember. It occurred to you that Dean was seeing a totally different man because of the witch’s magic, and christ, were you thankful for it. You’d never hear the end of it if they saw what you were… enjoying. The witch pulled up the curb in a glittering white muscle car—which definitely added to whatever Dean was going through. But for you, it wasn’t the vintage Challenger or the shiny loafers, or… or the, um… the white blazer… or the crisp button-up under, uh, underneath… Or the witch’s face. Which was Sam’s face. No little changes to support your preferences in men. No beautification, supernatural glow or… anything else. Just Sam. Sam as he was right now, sitting in your backseat. Sam with his, uh… his face clean and happy… with… w-with his hair styled all nice, like he always styles it when you dress up…

He emerged from the car, facing away from you. He waved a hand at the parking meter and it fizzed out. The broad shape of his back rolled under his suit, panther muscle moving under pelt, and he turned toward the bar with the same grace. His movements were vaguely not-Sam, if you squinted. It was all too sly, and he walked like he wasn’t as tall as he was. But something in the glamor kept you from pressing that idea in your head. Your mind wanted to indulge the parts of him that did look like Sam much more, so any bumps in his mirage smoothed themselves over, perfecting the look. It was clever. Clever… and… and, um… wow…

You had a thought. “The, um…” you tried, “we…”

“Y/N,” the real Sam chided.

The binoculars you’d pulled away from Dean fumbled out of your hand at the closeness of his voice, and you scrambled to catch it, and so did Dean, but neither of you took your eyes away from the street. You ended up weirdly clutching it together, like the two of you were going to wrestle for the right to see the witch through the binoculars. If you were any more focused, you might have.

“Guys,” Sam said, unimpressed. “It’s just a glamor. Pull it together, please?”

“...Sam,” you tested the name in your mouth, “um, witch glamors, how do they work?”

“They’re projections of power. They make each person who looks at them see their ideal partner. Didn’t I tell you this already?”

“I-I know. Just.” You swallowed. “Do they, like, pull from people the person’s already met, or do they, uh… make it up? To suit the person.”

“Both. But it’s easier magic to just use people the victim already loves.” He stressed victim as pointedly as he could, reminding you of the role you’d be playing.

Dean pried his eyes away from the street. They slid over to you, and you immediately did not like the suspicious gleam waiting for you there. “Why? You see somebody you know?” He bounced his eyebrows.

“What? You? Oh, please,” you laughed. You blurted out the first person you could come up with. “He’s ...Leo. In Titanic. Who do you see?”

“Another time,” Dean dodged. You usually would never let him get away with a blatant conversation shift like that, but he was grinning to himself like he could see you bullshitting too. It made you nervous. “Go on and get in there so we can gank this chump.”

“Good luck,” Sam wished you from the backseat, sounding blunter than usual. “And remember—underneath all that, he’s a decaying, millennia-old skeleton murdering innocent women.”

“Got it. Reality check received,” you said. Taking the door’s handle, you shot the boys one last look to confirm they’d have your back, and ducked out of the Impala.

The bar was of a higher-end than you were used to, so it took some mental adjustment to prepare for your role. Usually, the barflies you tricked preferred rougher, meaner girls, and you got the feeling that wasn’t what fake-Sam—Hermes, you reminded yourself—was into. If he was going after married unfaithfuls, he probably enjoyed mature, deceptive women who talked a lot about all the money they had. It was weird to think of someone with Sam’s face being into that.

The few pieces of gold jewelry you owned rattled on your wrists as you approached the bar. It was eight, prime drinking time, so everyone who’d had a long day at work or a date filled every inch of the place. Anyone who could afford the obscene prices, at least. A few minutes after you entered, you glimpsed Dean dissolving into the crowd. Hermes immediately took an isolated booth in the corner, where it would be easiest for him to scope out women at the bar. You only caught a glimpse of him. He lounged back, ankle on his knee, the low whiskey-hued light stroking one side of his face. It was… very Sam. He could’ve been on the couch at home, sunk into the cushions and reading a book by lamplight. You tried to reign in the confusing elixir of anxiety and attraction brewing in your stomach.

So far, he’d already begun to sort his targets. His honed-in look was unmistakable on Sam’s face. You made sure to pass in front of the women he was eyeing, and silently applauded yourself when his gaze was hooked on your figure. He trailed your slow saunter over to the bar with those intense, paletted eyes, lingering on the wedding band you wore. Knowing it was Sam—thinking it was Sam both helped and made things a million times worse. Your thoughts wandered like they never did on hunts, heart pounding.

Focus, you hissed to yourself. You needed to get him to drink something, so Sam, your Sam, could use the DNA on the glass in his spell. After setting up your act with a few coy glances, you suppressed the sickness rolling in your gut and summoned the bartender. “Two drinks—one for me, and another for the gentleman in the booth there.”

You almost ordered him Sam’s favorite beer, then felt supremely weird about it when deciding on a pricey whiskey instead. Man, was this place just begging for you to blow some cash. And this hunt… was really begging you to look some unspoken feelings in the face. As you waited for the drink to be delivered, it settled on you what Sam had said before—that this witch was wearing the body of your ideal partner. You weren’t stupid, you knew that’s what this was, but the confirmation from magic of all things…

It’s easier to just use people the victim already loves, Sam had explained.

You knew you loved him. You’d known since you were kids. But that was only ever something you told to yourself—now, the universe was shouting it back to you. It’s not like this witch reached into your mind and knew to choose Sam to get under your skin the most. The glamor was an automatic sort of magic, that you could tell. And if it was automatic… then it was all real. Your ideal partner really was Sam. Not even some dramatized, romantic version of him. The authentic article. It welled up inside you right there in that stupid-expensive bar on your stupid-expensive stool, a surging flood of emotion that seized you and tethered you to the floor.

Those feelings were always followed by the phantom pressure of Sam’s broad, gentle hands on your face. Your first kiss with him must’ve been more than a decade ago. He’d been so nervous that his hands shook, and he hadn’t taken up bow-hunting yet so the pads of his fingers were still soft. You’d held his wrists and trembled too, but you were relieved and excited and warm with wild summer liking, face tacky with dried tears. The last day had been spent weapon training. You’d shot a gun for the first time, and it’d stabbed the reality of your life right through your ribs. You were gonna kill things. It was going to be your job to kill things. Sam had sat with you while you’d sobbed on Bobby’s porch, squeezing you against him even though it was storming like hell. He’d sat there until your sides ached from laughing and you weren’t so worried about everything.

Sam promised you’d go through all this together, and he’d been right. Of course you were in love with him.

Okay. Hunt. Danger. Witch. Focus. He’s a decaying, millennia-old skeleton, you reminded yourself.

But the hand brushing your bare shoulder was young, healthy, and familiar. Down to the bow-hunting callouses.

“Excuse me,” he greeted. His voice wasn’t purring with seduction or intent, as you’d imagined. It was just light, easy Sam. Like it’d been a bit since he’d seen you, and he’d just climbed out of the car to give you a secure hug and a kiss on the hair. The witch settled his glass on the bar between you, expression glittering with feigned curiosity. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it was kind of you to send over the drink. I wanted to say thank you.”

Maybe he was reaching into your mind to emulate Sam. Why would a thieving, money-hungry witch be so polite?

“Anytime,” you said, and found yourself responding like you were really talking to Sam. The witch’s smile broadened into his dimples; he wanted familiarity. “It’d be rude to leave such a cute guy without a drink on such a nice evening, don’t you think?”

“I think it’d be rude to leave a beautiful woman without company,” he agreed, eyes twinkling.

Unfortunately, your body wasn’t in hunting mode, as it should be. It was in act-normal-around-Sam mode, but “Sam” was actively flirting with you—so all of your nerves were going haywire. Your skin warmed in ways it never did for the men you won your dinner money from. Or any other man but one, period. An embarrassing, genuine giggle burst out of your chest. “I-I don’t mind,” you beamed.

“Hermes,” he said, offering you one giant hand to shake.

You gave it to him, and immediately he turned it over in his palm, lowered his face to your knuckles, and kissed them appreciatively.

“Y-Y/N,” you blurted, instead of your alias.

Dear god. Jesus Christ. What the fuck.

“Y/N. Really.” The witch repeated. Now he was turning up the sultriness. His voice was so nice and his hand was just like Sam’s and he—he even smelled like Sam.

“No. Uh. Y/N L/N, not Y/N Really,” you joked. Your full name. Out loud. Instead of your alias.

What the actual fuck.

“Forgive my asking,” and fake-Sam ran his thumb over your wedding band, his lips parted and his breath lingering on your hand. His voice was coated with want and humor. “But is there a Mr. Really?”

Fuck. Wait, yes. This was good. This was what you wanted.

You gathered yourself, but not too much, cause he seemed to like your clumsiness. Or maybe it gave him more incentive to kill you. “Yes,” you said, tip-toeing with your wording, “...does that bother you?”

Hermes just grinned and shook his head.

The witch gestured to the stool beside yours, and you nodded maybe a little too much. He claimed it, folding his legs uncomfortably because he was a bit too tall. It made you realize that the glamor worked even better (and harder) up close. All of the little details you loved about Sam—the slight crook of his left incisor where it’d almost been punched out a million times, the freckles under his collar and sleeves—loaded in. You swore they hadn’t been there before.

But, you still haven’t seen him drink from the cup. He wraps his hand loosely around the glass on the illuminated bartop, but otherwise doesn’t make a move, brushing his thigh against yours. You make up bland conversation about a long, arduous day at the wealthy company you work for. You complain a little bit about the doggy daycare your pure-bred Pomeranian goes to. When the bartender comes by, you tip him a good chunk of money right in front of Hermes. And if none of that is working, you bait him with the wedding ring and the cut of your dress.

It’s weird. It’s so fucking weird. But that’s kind of your life, so you’ve learned to accept the strangeness, and you enjoy the surface flirting with this millennia-year-old man who’s planning to kill you. While wearing the face of the love of your life.

You realize that you’ll probably never have this with the real Sam. Not the murder part, but the easy date night flirting—not without the cost of your friendship, or testing Sam’s feelings about relationships.

When you’re satisfied that he’s hooked, as Dean put it, you raise your second round of drinks together and toast to them. You make something up about good company, and Hermes drinks. He lets his hand cover your bare knee, drawing circles that set every hair on your body on end. After what feels like hours, you brush your nails against the hair at the base of his neck, lean in, and whisper in his ear, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

And with that sly, clever Sam smile, he agrees. But— “My place is close. May I walk you?”

“You may,” you reply, even if it’s a complete deviation from his M.O. The witch always takes his victims back to their own homes, that’s how he robs them. What, was he genuinely attracted to you? Was this a real hookup thing? Or, did he recognize your real name and planned to kill you? Knowing your luck, you’d put money on murder.

Instead of offering you his arm, the witch is gentle and sweet as he gives you his hand. Just before you slip away from your seats, you put his whiskey on the stool, away from the well-meaning bartender who might clean it. The second you make it out the door with Hermes, Dean skulks out of the crowd and drops the empty glass in a plastic bag. Now you’re on the clock. Either the boys get Hermes first, or Hermes gets you. No pressure.

When you get outside, the Impala’s parked elsewhere. You’re both bothered and comforted by that, because while it may mean that the boys are out of sight, your spell is being performed where prying eyes can’t see. That’s good.

Hermes gives your hand a playful squeeze. While you’ve held Sam’s hand before, those moments were always too fleeting for you to take in much. You imagine your mind, or Hermes’ glamor, is filling in the blanks for you. His fingers are long and his hold is encompassing, swallowing almost the whole of yours. You talk for the two of you, since it’s a part of his act to give as little information about himself as possible. He pretends to enjoy your conversation. It’s your mind’s greatest impression of an interested Sam, his brow furrowed, his head ducked in thought, his focus honed in on only what you have to say. The witch leans in close when he does speak, murmuring into your ear. He loves to touch your bare skin, so his hands linger on your shoulders and the exposed portion of your back. It’s all a tactic to win over your suspicion, you know that, but it’s Sam’s hands. It’s his hands and his voice and his face.

“You know what?” Hermes surveys the street, and peaks into the alleyway nearest you, weighing your options like it’s not obvious where he’s going to drag you. Come on. “Let’s take this shortcut here.” He gives you a devouring look, “I don’t want us to wait any longer than we have to.”

“The suspicious, dark alleyway?” You joke. Just a few more minutes. Almost there. It’s gotta be.

Fake-Sam’s smile is fond, and with the same quiet resolution that Sam brings to everything, he parts from your hand to wrap his arm around your waist. He cups your side and brings you against him. His arm is the perfect shelter from the chilly night, bleeding with body heat and the homey scent of the man you love.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he purrs, and admittedly, that’s when you start to panic.

Not because he was edging you into a creepy alley—alleys, in the hunting life, were familiar territory. Or because you realized you were about to fight him. That was more than routine to hunting; it was hunting itself. What made you panic was your own willpower here. You could cut down a thousand evil witches a day, but nothing in this world could make you put that knife to Sam’s throat. Not death, not hell, not heaven. All of them had tried. Every one of them had failed.

This wasn’t Sam. You knew that. The difference was palpable. But it was close enough to make you hesitate, and you were dreading what that could mean.

“Alright, hero,” you flirted. “Lead the way.”

He teased your waist with a squeeze, then began the slow, intimate walk he imagined you were hoping for. The witch started to chat about how much he loved the city, how lively the people were. Bullshitting. Trying to settle your anxiety—so you were open to attack. Well. If he was so hellbent on cornering you now, all you could do was drag it out for as long as you could. You snuggled close to him, and pretended to admire the night sky between the towering downtown buildings.

The two of you passed the back end of a business’s warehouse. Its windows were thin-paned and close by, shimmering with neon light the closer you came to it. You made bubbly, flirty conversation, and calculated in your head when would be the perfect time to smash the glass and attack him with it.

He must’ve had the same idea.

You woke up two seconds later, glass in your hair, in your dress, and prickling painfully between you and the icy concrete floor. The warehouse ceiling floated overhead. Streams of moonlight poured through the uneven shape of the now-destroyed window. It took you but a breath to register this, then you were rolling onto your hands and snatching up the biggest shard that had survived your crash. In an instant you were heaving yourself to your feet and plotting: just a little more time, they just need a little more time, all you had to do was distract.

A long shadow fell over the glass debris. This was the part where your adrenaline would kick in, but a hot, ugly dose of fear joined it. That was Sam. You were fighting Sam. No, y-you—you weren’t��

“Well, isn’t this special,” Hermes cooed. He strolled toward you, the glass crunching under his loafers to the beat of his lazy walk. Everything but his smile was obscured by the dark. “The Winchester whore. I’ve heard of you. I have to say, I’m a little—”

“—disappointed? Let me guess: I’m shorter than you thought, prettier than expected, yadda yadda,” you filled in for him. “G-god, can’t any of you losers find different scripts?”

You knew the shard wouldn’t do much, but you’d hoped having it out in front of you would make you feel better. It didn’t. Hermes stepped into a shaft of light, illuminating Sam, with his hair in his eyes and a curious, calculating turn to his lip. It was straight out of any pink-hued day of your teenage years. Like he’d just found something fascinating in a book he was reading, and was beckoning you over to share it with you. And if it came down to it, you’d have to make him bleed if you wanted out of here.

“Fine. We’ll skip the pretense, then,” Hermes bargained, and with a wave of his hand you were slammed back-first into the nearest product shelves.

Pain exploded across your back, whiting out all else. You dropped a whole foot to the floor and collapsed there, pathetically gripping the closest table to find the courage to stand up. You couldn’t. Every deep breath you took seized your ribcage like a snapped trap. Shuddering in place there, you heard Hermes step across the glass, coming closer. Closer. Come on, Sam, you thought. For a moment, just a moment, you were truly afraid of him.

But this was Sam’s face. Out of all the faces you could see the moment before it all went dark, you’d be glad if it was his. The fear lightened. You lifted your face to meet his, snarling. Hermes waved his hand, and in one great cacophony, like a chandelier dragging itself across the floor, the broken glass fluttered up in a swirling cloud and hung in the air around you like stars. Deadly, jagged stars.

“One less thorn in my side,” he decided, and the hand—a copy of the love of your life’s hand, closed into a vicious fist. The shards whistled.

Hermes exploded into smoke.

The glass hung in the air for a moment more, then rained down on the floor again, shattering into powder. You flinched away and jerked to cover your head, and when all was quiet, and Hermes’ smoke was dissolved in the wind, you rolled onto your side and let out the breath you’d been holding.

People saved. Things hunted. Fuck, your back hurt.

You laid there for a moment longer, having fun pitying yourself, when a sharp cry of your name echoed down the alley outside. It took you a second to gather enough breath to holler back, “In here, Dean!”

Dean sprinted clear past the window, then backtracked so hard he almost tripped. “Y/N,” he sighed. Relief could’ve bowled him over at that moment.

As he charged through the broken window and swung his gun at the dark, you sat up, aiming to smile. You couldn’t really do it. “The witch is dead. Sam got him. High five?”

Dean hesitated, but after stashing his pistol in his waistband and taking stock of your injuries, he gave your raised hand a light smack and opened his arms. The gesture alone made all your injuries feel numbed. “Alright. Up and attem’. Let’s get you some Barbie bandaids and a big dinner, huh? You deserve it.”

“Hell yeah,” you breathed. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Without hesitation, Dean scooped you onto your feet, brushed the hair stuck to your bloody forehead aside, and started to guide you toward your exit. After a long beat of you laying your head on him and soaking in everything that's happened, Dean murmured, “The witch didn’t look a thing like DiCaprio, did he?”

You watched your footing instead of Dean’s face. “No. No, he didn’t.”

After the bigger chunks of glass were taken out of your skin, you took a quick, wince-filled shower, and toweled your hair on the motel bed you shared with Sam. The glass was surprisingly the least annoying part of fighting the witch; what had really fucked you up were the bruises, which were blooming all along your back in shelf-shaped rectangles. Your injuries were pretty light for a witch hunt, though, so you contented yourself with being alive in a pair of snuggly pajamas.

It was well past eight by now, so the rooms adjacent to yours were quiet, and the road outside threw occasional beams of light across your bedspreads. You always loved the motels on the outskirts of town more than their inner-city counterparts. Though they were usually more run-down, the sounds of tires whisking on asphalt and frogs croaking in the weeds comforted you. Dean rarely let you keep the windows open, but he wasn’t about to snipe at his poor, injured best friend, so you arranged the salt on the sill in neat lines and soaked in the midnight breeze. In safer times, you and the boys might’ve had a bonfire at Bobby’s on a night like this.

Dean left the bathroom light on and propped it open enough to see by. He lapsed into his post-hunt ritual in the half-dark, chattering about your success, while Sam perched in a chair and didn’t speak.

He’d succumbed to an unnerved, unbroken silence once you promised him on the drive back that you’d live. A couple of throws and one window weren’t going to kill you. There was no chance in hell that he couldn’t sense that the witch was eating at you for different reasons, though. If he could tell the route a car had taken while blindfolded, then honing his sensitivities to the daily shifts in your mood was child’s play. But if you pushed him to let it go, he would, because he respected your limits—you just weren’t looking forward to having that conversation.

Dean chattered constantly, like he usually did when something was wrong in the air between the three of you. He’d even tried to hold a conversation with you through the bathroom door while you showered, for god’s sake. When you emerged, hissing at every pinch in your back tissue, Dean was waiting with clothes, a careful smile, and a medkit. His brother was still silent, though he’d jumped up from his seat.

“Sam?” You worked up the courage to say. “Could—would you mind, uh, helping me with my back? There’s… still a lot of pieces I couldn’t get.”

“Uh… Dean can.” Sam drilled his eyes through your room’s door, hunching into the collar of the jacket he hadn’t removed yet. “M’ gonna walk. I need to clear my head,” he sighed, snappishly, and poured all his willpower into not scrambling out the door as fast as he could. It whipped shut behind him too quickly for you to say anything back.

“...Okay. Well. Sucky job, huh?” Dean said. You heard him pop open the medkit and dip the mattress behind you, so you shuffled back a bit and carefully lifted the fabric of your shirt covering your back.

“Yeah,” you muttered. Sam’s shadow flew past your window and disappeared in long, curt steps towards the cicadas chirping by the roadside. You leaned further and further to chase his figure by the porch lights, but Dean gently reeled you back so he could start in on the tinier fragments.

“You helped a lot of people today,” Dean said, trying to goad you back to the conversation. You could hear in his pauses how worried he was about his brother, but you both knew that it was better to give Sam time to simmer, then return.

“Oh, just women willing to cheat on their husbands,” you rolled your eyes.

Dean braced his hand on your shoulder, and gave you a little warning squeeze every time he was going to pull one of the pieces out. The bloody glass tinking into the tin and your sharp winces soon formed a shaky rhythm. “Still people,” he pointed out. You didn’t reply, simmering in the thrum of his voice and the burn of your bruises.

When Dean started putting antibiotics on the cuts and loading them up with Barbie bandaids, as promised, you blurted out: “You think I upset Sam?”

You were hoping for a doubtful laugh or even some kind of scoff, like Dean found it hard that Sam could ever be mad at you, because that’s how his world worked. He needled the two of you all the time for how inseparable you were. You were you and Sam was Sam, mingled too closely for anyone else to squeeze in the middle. Usually, if you asked Dean something like that, he’d shrug. You’d know better than me, pal.

Instead, Dean released a deep breath from his nose. He did it like that so often now that you could recognize it, which unsettled you, since it was Dean’s withholding-sigh. You could usually pry just about anything out of him, but he had this wall that he hit sometimes with Sam. Brother confidentiality or whatever. You could respect that—when things didn’t involve you potentially upsetting Sam.

“Dean,” you tried again, “did I do something wrong? I feel like you’re not telling me everything here.”

He tore open another bandaid with his teeth and choose not to speak. It was enough to tell you that Dean knew he shouldn’t intervene, even if he wanted to.

You glanced over your shoulder to look at him. “Dean. C’mon. How many favors do you two knuckleheads owe me after today?”

Dean counted them in his head, closed his eyes, and cursed. “Don’t make me say it, Y/N. You’re a smart girl. You can’t be this blind.”

“Dean.”

“You don’t get it. Sam will be pissed with me.” He snapped the med-kit closed.

“If he gives you shit for it, you know I’ll cover for you. I’ll tell him that I coerced you and everything, that I cornered you,” you goaded. To make your argument even harder to ignore, you whipped down your shirt and rolled around to face him, your eyes big and bleeding with heart. “Sam is clearly upset. All I want to do is help him.”

Dean’s arms hung at his sides. His tells were small, but for a second there, you could’ve sworn you’d loosened his resolve enough. Instead, he shut you down with a short glare. “...Show me your shoulder.”

You held there for a moment, unmoving and stern, just to press how serious this was to you. If you’d done something to hurt Sam’s feelings, all three of you knew the lengths you’d go to make it up to him. And Dean keeping the reason why so close to his chest could only go two ways—either it was so light and petty that it wasn’t worth mentioning, or it was too terrible to voice. Only one of those ended with Sam nursing an infected wound for months. Few emotional appeals would reach Dean’s ears, but you thought he and his brother deserved someone who fought to right any grievances made against them.

With two fingers, you yanked your collar to one side. Sitting in the meat at the curve of your neck was a fat gauze bandage as wide as three fingers. Dean tested the edges with his thumb while you jabbed, “It’s fine. The stitches didn’t get messed up in the shower.”

“And the painkillers?” Dean checked.

“Working,” you answered. “Now, tell me what’s up. You can’t lie to me for shit.”

Again, you expected an awkward wince or a reluctant grimace from him. And again, Dean surprised you. He sighed deep into his shoulders, cupped the unmarred side of your neck, and shocked you into place with a burning, deathly serious look. “...Son of a bitch, fine! This is a big deal to me, okay? I’m breaking my brother’s trust here—but only because I think it’ll be better for the both of you, capiche?”

You nodded just as gravely. “What is it?”

“Sam…” Dean held you in place for a second more, then drifted out of your orbit, following his thoughts and hesitation in a circle around your hotel room. You let him think, a slow ugly sickness building in your throat. “Sam has feelings for you, okay? He’s—he’s had them for a while. So long that it’s insane to me that you haven’t noticed it yet—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. “Dean, please, I’m really worried about him. I don’t have time to mess around right now.”

Dean’s flailing arms dropped to his sides. He just stood there looking helpless, waiting. Waiting more.

“...Dean.” The name tasted like oncoming tears. You straightened up and steeled yourself, pressing into every new, stinging wound at your posture’s disposal. “This is… now y-you’re just being mean. You know how I feel about this.”

“I’m…” his hand fumbled upwards, like he thought about calling upon a higher power for help here, then remembered how that’d turned out last time. “Y/N, I’m not messing with you here. Sam has been crazy about you since we were kids.”

You believed him. It took some pacing, some crazed muttering, and some hard, labored breaths, but eventually you broke out of your trance and realized you believed him.

Dean nudged his chin at you, waiting for a response.

Pathetically, you said: “W-why?”

“Pardon?”

You summoned your best glare. “Level with me here. Just. Why?”

“Why the hell would I know?” Dean sputtered. He shrugged up to his ears, smiling a bit, like this was as grand a mystery to him as it was to you. “All I know is that he’d burn this world to the ground for you. Everything today… with you playing bait, and everything… It freaks him out, your scrapes. I mean, it freaks me out too, but I know you can handle yourself. It’s… I dunno, he’s mushier. It’s more personal to him.”

You thunked down on the closest surface, which could've been a hot stove for all you cared; numbing tingles rolled all the way up your arms and legs. Usually, you had a good reign on your own feelings, but now they galloped free too fast for you to catch. Exhaustion’s sweeter cousin barrelled you over. Shock and relief and love and terror each took their own swing at you, until you sat there with your hands limp in your lap, feeling like you’d laid down on the sidewalk and all of your feelings had lined up to kick you around. For the first time in your life you sat down and cried at the drop of a hat. It was fucking awesome.

A bubbly laugh rolled out of you. “Me too. I-I do too. Holy shit, am I over-reacting or what?”

Dean’s warm hand rubbed a spot on your arm the glass hadn’t touched. “Uh, maybe a bit. But I guess you’ve both waited a long time, so Sam’ll probably think it’s… sweet, or some bullshit like that.”

Another laugh surprised its way out of you. “Shut the hell up. God, you were right—I’m so blind. Do you think… Should I…? Sam, he’s still mad.”

Dean paused, enjoying how panic and delight warred on your face. “Not mad. More like…” he searched for the word, beaming slyly, “...jealous.”

Sam returned to a buzzing, eager silence in the motel. The second he had inched the door shut behind him, sheepish and looking like it, Dean shoved on his driving boots. You noticed how Sam was careful to catch your eye just once, otherwise entertaining himself with the pattern of the carpet. He at least seemed a touch more clear-headed. Sam had always loved a good, breezy walk; one of a million of his quirks that you loved too much to forget.

“Alright,” Dean scooped up the Impala’s keys, flicking the lapels of his jacket. “I owe Y/N her favorite dinner, like I promised. You want anything while I’m out?”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Her favorite place is at least an hour and a half from here,” he said, because of course he remembered that.

His brother shrugged. “I’m in the mood to drive. Cabin fever n’ all. See you nerds in,” he was not at all subtle when checking the clock in your room, or smiling about his results: “...three hours. Ciao.”

“It’ll be cold by—” Sam started, but Dean had already sauntered passed him, swinging his keyring in one hand. His whistling carried all the way out to the lot, and quietly you wondered how long he’d been wanting to tell you what he had.

Sam was forced to turn to you. His displeasure from before had slowly melted into embarrassment, but he wasn’t about to show it. He made a helpless gesture at the door like, welp, there goes that, and the elixir of liking in your chest shook loose a giggle. A real giggle. At least you could be embarrassed together.

Since sleeping on your back was off the table for the next week of your life, you’d gotten comfy on your stomach. With Sam gone, you had the room go completely diagonal on your shared bed, angling toward the dingy colored light of the TV. Dean had put on some random soap opera you weren’t a fan of, but tonight you thought of nothing but one thing. Sam has feelings for you, Dean had said. He’d burn this world to the ground for you, Dean had said.

Repeating them to yourself felt like writing the words down and holding up the paper by Sam’s face—weighing those images against the man you knew. You’d… guessed. Hoped is more accurate. But to see those words in action, moving and breathing in a person, totally blew you out of the water. Dean was right; you were dumb as hell for not seeing it before. Sam teetered on his heels in front of you. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, hiding behind his bangs and forcing himself to stand still. When you shied away to look at the TV, you could feel his gaze devouring you in every dose he could manage. Searching and memorizing. Every time you were occupied, Sam admired the soft curve of your back in your sleep shirt, your swept hair, your shorts, the exposed skin of your neck, your face.

Still, you’d hoped and only hoped for so long. You believed Dean. But you couldn’t bring yourself to understand that it was possible in the first place.

While you watched the television and panicked over what to say to him, Sam toed off his shoes and hung his jacket on the nearest chair. After a moment of hanging in the middle of your room, directionless, he followed his heart to your bedside.

“You feelin’ better?” He dipped the mattress just beside you, your side pressed against his night-chilled back.

You shuffled up onto your elbows, smiling at him with such vibrancy and realness that Sam flushed up to his ears. “I’m all good,” you promised, and it was the truth. “Happy to rid the world of another tie-wearing evil.”

That earned a dry smile. You carried through it, buoyed by everything except thought. “Only got three stitches this time,” you told him, sounding smug, and pulled down your collar to show him the bandage.

All your mind wanted to do was take a shovel out of the Impala and bury yourself off the edge of the highway, but the unbridled joy in your body didn’t care. It brimmed over everything else. The heady, healthy foam of it conquered every other feeling. Your nervousness, your terror, your anxiety. You couldn’t believe that you were just sitting here and talking about nothing. The truth was giddy in your ribcage, like good news you couldn’t keep from him any longer. Sam recieved it so rarely.

Sam just stared at you. You could only make out one side of his face in the dark, the cheek painted with the waltzing colors of the soap opera on the screen. Blues and peaches and warm grays. He was bent so close to you that you could keep your head comfortably sunk into your pillow, and you did, studying him as he studied you. The longer he took you in the more he seemed to relax. One of his hands flexed against the mattress, bringing him back to the world the two of you shared. Your exchange went on for so long that the hand on your open collar went slack, and so did Sam’s jaw. Dean was gone and the two of you were in the safe realm of the dark again—usually, Sam would reach out and brush his hand down your back, squeeze your arm, or kiss your forehead.

“If you’re good, then… good,” he said, distantly. “I’m beat. Let me help you move, huh?”

“Okay,” you hummed.

Even as Sam stood, his face chased yours, one side of a magnet seeking its counterpart. He hovered as you shuffled onto your calves, then pulled back the covers for you to worm under without disturbing your torn skin. You only had so much time to say something—and after so long, nothing could keep you from telling him. Not if you were sure he still felt the same way. You hesitated to lay down, and Sam, sensing your need to speak, paused too.

“Oh,” Sam realized. “I’d almost… forgot. Can I…?”

He waved to your forehead, and before he could retreat out of awkwardness, you convinced yourself to nod. Sam went as far as cupping your arm, then wavered. It was just cute, now. “You can,” you murmured between you, “go ahead.”

Sam dropped a brief kiss on the side of your face, then turned tail for the bathroom to get ready for bed. You had this whole fantasy in your mind of Sam letting his lips linger, burning the shape and feel of them into your soul like you wanted him to, but the two of you hadn’t breached this territory in years. Both of you were terrified of it. Before you could let that fear control you, you blurted out:

“He looked like you.”

Sam’s figure twisted toward you in the dark. “Huh?”

You cleared your throat, which burned front to back with need and apprehension. “The witch, Sam. He looked like you. To me.”

Sam couldn’t look at you dead-on without light, but he tried. Those hungry eyes, hungry for safety and closeness, scraped down your outline. Then again, testing the groves they’d dug. Sam was reminding himself of all the blood he’d seen before, driving back in the Impala and pulling glass out of your jacket with slippery, trembling hands. He deflated. He started toward you, then deflated again.

“He did that to you, with my face—” Sam bleeds.

Before he can start to spiral, you rope in his hand and squeeze it through his sleeve. It’s big and enveloping, just like Hermes’ was, but there’s so much more that the magic just couldn’t replicate. He has a mole on his wrist you’d forgotten about and these subtle veins that bump under your thumbs. His knuckles are strong and feel almost welded, but underneath all that you can feel how gentle he’s worked to be. How much he’s still scared of himself. His mind may be enclosed with good intentions, but Sam had always thought of his body as something that didn’t fully belong to him. Even if the witch didn’t possess him, to Sam, the used goods, the meat suit, it feels like it. And the last thing he’d want his possessed body to do is hurt you. Manipulate you.

“Shh,” you soothed. “No. You’re missing what I’m trying to say. The witch… his glamor made me see the most p-perfect—the best man my mind would come up with.”

Sam just stared. You squeezed his fingers, willing him to understand. His other hand, chilled by his walk, wound slowly over your shoulder. His two leading fingertips lingered over the square white bandage at the junction of your neck. Though he was repulsed by what he thought was his own handiwork, you pressed closer, chasing the rough pads of his bowhunting calluses no matter how much it stung.

“Sam,” you said, sternly.

He just shook his head, ripping his free hand back. Sam pressed: “When he hit you, he looked like me.”

You wound your tether to him ever closer, growing bolder, bringing his hand into the warmth of your chest, entwined against your collarbones. The tears surged into your lashes, but you resisted them with a shake of your head. “It made it easier,” you laughed without mirth. “When he was flirting with me, but at the end, too, yeah. Is that fucked up?”

Sam breathed short from his nose. “Yeah, a bit. But you know I’d never—”

“That’s not even a question. Of course you wouldn’t,” you swore to him. Since the humor was teasing into his voice again, you joined it with your own, pressing your face into his arm. “But, um. If you were jealous of him, well. You should know that there’s really no contest.”

Another long, draining silence haunted you from overhead for a moment, and Sam swayed in place, his hand dropping suddenly on your shoulder. For balance? Was he really… winded? Floored? The show on beside you faded to black, submerging you both in inky, sightless dark. You could feel it in his hands now—Sam was quivering with disbelief. His broad palm scoped up your neck. His hand parted from yours between you, palming across your shoulder. They joined seamlessly together on each of your cheeks, cupping your face just like they had before. You rose into the touch, following him up, until you were standing between his socks at your bedside with your face in his hands. They were still pretty cold; but warming up, and fast. Just like before, you softened all over and held steady to his wrists.

Sam swallowed. “Dean told you?”

“Yeah,” you choked, afraid of what your voice was capable of. “Don’t be mad at him. Or jealous of some stupid witch. There’s… you have to know by now, that nobody even holds a candle to you, right?”

Sam laughed breathlessly. His long thumbs caressed your skin, your under-eyes, weighing the feel of you and your closeness like it’d be taken from him any minute. His left hand pressed even closer, and you met the scar there with your cheekbone. This is real, you promised him.

“Me too,” he gushed, and the sound poured right out of him just as yours did, overboiling with joy. “For you. Nobody, Y/N, this whole time, nobody compares.”

Real happiness was so new to you that the two of you hovered there, waiting for it to be ripped away. Your face ached, from smiling, from crying, from bruising, and it strained your chest a bit to laugh. You surged into Sam and let it all go anyway. Giggling uncomfortably rattled the injuries on your back, but any ache you felt was soothed by Sam's broad hand in your hair, stroking it away from your face. He was still chilly from his walk. There was a small building heat in the middle of his chest, so you squeezed even closer to meet it and found a leaching embrace instead. The pressure of him all around you could’ve put you in tears again. It hadn’t been long since you’d hugged him, but you could feel that love this time—the way Sam swayed with you in his arms, the way he kept pawing your neck to bring you closer and closer. Like the feeling of you laughing in tandem with him wasn’t enough. He needed to absorb you, be you, for you to be close enough to satisfy him.

He was careful to watch the injuries on your back, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to palm your bruised shoulder blades, to drag his nails down your glass-pocked spine, to squeeze you as close as possible no matter how much your material body hurt. A button on his shirt was digging into your cheek and his chin was poking your head. But it didn’t matter—he was the real deal, imperfections and all, just how you liked him. Loved him.

“Nobody?” You murmured, in disbelief.

Sam shook his head. “Nobody, Y/N. Not anyone.”

Nothing could pull you away from him then, so you didn’t bother to arrange yourself comfortably to kiss him. His face was so close to yours that you could breathe only him and the old books he smelled like. You knew that the second you kissed him that it’d be all over—forever marrying your visions of living to him, and giving your lifeblood a name. It was dangerous in this business to give your reason for living legs and a heart. But Sam’s sleepy eyes had closed and his pulsed swished under your hand, and you knew it was decades too late for that.

Your palms dropped to his chest, and Sam pinned them between you, ducking his head low enough to ache and searing you hard against him. It should’ve been awkward and cramped. You forgot that as you melted into the smell of him, a slab of chocolate in the sun. The kiss should’ve been cursed, since the angels swore he was, that you would be too. If it was, then cursed was warmth and love and closeness. Safe at last! Your body sobbed into the kiss. It all felt silly; like you could’ve done this ages ago.

Sam burst into snickers. You did too, against his mouth, and between peals of laughter you tried to scold him, “Shhh, you big idiot—” but Sam just shushed you back and kissed you again.

He dipped his head like actors in the movies did, intense-eyed and deeply fond, which made you flush and giggle harder. You both gave lose attempts at more sweet pecks, only to absolutely lose it when Sam almost knocked the lamp off the bedside table. Eventually, you were giggling too hard and stumbling too much to kiss properly at all. This didn’t intimidate Sam, who cleverly angled your cheek with his thumbs and kissed where you weren’t laughing. You squealed and wiggled for an escape that wasn’t actually alluring to you at all. Each time Sam caught you on the brow or the corner of your lip, you’d giggle and squirm away, only to float back into his orbit again. Parallelling the millions of games you’d played together as kids; tag, hide and seek, marco polo. Just another chase. Just another step in your infinite cycle.

“Really,” you said, eventually. An embarrassed heat prickled through your entire face. “Nobody compares to me. You really think that?”

“How many more times would you like me to say it?” Sam asked. He did this with both of your hands closed in one of his, his tone clever and sincere. “Not anyone.”

“You… you cheeseball,” you accused, and Sam’s mouth snapped closed to suppress another bubbly chuckle. It’d been ages since you’d gotten him to laugh so hard, so you were gluttonous off it and determined to steal more. “This whole time, you’ve been running around with this schoolyard crush on me… Man, this is quality blackmail material. Did you gush about me in your diary? Write Mr. Sam L/N in all of your notebooks?”

In the stark darkness, Sam again inclined his face over yours. “Did you?”

“No,” you blurted, a little too fast. “...It was Mrs. Y/N Winchester, obviously. It’s different.”

Sam just shook his head, charmed. You could feel him standing there across from you, admiring you in the silence, and it slammed on you like a ton of bricks that Sam must’ve done that before. A couple of times, at least. Just looked at you because he liked you so much. Any flirty confidence you’d built up was overpowered by a wave of shyness.

You rushed to fill the loving silence. “But. About the comparison thing… Good. I-I’m, I’m happy. I always wanted… I always wanted to be your… your first choice, I guess. Is that selfish?”

Sam hummed a no, and again his hand floated up to your face to warm your cheek. It filled you with so much want that your knees nearly buckled. Flustered out of your mind, you rambled: “I wasn’t a fan of Ruby, or, uh, that Becky girl from the convention, or the doctor chick in Iowa…”

He rumbled your name. “I don’t want to talk about them,” he murmured, amused, and kissed you once. When Sam parted from you, the silky lilt of his whisper in your ear flushed your belly with need. “I want to talk about you. And I definitely want to kiss you.”

“Sam…” you murmured. He dipped in for another warm, wet kiss, that instantly wiped your ability to create thought. You had to hold onto his shirt to steady yourself, and by then Sam had paused to not interrupt you. “I-I just…” you scrambled for anything to say, made honest by the dark, “I remember how you looked at them. I imagined how your hands must’ve felt on them… how theirs felt on you. I-I know I’m killing the moment here, but I need you to know—I was, I was out of my mind with jealousy, Sam. I—yeah.”

The hold on him grounded you, and again a second time when his hand settled over yours. Sam brought his arm around your waist, which made you realize how much he’d held you versus how much you’d held him. It was a disappointing ratio, so you welded him closer and snuggled your arms under his shoulders, letting your hands praise the unwinding slopes of his back.

A pleasant sigh seeped out of him, which broke into a careful chuckle. “I’m gonna be honest with you—pretty much nothing could ruin this for me right now,” Sam admitted. Which really meant something, because the chances of this being ruined by just about anything were 80-20. “I’ve wanted this since I was like, twelve. I guess you could say I wasn’t a fan of that waiter in Kansas, or your date to junior prom, or even Dean.”

You choked on your own laugh. “C’mon. You’ve got to be kidding me. Your brother, Sam? That man does not wash his underwear.”

Sam’s weighty shoulders shrugged against your cheek. You could feel his smile against your hair, that slight dimple in his cheek…“He always gets the girl. N’ the others… I don’t know.” Plainly and clearly, he turned into your embrace to speak face to face, “It’s you. It’s always been you. But I’ve never been brave enough to say it.”

You had no clue how to respond to that. A winning lottery ticket could be dropped in your lap, hell could close its gates forever, the angels could finally decide to leave you alone, and you’d know exactly what to say. Holy shit, maybe. Or even a tasteful, what the fuck. But what was good enough for Sam? What words could you say to make him happier than he just made you? You’d never been as sincere or as well-spoken as him, but he deserved that and more.

“I’m just glad we’re saying it now,” you murmured, your throat tight with building tears. Whatever channel was playing illuminated more of your face to him in a frame of white, and there Sam seemed to absorb everything you couldn’t put into words.

His thumb brushed your cheekbone. “How long have you been sitting on this?”

“Since our first kiss,” you flushed. “So, uh, fifteen years?”

You could sense Sam’s smug grin coming from a mile away. He always glanced aside beforehand, like he knew he was about deliver a clever blow. “Sixteen,” he boasted. “When we almost shocked ourselves to death taking apart that old Ford in Bobby’s salvage yard—you taught me what an intercooler was, and I was so impressed I wanted you to be my girlfriend.”

“Sixteen whole years,” you scoffed. Just for emphasis, you gave Sam a little push, and he dropped down to sit on your mattress. Without question, he left room for you between his legs and you flushed down to your toes taking up that space. “You gotta beat me at everything, don’t you?”

“Maybe. But I hear it’s gentlemanly to let your girlfriend win every once in a while,” Sam hummed.

That was an obvious challenge put down just for you. It was all too easy for you to rise to the bait and fluster all at once, since Sam knew how to engineer his bets just for you. The divide between your friendship before and your relationship now was a web more than it was a line, so dipping a knee in his lap on the bed was easier than you would’ve thought. Leaning in and smoothing your hands around his neck was not. Sam’s breath hitched in his chest, which you relished in. All these little reactions he always had—they were all because of you. His shyness, his cute hesitation, his miserable attempts at being neutral.

“Well, I,” you clarified, walking two of your fingers up his collar, “hear that it’s gentlemanly to ask her out first.”

Sam really was a dork, because just a little physical flirting had his hands flitting without direction around your middle. Every time your fingers took a further step up his neck, his breathing grew deeper, straining for composure he wouldn’t ever find. Not on your watch. When you finally stole the kiss you’d been itching to take, Sam’s eyes fluttered shut and his hands scuttled to find a place on your waist, wracked with shyness. He really didn’t want to mess this up. It was a sweet notion, if it was even possible in the first place.

Eventually, they found their hold on your hips. You hovered in his space, soaking up the feel of him in the dark as his fingertips memorized you, cataloged you, admired you. Sam’s chin tilted up, silently asking for permission as his hands hovered at the edge of your shirt. Your kiss was all the answer he needed. Gently, his fingers slid under your shirt, where they stoked the sensitive skin of your belly just for the sake of feeling you.

“Would you be my girlfriend?” Sam whispered. He was nervous and everything, as if there was a universe where you would ever turn him down.

The hands you’d braced on Sam’s shoulders pressed closer, taking in the texture of his shirt and the muscle underneath it, until one of your warm palms had snuck underneath his collar to press flat to his back. Sam released a low hissing breath. You met him with a deep, meaningful, possessive kiss, tickling your nails against the top of his spine.

“I’m all yours,” you promised, and Sam’s whole body sunk in relief.

He made a desperate sort of gesture along the bottom of your back, avoiding your bandages but wanting you closer, deeper, nearer to him. Emboldened by his obvious yearning, you offered your knee over his thigh. Sam invited you closer. Anxiety swirled in your gut, but the touch of him was merciful and yielding; he’d do only what you wanted to do. This was Sam. You’d never felt safer, so you sunk comfortably into the bowl of his lap.

You kissed him in long pecks at first, the soft bulb of your nose pressing into his cheek. His lips were soft and plush and warm, and the deeper you tasted them the more they drove from you. Any rigid fear left in your chest dissolved at his touch. That’s what he must’ve been waiting for, because he put his arms around you only once you untensed, and with all the urgency of too-in-love teenagers, you embraced. Sam slotted your chests together. You cupped his neck and roamed his hair, crushing him closer until you could feel his firm middle flatten to yours. A low wanting sigh rattled out of him. It was so authentic and distinctly Sam that you felt foolish for ever seeing a thing in the witch’s glamor. This was Sam, with his gentleness, his fear of his strength, his hesitation to take what he wanted. You were proud of your choice of words: you were all his, because this Sam was definitely all yours. This was the Sam you knew.

It occurred to you just how much you’d dreamed of this before. Reality surpassed expectation with ease, purely because there was so much you hadn’t considered. Often, you’d dissolve into gooey daydreams of kissing him or making him happy, only to come out of them scolding yourself for feeding your feelings. Your unreciprocated feelings. But there were dreams you couldn’t control and times where you’d indulged yourself more than usual. Even then, though, you always kept Sam’s emotions out of the way. You’d dream of getting home late from work—in the “normal” world you’d never share—and crawling into his arms, sleepy, or vice versa. You’d dream of going for long drives with him and snuggling with him in the Impala. But you were always the one who said those three scary words to him, while he simply existed as he always did. If you puppeteered Sam into saying it, then you were taking a machete to any notion that your fantasies could be real—and making Sam lie in order to please you.

What you hadn’t considered was what would happen if Sam did say I love you, and, even better: if he meant it.

Sam murmurs it as you’re admiring him in the dark. His eyes had fallen closed and his head had tilted back, receptive to your touch. You loved to touch his face; you warmed his lap, cupped his cheeks, stroked the smooth back of your hand against his temple, and pushed the hair from his forehead in the cool motel darkness. Every once in a while the headlights of a car would give you a glimpse at him, and each time Sam’s gaze would almost be too much.

You whisper it back, thankful for the boldness the dark gives you, and feel something blaze hot inside you when his mouth drags down your cheek to your jaw. They’re deep and punctuating kisses. You’re reminded again of the sinking acceptance you’d felt when Hermes’ shadow had fallen over you. For a second, you’d thought that was gonna be it. Sam would’ve never known the truth, and would’ve ended up in that warehouse instead, picking the glass out of unresponsive skin. And though you’d survived today… Tomorrow, a reaper would have a million opportunities to take what had only just been sown.

You bunched your hands in Sam’s shirt, sounding urgent. “...Let me show you how much.”

Sam hung there for a moment, weighing the silence between your bodies. Weighing the space between them, and how much of it left there was. “You want that?” He asked. Sam made it sound like you were asking to stick your hand in a shark tank. “You’re… you’re sure?”

Your hand on Sam’s cheek turned over, so you were stroking your softer knuckles against his skin. You nodded, realized he couldn’t see it, and pressed in to brush your noses together. Sam’s head tilted all the way back to meet yours when you prayed: “I’m sure. I… I waited a long time to be close to you, so… I’m not gonna waste a second more.”

A breath rasped out of him in understanding. Like everything else in your life, this could be taken from you. Sam’s fingers crept up the back of your shirt, sliding around for where the bandages began and ended. He confessed, “Me either.”

His kiss drew deeper, more lovesick, chasing each one to their full depth. Your hands shyly migrated to the buttons of his flannel and smoothed there. He nodded, flattening his hand to the small of your back, and after that you didn’t have to wonder once how Sam felt about you. It was outlined clearly for you in Sam’s handwriting. He showed it in the absorbing nature of each of his kisses; how he nosed every new inch of your skin, taking care to declothe you the right and patient way; how aware he was of your bruises and bites. When you’re clothesless, he runs both of his hands down your arms and just feels you in the dark. Sam gives you the same courtesy. When you help him out of his last layer, your hands smooth against his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his neck, but the contact still isn’t enough—you need to be closer. You drag him into another gapless embrace, and Sam is already there, eager to pull you in. His hands knead you with purpose. Your hips, your waist, your stomach, are squeezed until every part of you feels raw and achy and alive. She’s real, Sam’s body sighs. Another surging, dizzying kiss has you dragging your nails down his back, tasting every puckered scar and raised laceration from his shoulders to his obliques. He’s plush and warm and firm and right, a missing piece finally filled.

With his arms around you, you kiss him breathless and thumb open the button of his jeans. Your spine tingles in delight the second your fingers are hooked in his belt loops. The butterflies in your belly are birds by the time his jeans are past his hips, and when you’re on your knees in front of him, Sam’s calloused palms exploring your neck and your hair, the bruises and cuts on your back are just a memory.

“You don’t have to—” Sam starts.

The smile on your face is a bit too clever. “I know.” You frame his waist in your hands, pressing both thumbs into the divots of his hips. Sliding downward to find his boxers, you can feel his legs trembling at your touch, the skin there prickling as it’s exposed inch by inch. You press a lingering kiss to his waistband that makes Sam’s breath hitch in his throat. “Just helping you out of these,” you smile innocently, plucking the edge of his boxers. “I’ll have my fun with you like this when your brother isn’t coming back in an hour.”

“O-okay,” Sam agrees, and even in the dark you can tell he’s grinning.

When he’s nude, Sam finds your hand in the dark and brings you to stand with him. Again, you’re slotted into place in his arms, skin tacky with building sweat and cooled by the open window. His face and neck are blazing with a blush. You push the back of your hand against it, feeling him, all of him, in the honesty of the dark. His face lowers to yours, and again you’re met with the impression that the moment he kisses you, you’re his—curse and angels and demons and all.

You accept it with nothing but bliss.

He guides your knees back to the bed again, this time supporting your thighs as you lift yourself up. Your whole body reacts like before, surging into him and purring deep in your throat. You loop your arms around his shoulders in a claiming sort of way, and where your skin meets it sticks and melts together. Dragging you in around the middle, Sam hoisted you into his lap and moaned into your kiss; you slot right onto him, knees tight to his thighs and your chest pressed to his. You have the slightest advantage over him like this, your shadow falling on him. Sam’s eyes flutter shut and he sucks down breath after breath, his hair in his eyes, illuminated in slivers by the television. Something about it just makes you wetter. When you push further into him, there’s a glide between your bodies that makes Sam groan.

“Sh, sh, be careful of your back,” he warns. “Could you—could you hand me my wallet?”

You pat his chest, forehead pressed to his, and answer with a laugh instead: “I’ve got the pill?”

A shift goes through Sam’s entire body, radiating up from his lap. He shuffles his hips, lips parted, and you can feel his excitement pounding in his chest. “Atta girl,” he decides, smirking. “That’s good too.”

Flushed from head-to-toe with heat, you cup Sam’s neck and meet him kiss for kiss. During, you find him between you and tilt in your hips, finally asking the silent question. Sam’s fingers scramble across your thighs, your sides, and around your back. He hangs there, trying to pin down how real this is. This is really happening, his heaving chest says. She’s right here in front of me. A wet, passionate kiss balms his worries. He gives you the littlest nod. That's all it takes for Sam to be met with new, plush territory. You pant into each other’s mouths, fingers digging into flesh, hips dying to sink further in, hanging on the precipice, and when Sam’s certain that you’re ready, that this is really what you want, he presses your thighs down.

A desperate sigh seeps from his mouth to yours, like there's no better place to be in the world than inside you. Something needy and high slips from your lips. For a long time, all either of you can do is bask in it, in each other, breathing hard and shivering. Sam hugs you—genuinely hugs you—against him. There’s a thought somewhere in your mind that you should be nervous at all the lines you’re crossing here, but… Any day of the week you could rub your cheek into Sam’s shoulder like this. It’s a new song, but familiar notes dance all the way through it. The motel room is silent but for the barely-there hum of the TV and the crickets outside, so Sam’s heart under your ear booms. You soak in the familiar sound of it.

“I love you,” you tell him, and Sam hushes it back so fast your voices overlap, then again, “so much—so, so much—” as he starts to move.

Your whole lower half rolls with him, a boat on a wave. An urgent, keening yes squeals out of you the second Sam encourages you down again. It's more than good, than perfect, and entwined so closely like this, you can hear every thought and whim swirling around his mind—can read him better than you ever could before. You feel foolish. How much earlier could you have had this, if you hadn’t been so afraid? There were a million times in your life where you could’ve told Sam. Before the cage, when the apocalypse started, when Dean died and you were stranded with only each other. You latch onto him as you find your rhythm, a hand in his hair, nails in his shoulders, seared as close to him as you can be. Sam gasps your name; happy.

I have him now, you remind yourself. And I’m more than happy with that.

tags: @lacilou

#sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #uncouthspn #supernatural #spn #user uncouth

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