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fleurspun · 3 months ago

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Questbound

Summary: A kiss locks the victory of your quest, it's only unfortunate that your quest companion is Luke Castellan—the bane of your existence and ex-lover. Note: I'm back hello hi this time with PJO! I do have Grishaverse drafts to release (someday) but that's for another time!! This is also cross-posted on Ao3 Word Count: 6.9k

In your many years at camp, the best advice you could probably give somebody is not to date another camper.

Not if they’re a fellow counselor.

Especially not if it’s Luke Castellan.

You learned that lesson the hard way years ago, when you were both a lot younger, with spunkier attitudes and clouded minds. It was a relationship wrenched raw with gritted teeth and hushed arguments, emotions clawing at throats and frustration gnawing at the mind. It was nothing short of tiring, and the only remark worth saying was that it wasn't worth it.

(Sort of. You’re a little too proud to admit that you had your fun during the relationship, and that you really did love Luke, or at least loved him to the extent that adolescent teens could. It was carefree and stupid and full of shared, sappy love-sick grins—and that wasn't so bad.

But you were both childish and angry, nonetheless. And that tipped the balance more often than you would have liked.)

Your breakup was a nasty, bitter fallout that screamed and thrashed all the way back down into the depths of forgotten pasts. After that, you and Luke fell into an explosive and rough dynamic of being at each other’s neck at every passing second, which seemed to have attracted attention from the gods above—and because the gods have such a unique sense of humour, one in particular has decided to grant you and Luke a quest.

And quests meant a trip to the attic of the Big House, and a meeting with the hippie-tie-dye Oracle of Delphi.

“Piss off the aunt lately?” Luke sucks at his teeth, ducking under the beams of the ceiling. You can feel his shadow melt into yours when the attic forcibly squeezes the two of you into the walkway cluttered wall-to-wall with quest paraphernalia.

“I didn't. You might have.” you scoff, suddenly a lot more conscious that your back was pressing into his chest, “You did break that poor girl’s heart from Aphrodite’s cabin a week ago. It’s sad, she was sobbing over her barbecue at dinner.”

“Keeping tabs on me, now?” he snickers, “That’s a new low, even for you.”

“I’m going to smack the shit out of you if you don't shut up, Castellan.”

You see Luke at the corner of your eye step ahead of you, giving a theatrical display of zipping his lips shut before snapping into a sleazy grin when you roll your eyes at him.

The Oracle of Delphi finally comes into sight at the edge of the attic, and Luke has to settle a hand across the base of your spine to keep you moving along when you freeze upon seeing the figure. Visiting the Oracle always left an uneasy feeling that settled like sediment at the bottom of your stomach, and Luke knows exactly, despite the low lights of the attic, that you would be picking at the skin beneath your nail.

He taps his finger on your spine to grab your attention, teasing spelled on his face, “Scared, smart girl?”

You swallow thickly before breaking away from his hand, “In your dreams, crook.”

Luke offers you a small chuckle as he anchors his palms on the beams near your head to keep you from bumping into them when you stalk along the attic, wary of the menacing figure right in front of you.

The skeleton is perched near the stained glass window, and silence simmers in the air so thick it almost shrouds your heartbeat in a muffled vacuum. After a few heavy seconds, the Oracle of Delphi slowly creaks into animation. There’s this odd pull of energy surrounding the flimsy skeleton, perfuming a spine-chilling and nerve-wracking pulse into the air, and into whatever summer clothing she had draped over her bones.

“Oracle of Delphi, we’ve come to seek your guidance.” Luke utters, and you cross your arms behind him, observing the decrepit and stop-motion-like movement of the figure. The skeleton encapsulates the feel of the Oracle in a snap of a finger, her arms creaking into animation and her skull snapping to your direction.

There are no eyes in the vessel as of the Oracle, but you can't mistake the sharp stare she gives you as she utters out the prophecy guided by the goddess of love, Aphrodite. And when she does, you feel a burdening weight forming on your shoulders and a thousand prickling needles at your spine.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.

Because to find a “second wind” and bring life and victory to your affairs, the quest from Aphrodite meant that you would have to share a kiss with the Hermes head counselor, your spiteful ex-lover, and the absolute bane of your existence, Luke Castellan.

What a funny joke this was.

—

“Well?” you’re cross-legged atop the ping-pong table, staring accusingly at Luke.

Luke rolls his eyes at you, sharpening his dagger against the wall of the dimly-lit Rec Room, “Well, what?”

The two of you ended up in the counselors’ meeting room just below the attic of the Big House after the prophecy sinked in enough for you and Luke to move down somewhere to confer.

“We’re contesting this with Chiron, aren't we?”

You observe Luke from the table, watching intently as he sighs in frustration, returning the dagger to its leather holster, giving you his full attention now.

“We aren't and we won’t.” he asserts, “And get off the ping-pong table, you’ll break it.”

There’s considerable pressure to his words, but you were never one to back down from his intimidation, so you stand your ground, “I’m going to contest this, Castellan. Whether you like it or not.”

“Under what possible circumstance?” He reasons with slight exasperation, “You know they won't let you contest a prophecy—from Aphrodite—off all gods.”

“It’s a clear case of conflict of interest.” the table creaks, and you heed Luke’s advice to hop off.

“That conflict of interest is a deliberate choice from the goddess. Besides, it’s a kiss. One kiss.” he sighs—you’ve been conferring about the prophecy for a while now, and every second is one wasted on argument instead of preparation, “Do I affect you so much that having me kissing you is such a huge deal? What, afraid you’ll come crawling back for more?”

You squint your eyes at the insinuation.

“The kiss isn’t a big deal for me. I don't care about that, you, and whatever relationship we had in the past.” your voice loses its venomous edge when you see Luke watching you intently through lidded eyes. His gaze is a pressuring expression, as if prompting you to speak more, and your mouth slips beyond grasp when you scoff, “You could kiss me right now and I wouldn't bat an eye.”

Oh shit.

The realization of your statement sinks in the second it leaves your lips. A gasp is stuck in your mouth, and you keenly watch Luke for a reaction.

Luke doesn't shoot his usual retort, taking his sweet time before getting off the wall with a grunt. He walks toward you with a heavy gait, one that echoes in the room as if in mockery of your position.

He finds himself almost between your legs, standing a breath’s width away. Luke chases your gaze when you snap your head the other way.

“Huh,” he smiles, and you feel the sinister intent behind it in your stomach, “Do you wanna repeat that for me?”

There’s a stern look on your face, refusing to budge out of self-preservation and dignity, and he tuts in response, “Look at you. You never change, do you? Pouring out emotion but never committing to it. You’re still all bark and no bite—” he whispers with a rough edge, “Like you’ve always been.”

Luke’s words are an obvious, honest-to-gods ploy. It’s nothing more than plain bait, and he’s waving it in your face to see if he can get you off your high horse and into the ground where he wanted you, and he knows if he pushes this narrative a little further, he can get you to bite down.

You blink, and feel the irritation bubbling, choked into the back of your throat. He didn't have the right to tell you about emotions when he was the one that left after the slightest bit of actual reciprocation.

A second passes and you try to give him a chance to take it back, but he only gives you a cocked eyebrow and a look as if impatiently waiting for your verdict.

He persists, and you huff before staring at him straight in the eye with a burning defiance.

Luke thinks, oh,

He’s fucking got you.

A sharp finger jabs itself into his chest, and Luke finds it exhilarating to have you on your toes, “I said,” the tone of your voice is as tense as a rope pulled taut, “You could kiss me right now, and I wouldn't do so much as bat an eye.”

Your pride is deadly as it is precarious—this is affirmed when Luke plants his palm on either side of your figure on the table, stepping an inch closer to where he has to crane his neck down to keep you in his sight in response to your dispute.

Luke leans his head forward, the mocking grin etched right in his mouth, “You’re sure?”

You aren't, but you’ve gone so far now that retracting your sentiments is equivalent to admitting complete defeat.

And defeat to Luke Castellan was a defeat you could never stomach.

So you persist.

“Try me.” you lift your chin as if to push him further to do what he’s been threatening to. You decide there was a large chance of Luke bluffing, so you prompt, “You don't have the balls to do it, Castellan.”

The heartbeat in your ribs thrums and pounds at your bones, a clear display of your body knowing that you should run before anything untoward happens, but your burning pride keeps your feet planted on the ground.

Luke is the closest he’s ever been since you broke up, head slanted into place with his mouth just above yours. The position is familiar, and you hate that you feel it in the pit of your stomach; Luke was so terribly close. He studies your most miniscule of movements, eyes wandering and lingering on your jaw, your neck, and your lips.

The action is an arrogant, self-assured display of power, fueled by the slight, unwanted flush on your face ignited by the suffocating proximity and the sandalwood perfume on his neck—and when he tips closer, it hits you that maybe Luke wasn't bluffing at all.

So, you do the next best thing after realizing you backed yourself into a corner: you close your eyes and wait for Luke’s mouth on yours.

…

Except, it never comes.

You peek your eyes open with a slow wind, Luke has a smug satisfaction written all over his face. He slips his mouth just above your ear, breath hot and searing when he whispers, “Liar.”

You swallow your dignity into your stomach at the realization that he just humiliated you to your face, and you whisper back at him with a hardened gaze, “I’m gonna make you wish you were dead, you damn crook.”

“Do your best, sweets.” the endearment is an offensive spit in your face. Luke takes a step back before stretching his limbs with a faux yawn as he walks to the door, “Good luck with the contention. Let me know how it goes.”

—

Luke knows you like the back of his hand.

He knows you inside out, from your oddly niche allergies, to the callouses you have on your fingers because you used to compete in unauthorized, handwritten poetry competitions with the campers from Apollo, Demeter, and Aphrodite before Chiron shut it down.

(The poetry competitions somehow turned into betting games, which were also unsanctioned.)

He knows you’re just about the most brilliant strategist at camp, as proven by the quest paraphernalia displayed in the attic that you’ve managed to snag along the way, but you let the younger campers like Annabeth hone their skills and take center stage during camp games.

He knows you have marks on your neck that map out the shape of the Lyra constellation, traced from your neck down to the bottom of your collarbone, and he knows, by heart, how long it takes to kiss the stars, one by one, before you give out on your knees.

Most of all, Luke knows that when you despise somebody, you despise them with a burning hatred that singes and ignites everything around you with charring smoke and flame.

And that’s what he exactly gets for being the ex from a relationship felled by a spiteful fallout: your loud hatred, concentrated resentment, and your sweet, sweet unbridled attention in the quest.

Frankly, Luke supposes having your attention is worth it, despite being rooted in bad faith and distrust in his actions.

“My feet are killing me.” you suck at your teeth, eyes glued to the thickets, “This route’s going to wear us down faster than Aphrodite could ever do.”

You’ve done nothing but go and complain about Luke’s decisions for the past couple of days, and it’s a deliberate call on your end—being annoying and insubordinate just enough to piss him off, but never too much as to jeopardize the quest and its goal.

To be fair, you were the daughter of a war goddess. Your words held weight, and not to mention considerable influence and accuracy on your calls on strategy and quest location planning.

It was just that you were using your mother’s gifts to piss the hell off Hermes’ kid.

It’s a lure dangled just above his face, just out of reach to push Luke to his very limit. You’re convinced it’s an art form in itself, the act of patience and persistence in getting somebody to break.

But you haven't had much luck, because as the world would have it, Luke knew what you were doing, and decided he wasn't going to give you the slightest bit of satisfaction by displaying irritation.

He’ll do just about anything to keep your eye on him.

“Are they, now?” Luke answers, a few steps away from you. He keeps walking, and when he doesn't hear your feet shuffling behind him, he turns around, “Sore?”

“Deadly.” you groan, rolling your ankles off the ground. In your defense, the trail ahead was rigorous, bumpy, and slippery from the recent rainfall. Not to mention the elevation gain throughout. You had more than enough of a right to complain, “We should’ve just cut through the highway instead of playing hiker.”

There was some truth to your assertion—it really would wear you down, but not so exaggeratedly.

Luke crosses his arms, a usual telltale hint of irritation, but none of it is present in his voice, “And be picked off the asphalt by a rogue Fury?”

“At least a Fury would take the pressure off my feet.” you grumble, and continue walking forward when you realize Luke just wasn't biting down. You look to the sky in an attempt to clear your head.

In your reflections, you fail to notice that Luke’s gone quiet with mischief, and you see your clear fault of letting your guard down when you get picked off the ground and hauled over his shoulder like cattle.

“Castellan—” you gasp, your vision in a whiplash, “What the hell! Put me down!”

Luke secures an arm over the back of your knees, the other one supporting your hip on his shoulder. He speaks to you with no hint of a struggle, “You wanted to put the pressure off your feet, right?”

“And the first solution that came to mind was to carry me on your shoulder?” you say in disbelief, propping yourself up with your arms on his back, “That's not how things work, you freak!”

“You’d rather I carry you in my arms?”

“I’d rather you put me down on the ground!”

“And let you hurt your small princess feet?” Luke coos in a voice so sickeningly sweet, it makes you feel as if nauseous from a sugar rush, “You know I’d never let you do that.”

“Gods, I hate you.” you grumble with a voice hinting resignation. You go limp on top of his shoulder when you realize there’s no point in arguing with him, “You’re the worst.”

“Get used to it.” Luke says, starting to walk the trail into the forest, “The worst hasn't even happened yet.”

“And that’s supposed to be what?”

He taps you thrice on the back of your knee, “I’ll let you figure that out on your own.”

—

It’s hard to forget that you and Luke are exes by the way you two fall quickly into a routine when left alone. Despite the rough start to your quest that resulted in petty arguments, derailments, and relentless teasing, your disgruntlement with Luke has sort of fizzled out into something a little more tameable, something malleable under shared snickers and a few will-they-won’t-they situations.

It starts off in treks where he takes your pack without a second thought when your breathing lags a little more than usual because you weren't as physically inclined as you'd like, in moments where you catch him forking away at the raisins in your bread so you wouldn't recoil at the sight, and during slow days when the journey is oddly peaceful, and the two of you wordlessly take detours to see pretty trails that Luke gets a little too excited over.

It ends with Luke falling from a spiraling tree root sprawled on the soil, and with flowering wounds on his hands and face.

“You’re a mess.”

You frown over the soft orange spires of the campfire, watching Luke with a pitiful red bruise birthed from his own actions. He’s fussing over his own wounds, and he tries, really, to the best of his abilities, but Luke hasn't attended a first aid class from Apollo’s cabin in years—and it’s showing in the way he tries to treat the bloody marks on his face.

“You’re pitiful.” You comment, looking down at his hunched figure over the sprawled kit. It doesn't help that it’s nighttime and he struggles more and more with adequate light without burning himself on the bonfire, “A disgrace. Pathetic.”

“I’m hurt.” He says, going back to applying an ointment that comes out way too watery because he doesn't know you have to shake it, “I’m hurt and you’re being mean to me.”

You can hear the obvious dramatisation in his voice, evident in the way he draws out his vowels. He’s pitiful and pathetic—just like you said—but for some reason, you find yourself slumped on a log next to him, stealing the balm from his hands.

“Give it to me.” You grit through your teeth, like you’ve been forced to help him by some unknown force, “Best swordsman in 300 years, and he cannot apply healing ointment on himself.”

It’s a comment made under your breath, and when you shake the tube and apply the cream on his arm, you miss the small smile Luke gives you.

The air is so cold with the night air and ripe with tenderness, and the two of you don't miss its hint when you touch Luke’s chin to move his head to the side, applying ointment on the gash lining his cheekbone.

“I’m shocked you’re not even recoiling at this.” You mutter, lathering out a pea-sized amount on his face, “You must hate it so much.”

It’s rare that you strike up a conversation first, but it seems like the intimacy of the moment has gotten to you, so Luke entertains you, “At what?”

“This.” You sign to the two of you, “I’ve done this to you a lot before, but it embarrasses you every time, doesn't it?”

It always started with you having to fuss over him, and with Luke being pissed off—and ended with an fiery argument without fail.

It was a stupid thing to argue about; but when you’ve just passed the honeymoon threshold of a young relationship, everything felt far too intense far too early.

Luke cannot find it in himself to answer immediately, a little embarrassed by the idea of his past actions, so you pacify the situation by talking, “I get it, you know.” You hum, “I was overbearing, and young, and overexcited.”

“And I was stupid, and angry, and cowardly.” Luke answers, an airy chuckle coming out of his lips, “I think we’re just fair. Actually, I might've been worse.”

You shrug, keeping your concentration on the gash. Luke’s eyes are peeking at the side, taking a look at you through feathered eyelashes.

“Hey, smart girl?”

A hum of acknowledgment lets him know you’re listening despite the utter focus on his cheek.

“I really was stupid back then for a lot of things, wasn't I?”

You stop momentarily. It’s wordless knowledge, knowing what he’s referring to, but you aren't sure you want to mull it over right now. The moment is too dangerously intimate to dabble in something so sensitive, so you decide to respond by whispering out an “Mhm.” before continuing on.

Luke watches you and your concentrated look, your lips jutted out and your nose in a slight scrunch. He feels like he’ll physically melt at the feeling of your hands cradling his face.

You’re finished with fussing over his wounds, and in a state of effortless muscle memory from all the times you had to do this to him before, your grip on his chin unconsciously angles him to face you, and you move to give him a peck on the side of his lip.

You’re so precariously near when you catch yourself and jolt into freezing. There’s only a breath’s width between you and him. It leaves you with Luke’s eyes gazing right into yours, eyes as wide as deer in headlights.

You can hear nothing but the crickets of the forest, the crackling of the firepit, and the ring of your slowly accelerating heartbeat. The time stills into a simmering tick.

Luke’s eyes flicker somewhere down in a split-second, and he squints at you, “Were you going to give me a kiss?”

You’re taken out of the trance, and in a flash of panic, quickly push Luke’s face away from yours, “You look horrible up close, Castellan.”

It’s an offhand comment, but Luke doesn't seem to mind when he scoffs out a comment of his own, “Oh please, we’ve made out a lot closer before.”

A red flush comes out of your face, shocked that he would bring up something so old, “And I hated every second of it every single time.”

You didn't—but his ego doesn't deserve to know that.

“If you hated it so much, you’re about to seethe at the next act of our quest,” Luke shrugs, stretching his arms into the ground behind him.

“And that's what, now?”

“Prophecy says you owe me a kiss, remember?”

—

Oh, shit. You forgot about the kiss.

Completely blinded by your deliberate attempts to usurp Luke’s decisions as primary of the quest, you seem to have forgotten the damning condition of your victory—to share a kiss with your past lover.

Simply put, Aphrodite was bored and decided it was time to pair together people who hated each other to death and make them kiss like dolls.

Was it to rekindle buried feelings? Maybe. Was it to drive the offsprings of gods into insanity? Oh, absolutely.

But whatever Aphrodite wanted to achieve by having you and Luke venture out into the world, it still doesn't do so much as change the thoughts plaguing your head for the last few days.

When was this kiss going to happen?

Since leaving the camp, and after that shred of intimacy that night, every passing moment became ripe with untouched tension, thick enough to cut through with a knife and a saw. You felt your heartbeat pound into your ear at the times when Luke would pull you close when he knew a creature was watching a little too intently, or when he would sit between your legs and let you fuss over his shoulder to have his minor wounds treated.

Normal occurrences at a quest, but with the prophecy looming over your head like an unrelenting shadow of misfortune, you were always distracted at the thought of: is this it?

Your agitation with the prophecy and your fear at the thought that Luke would smoothen you into kindness put you on edge, and soon enough your composure unraveled like loose threads and your formerly safe antics almost cost you and Luke your lives.

But it wasn't always you making the trip a hassle.

Your heavy, dragging breaths fill the tight brick alleyway just on the outskirts of the city you cut through to make a “harmless” shortcut Luke hounded you into taking, where you caught the attention of a rogue minotaur hungry for demigod dessert. Now, you have burnt soles and a creature hot on your tail.

It was a shortcut no different from the one you had insisted on taking, but Luke reason that the alternative trail was the same amount of time, with less elevation, and with more places to get food and water—but before you could leave, you realized why the town felt a lot more deserted than usual.

Luke pulled you inside the slim space by the arm, clutching you close into his body and angling you away from the mouth of the alleyway. He has one hand clamped over your mouth and the other on the base of your spine, pulling you so intensely near that you can smell his perfume and feel the ridges on his chest.

You hear the minotaur’s guttural growls and heavy gait echoing with a sharp thud, slowly and slowly until it disappears out of earshot. It’s only then that you feel the heartbeat pounding into your bones once the adrenaline runs out of your bloodstream.

You seem to realize the minotaur’s disappearance a lot faster than Luke does, with his hand remaining over your mouth and his body still pressed close to yours.

Oh, he was so incredibly close.

The flush on your face deepens at every single passing moment, your fingers picking at the skin beneath your nails, with your body becoming hypersensitive to every point that touches his, fueled by the force of the two brick walls squeezing the two of you together. His body feels warm from the constant running that led you to this moment, excreting bodily heat that seeps into yours the longer he holds you close.

When Luke gazes down after ensuring that the minotaur was out of the immediate area, he finds you studying him with a wide set of eyes. He doesn't say anything, mostly because his ego is enjoying the show, watching you stare at his chest, and his arms, his neck, before ending up on his eyes.

You retain eye contact, and Luke cranes his head to your side to check on you. Luke liked getting in close for things he only wanted you to hear, so when he tipped his head down to ask if you were alright, you stalled—like deer in headlights—and panicked at the feeling of his face so close to yours. You break out of Luke’s hold when the panic seeps into your bones, and you stumble onto the open streets.

You crane your gaze to the left—and meet eyes with the minotaur.

—

The hotel off the highway is dingy and obviously seen better (and more graceful) days, with peeling wall paint, dusty carpets, and a receptionist with a mean streak who barely cares for the customers arriving. The ringer on the desk barely makes a sound over her nail file.

She files her nail with a vigorous back-and-forth, the scratching of the material screeching into your ear like nails on a chalkboard. The bright purple of her hair is mirrored by the bubblegum in her mouth, deflating in a scandalous pop when she decides to entertain you.

Well, not you exactly, but the view of the tall, handsome man standing just behind you. Who was, believe it or not, clutching his injured shoulder.

(Minotaur’s fault; not yours, directly)

You can see the instant attraction in her eyes when it lands on Luke’s figure, and you feel a dull sensation in your ribs.

“Well,” she smacks her lip, looking as if she wanted to undress Luke with her eyes, “Two separate rooms, I hope.”

“Excuse me?” you say, stopping halfway from digging into your bag for the money.

“Two rooms, right?” the receptionist rolls her eyes at you, dragging her words along the floor. She fetches two keys on the counter but keeps them beneath her palm, batting her eyelashes at Luke, “Hey, you—pretty boy. I’m a pretty good masseuse, you know.”

You press your lips together, holding back the incredulous expression your face is dying to spit out.

Two customers annoyed and frustrated at each other, looking for a room; one with a bad shoulder, and the other a sleeve catching on a doorknob away from crashing out into misery.

And the damn receptionist decides it's time to snag a quick hookup?

She continues her little show of seduction, leaning over the counter in her slightly-undone button down. There’s venom and honey dripping on her voice, and a bony finger catches itself on her lip, “I can heal that shoulder of yours real good if you let me come up to your floor.”

It’s unbelievable at this point, you decide. You could tolerate this a lot better if you were having a better day, but today was not that, at all.

Your anger, burning hot and bright, slowly becomes slightly clouded by a churning feeling at the bottom of your stomach when you realize you haven't heard Luke answer—nor did you know how he was reacting to the woman at all.

Was he enjoying the attention? Was he considering blowing off steam with her? Did he like it?

Why do you care?

You don't. That’s what you put your resolve on—and there are more serious things to think about, like how you’re on the verge of failure in your quest. He could fool around with anyone, and that wouldn't be your business. It shouldn't be your business.

Whatever turns him productive enough to lead you to completion of Aphrodite’s favor.

Your thoughts are on the verge of collapse, but as if by some wicked timing, the receptionist shakes you out of your trance and pushes you into irritability tenfold when she slips over to you one key.

“Here’s ‘ya room. Leave your boy to me, hm?”

You feel like a kettle, slowly boiling until it’s time to explode and spill over scalding hot insults and lectures about the lack of decency being given. You’re about to start when you feel a chin nuzzled into your shoulder and a hand at your waist.

Luke whispers in your ear, “She’s not worth it.”, staring at the receptionist dead in the eye before exchanging the one key for money.

“Just one room. We’ll be fine, alone.”

The elevator ride is dragging, and you’re standing on opposite sides as if Luke wasn't just clinging on you from the last minute as a response to the flirty receptionist. He looks at the floor with a restrained expression, and you have a flat frown on your mouth. It takes what feels like decades before the carriage reaches your floor.

The doors open into a narrow hall, dimly lit with matching dull carpets from the lobby. Your room isn't in any better shape than the rest of the building. It might be worse when the door shuts and another misunderstanding erupts.

“What happened back there?” Luke asks, his voice pulled taut by tension, but held back by the need to not escalate the situation, “Why did you freak out on me?”

Luke knows you’re keeping something secret, you’ve had a shift in behaviour that he doesn't exactly recognize, but feels familiar all the same.

You keep his gaze leveled to yours, “I’m not the one at fault here, Castellan. We wouldn't have been there if we took the original route.”

“Fine,” he groans, “It was my fault we ended up in that stupid alley in the city outskirts. I didn't factor in why the map wouldn't mark it as a route in the first place. But that’s not what I’m asking, isn't it?”

“What are you asking then?”

“Why’d you freak out on me in that alley?”

“And that’s such a big deal?”

“It’s a big deal because that meltdown of yours cost us an injury, supplies, and now transport money that we have to use on this hotel.” he stalks closer, tone suspiciously clear of malice, “You’re smart. You know we don't have enough time or resources for the quest, no?”

“I know that.” you snarl. You don't even know when you stood up, “Shit happens, Castellan. I can't control when and where I panic.”

“But you can.” he shrugs. You have no idea when he got so close, “I may not know what happened, but I do know you—you’re calm, collected; you hate being driven by emotion and you are Athena’s favourite child for a reason.”

You look away to the side, refusing to make eye contact, “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying,” Luke drawls, as if the answer is staring at you, “Either your skills have downgraded for absolutely no reason at all, and you’ve become a shame of a daughter of a war goddess—or, something else has shook you to your core entirely. Something, or someone. That’s my guess.”

It was true—you were shaken by the prophecy and let the panic from it settle far too deep into your bones, but you were a lot more pissed by the way Luke was speaking to you. As if he knew you from the inside out, and to hell with him thinking that way.

He didn't have the right.

“You wanna know the reason, crook?” Your finger jabs into his shoulder, and you have to look up to his towering height to meet his gaze and get your point across. You were at such a close proximity now, it's as if you could taste the smugness in his voice.

He rolls his eyes, and shrugs mockingly, “Well, don't keep me waiting.”

You let out a good exhale before you postulate.

“The prophecy got under my skin.” Luke senses the tinge of nervousness in your voice, the end of your sentence faltering into a low mutter, “As much as I want to be the perfect quest companion you need so bad, the prophecy that we would have to eventually kiss crawled into my head and won't leave my consciousness since.” your voice tries to remain steadfast, “Every time you’re near, I think about the kiss, and I panic because I wouldn't know what to do with myself and I wouldn't know what to do with you. Happy now?”

You pull out a sharp exhale, “You make me nervous, Castellan. You still make me nervous.”

Luke stares at you like gears are turning in his head, his eyes flickering between your gaze and your lips. The realization of what you just said hits you in the ribs, and you feel as if the oxygen in the room is too little to keep you alive and breathing. You swallow your pride and your embarrassment, wide-eyed and on your toes.

You almost move to ask Luke to say something, anything really, but he cuts you off wordlessly when his hand weaves its way into your hair and his mouth finds its slot against yours.

Time grinds into a halt, and you realize that in all the times you imagined the prophesized kiss in shameful fever dreams and trances, you never expected for it to be this: Luke kisses you like he’s been starving for months. He’s deprived and angry and desperate and moves as if there wasn't anything else he’d rather be doing than to dishevel you in the middle of the room and leave your knees weak and trembling like he used to.

Oh, gods. The kiss is like water, like a delirious thirst in your bones finally quenched and an itch you’ve been dying to scratch. You’re stunned at first, but find yourself kissing him back just as quick and just as desperate.

“I waited far too long for this.” he rasps into your mouth, tongue swiping on your bottom lip to open your mouth, “Couldn't get my mind off you even when we broke up.”

“Shut up, Castellan, for once.” you breathe out, and Luke can’t help to restrain himself when he smiles against your lips.

“I tried everything to get close again.” He says in between kisses, “Who knew we only needed a damn quest?”

The two of you are sprawled on the creaking twin-bed mattress, and Luke, despite his bad shoulder, hauls you into his lap with a burning intention to keep you there. His lips trace from pecking at your lips, to nibbling at the skin behind your ear, to tracing down searing hot, open-mouthed kisses on the bottom of your jaw.

“Castellan, I—” you gasp, melting between his mouth and the hand that’s running lines over your hips.

“That’s not my name.” he mutters between kisses, turning you over with your back to the mattress, “Say my name, smart girl.”

If you were in any sort of proper thought, you’d be flushed red and annoyed at Luke for speaking to you this way—but all rationality is thrown through the window when his lips are on your neck.

You swallow your pride, your dignity, and everything in between, “Luke.” it’s a whimper when it comes out, and he pulls you in impossibly closer.

He hums in satisfaction, dropping his head over one of the moles on your neck. Luke gives it a small lick before smoothing it over with a kiss, “Vega.”

To your collarbone, “Sheliak.”

Down to the mole just above your chest, “Sulafat.”

He’s naming the stars in the Lyra constellation, and your mouth lets out a choked moan, “Luke, shit—”

Luke pulls away after one more quick peck, and he doesn't waste time admiring your figure from head to toe. You’re resting against the white pillows, breathing heavily with a disheveled look when he asks, “You good?”

The moment finally sinks into your mind in a panicked, cascading waterfall of information—that you’ve just shamelessly made out with your ex after a frustrating run, and that you were basically pinned against him on a bed.

It’s a wash of fresh, hot shame. Before you can help it, words spill out your mouth in an attempt to save face.

“That,” you blink, still a little hazy from having Luke’s mouth on yours.

“Go on,” He says, patiently, “Take your time.”

“Well, that’s—uhm” you inhale, “—don’t take that personally, Castellan.” you rasp out, trying to hide the weakness in your voice, “That was just for the quest.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nod cautiously, “We’ve got the prophecy out the way now, haven't we?”

You doubt you were convincing him any more than you were convincing yourself when Luke gives you a sickeningly sweet grin. He’s still pinned over you, like he refuses to be anywhere else.

“Mhm,” he coos, “Sure it was.”

“That didn't mean anything to me.” you repeat, to yourself more than anyone, “And that didn't mean anything to you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Luke shrugs, now falling into the pillows next to you. He closes his eyes, sinking into the bed, “That meant the world to me.

There’s a mixture of confidence and lack of hesitation in his voice, and when you prop yourself on your elbows to look at him, he was disheveled with smeared lip gloss all over his mouth, and he looked the happiest he’s been in days.

“Hear that?” he goads with a lilt that sounds suspiciously like bait, like he’s prompting you to retaliate, “I said the kiss meant the world to me.”

You find it unimaginable to believe him, but when Luke gathers your hands in his and places them against his lips with a soft exhale, you feel your stern resolve melting at every passing second.

“You don't mean that.” Your voice sounds even weaker now, like you’re hanging on by a thread.

“I do. I mean every single word.” Luke kisses your knuckles, softly whispering, “I can prove it to you, if you’ll let me.”

It’s scary.

It’s a scary realization to know what Luke’s asking for, and an even scarier realization was the fact that you were willing to give him another shot.

A second wind. Like what the prophecy asked for.

“You’re lucky I tolerate you, you crook.”

In your many years at camp, still, the best advice you could probably give somebody is not to date another camper.

But when you’re tasked to go on a journey with them promising a kiss at the end, maybe it wouldn't hurt to give it a chance.

Especially if it’s somebody like Luke Castellan.

“The luckiest alive, smart girl.”

—

“That’s my victory, then, forehead-spawn.”

A sultry voice echoes in Olympus. Aphrodite leisurely fans her face with a smug look, satisfied by the outcome of the prophecy.

Athena gives her nothing but a disgruntled expression.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #riordanverse

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thedreamlessnights · 1 year ago

Note

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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peachyprophets-blog · 6 months ago

Text

DROWNED LOVE, LET ME SEE YOU AGAIN (Finale)

Epic x Reader

CW: Yandere themes, attempted suicide (only mentioned), death of the main character, PLOOOOT

Description: you have forgotten your past with Odysseus and Penelope, but you still have an empty place in your heart. You have tried several times to throw yourself off the mountain and find peace. And when Odysseus wakes up on Calypso's island, a sudden thunderclap sounds that briefly shakes the world...

AN: This is the last part of this story, how do you like the plot? I hope you liked this fanfiction, I had a lot of fun writing it!

Part 6 Wake up!

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Emptiness filled you when you were torn from your dream. The dream was a paradise for you, you felt free again after such a long time. Free from the gods, free from the pain, free from the emptiness in your soul and your heart. But the dream shattered when delicate hands glided over your sleeping form and shook you awake. When you opened your eyes you looked into the face of the beautiful Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty. "Oh my darling, you don't have to sleep out here," her voice rang out, filled with concern. With her help you slowly got up and yawned quietly, mourning your dream. But as soon as you realized where you were, the emptiness filled you again. It locked you in a loneliness that no god in the world could have filled. Aphrodite took you into the great hall, you were like a doll that only moved when someone pulled you behind her. Aphrodite didn't let go of your hand either, it had always been like this ever since you tried several times to throw yourself off the mountain. A god always had a hand on you, whether they held your hand, put an arm around your shoulder or waist, or carried you in their arms. Aphrodite pulled you next to her, and so the days passed in which you lived like a doll.

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Reader POV:

I sat at the window of the temple of Athena, the goddess who still treated me as a human. She was my favorite of all because she didn't force herself on me, I waited for her because she was visiting a mortal. When she came back there was a thoughtful expression on her face, as if something was bothering her. "Lady Athena?" I began, "What are you thinking about?" I completed my question. When she looked at me her gaze softened and a slight smile graced her lips before she answered me. "You know, I once had a boyfriend but we parted ways years ago," her voice rang out, she sounded so serious. "But now I know that I have to make it right again." She said seriously. I nodded at her, she told me about her plan to convince her father Zeus to release her friend. I was slowly becoming curious who this friend was, but she didn't really answer that question. I listened carefully to Athena's plans to convince Zeus. Once she mentioned the name of the friend she wanted to save, but the name sounded unfamiliar to me and I can't remember what it was. "I really hope you can free your friend, Lady Athena." I smiled gently at the goddess of wisdom, I felt most comfortable and understood around her. But she still couldn't fill the void, I knew that she was trying too and that made me feel very guilty towards her.

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On Ithaca the sun was high in the sky, suitors gathered in the halls of the palace and craved the attention of the queen: Penelope. Penelope had now waited 16 years for her husband Odysseus and her future wife (Y/N). She missed them both from the bottom of her heart but also had to be there for her people and her son. The Queen of Ithaca knew that something was wrong because her memories of (Y/N) were also blurry. It was as if something, or rather someone, was trying to destroy the connection the three had with each other. Penelope sat at her loom and continued weaving the picture she was working on and thought about the past but could only remember the time with Odysseus and slowly the memories of the young woman she and Odysseus once loved disappeared completely. Telemachus, who was standing in the large garden of the palace, stared at the statue of his father. In his hand he held a small book that was bound in leather. A diary of his father that he had found back then, in it was written everything about the woman who had followed him into the war after Telemachus was born, (Y/N) future wife of Odysseus and Penelope. For a moment, the young prince's eyes glowed gold. "Destroy it." A woman's voice rang out, and Telemachus tried to ignore it again like he had done for the last few months since he had found the book about (Y/N). He wanted to get to know her and love her like his parents did, but this person was against it.

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??? POV:

I had to prevent her existence from being passed on, and the little prince didn't make it easy. I had already robbed Penelope and Odysseus of their memories of her. And I was responsible for her forgetting her previous life. Now I just had to convince the Prince of Ithaca and everything would go according to plan. My golden eyes took over the prince's again and I finally had full control over the boy. As Telemachus I walked through the halls, ignoring his mother's suitors because I had to destroy this book. I came to a carmine and threw the book in there where I watched as it was destroyed in the fire, this filled me with satisfaction. "Telemachus, what are you doing?" I turned around in shock and saw his mother, the Queen of Ithaca, standing in front of me, looking questioningly into the fire. "Nothing mother, I'm just burning your suitors' letters." I answered and she nodded before stroking his head lovingly. "Thank you, Nyx," she said before turning away and disappearing back into her room. Shortly afterwards I left the boy's body and made my way to Hades, who asked me to do all this.

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The light shone brightly on the Queen of the Gods Hera. "Never once had he cheated on his wife," Athena's voice rang out. Hera, who immediately recognized that Athena was telling the truth, looked angrily at her husband. "Release him," her words sounded sharp and were aimed directly at Zeus. Zeus, who had been sitting completely relaxed on his throne until now, twitched his eyebrows. Had Athena tried to embarrass him? She shouldn't get away with that, she wants a fight? She'll get it. The clouds closed in before it started to thunder and flash loudly. When you saw the storm, you just stared up at the sky.

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Y/N POV

It was strange, my whole body started to shake but not out of fear. Poseidon, who was sitting next to me, put an arm around me to calm me down, but it didn't work. And slowly they came back, memories that had disappeared. Absolutely everything came back into my head like a wave and I stood up before I stared angrily at Poseidon, "You killed 558 men, you monster." I accused him. But before he could answer, my legs started running. I knew that I would never be able to escape from here and that there was only one chance. I could only escape from eternal imprisonment if I...

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Everything suddenly fell silent when a loud thunder shook the world. Odysseus, who had already been imprisoned on Calypso's island for seven years, raised his head when he heard that. Athena, who was supposed to be struck by lightning, stared in horror at your figure that had been struck by lightning. The world stopped turning and everything seemed bright to you. Your body felt an endless pain that didn't last long. The gods rushed towards you and Apollo was the first to reach you, lifted you in his arms and tried to heal you, but as soon as he put his hand on your body, it shattered into a thousand pieces that slowly dissolved into nothing. Your existence had been wiped out, at least for the moment. At the same time in the underworld, Hades sat on his throne, he could observe everything that happened on Olympus. He knew that the gods were beside themselves with anger and grief, but that was the only way he could save you. He had found out about you early on through his wife Persephone and felt sorry for you, so he had sent Nyx with the task of wiping out your existence. But he knew that now you would be able to live a life without all the pain.

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Y/N POV

I tried to open my eyes, everything was so quiet that it was already too loud for me. Every now and then I saw old, long-forgotten memories, my parents, Odysseus, Penelope, the war and more. Then I suddenly felt a warmth shining on my face and a loud noise. "What...?" I said in a scratchy voice before slowly opening my eyes.

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The morning sun was shining in the sky and filling the room of the girl with the (H/C) hair with golden light. When she opened her (E/C) eyes she found herself in her room again. She sat up sleepily and rubbed the sleep from her eyes that was still blinding her perception. When she forced herself to get up to turn off the alarm, she let her gaze wander out the window. It was a beautiful spring day and the sun was shining pleasantly on her face. She let this moment sink in and relaxed completely. The young woman went through the day she had planned in her head. When she opened her eyes she started to get ready, she put on a white long-sleeved blouse and simple black high-waisted jeans. She looked over at a shelf where her jewelry was, she took a gold chain with a sun pendant from the shelf. She had had this chain since she was born, it was tradition in the family that every member receives such a chain as a gift after birth. She also decorated her fingers with gold rings. After putting on matching sneakers the young woman looked in the mirror and nodded contentedly, in the mirror she looked at her desk and remembered that she had to slowly make her way to university. As she went to the desk she looked at a book, it was the Odyssey which they were currently discussing at university. The young woman loved history in every respect, but the Odyssey in particular had won her heart even if it seemed to her as if something was missing from it. Like a person who was never mentioned or was intentionally removed? As the young woman was packing her bag she stared at a fruit that had not been on the table yesterday, a pomegranate….

-Peachyprophet

TAG LIST:

@doodle-with-rhy

#epic odysseus #epic the ithaca saga #epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic x reader #odysseus x reader #poseidon #poseidon x reader #greek mythology x reader #yandere greek gods #greek mythology #hades #persephone #nyx #tw death

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aphroditeinthesea · 4 months ago

Note

Heyyyyy

Thought I'd request a Leo Valdez fic.

So it's Leo × child of Aphrodite!reader, and everyone thought that their relationship was very strange since an Aphrodite kid wouldn't usually want to date a grease ball, but you saw more in Leo.

The scene is set at the lake after dinner before you have to go back to your cabins. You're sitting in his lap while telling him the drama of the Aphrodite cabin. But you get distracted and end up making out🤭.

leo valdez x aphrodite!reader

⚠️ making out

“Oh! I forgot to tell you what happened last week with Drew,” you rambled on, your hands twirling his curls around your fingers.

“What happened?” He asked as he tightened his arms around your waist, lingering lowly.

You took a deep breath, “okay, so, she lost this cashmere sweater she had, right? Well, she was like accusing everyone of taking it,” your eyes widened and you pointed your finger to yourself, “even me!”

“No way.”

“Yeah,” you continued on, “and everyone was like ‘I didn’t take it’ blah blah blah, but then, guess what?”

“What?”

“She saw one of the Hermes kids wearing it!” You explained, excitedly, “and so she started like yelling at this random girl who was like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’” He nodded as you took a breathing pause, “turns out, one of our brothers took it, gave it to this girl as a present!”

“Wow,” he spoke. You finally noticed his eyes steady on your lips. You huffed, taking his chin in your hand, motioning him upward.

“My eyes are up here.”

He grinned, “you’re pretty.”

Your expression reflected his, “really?” You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

His eyes looked back at your lips, “really pretty.”

You grabbed onto his jaw before your lips latched to his. He made a hum of surprise but easily fell into line with you. His arms loosened, letting his arms traveled down to squeeze your ass. You squished your body further into his despite the lack of space to begin with.

Your teeth grazed his bottom lip, his mouth opened slightly to allow your tongue inside. It practically wrestled with his whiel to any spectators, it would look as though you were trying to fully consume each other.

you rocked your hips towards him, the corners of your mouth lifting when you heard the groan from the back of his throat.

You two were so engrossed with your activities, you didn’t even hear the clearing of a throat nearby.

“Mister Valdez, Miss L/N,” a deep voice announced.

You basically lept off of his lap. You grabbed his hand to help him stand, both turning around to look at the centaur.

“Chiron,” you nodded your head in greeting.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I expect you two to go to your cabins.”

You both nodded. Leo speaking first, “right, yeah, heading- heading right there.”

You suctioned your still wet lips into your mouth as you moved your head in agreement. “We were just about to, uhm, go.”

Automatically, your hand conjoined with his as you made your way to the grass from the dock. You awkwardly walked past Chiron, stopping when he spoke again,

“You’ve got something, Leo,” he motioned wiping towards his face.

Leo lifted his hand to touch his face. When he looked down his hand, he noticed pink glittery lip gloss on his fingertips.

The both of you held in giggles as you stumbled towards the cabins, luckily side by side. You purposely passed his cabin so he could drop you off at yours.

When you arrived, you faced him, grabbing his other hand, swinging them between your bodies. “Good night.”

He took a step closer to you to kiss you once again. Your conjoined hands were held behind your back to get as close as possible.

You backed away slightly while his lips chased after yours, “see you in the morning, Valdez.”

He pressed another kiss to your lips, “good night.” He let go of your hands, allowing you to walk to your cabin. You opened the door before turning around to see him still standing there.

“Goodnight.”

He smiled, “goodnight.”

You looked into your cabin, closing the door slightly, “you might hear someone tapping at your window at like one in the morning.” You whispered, “and it might be me.”

“Can’t wait.”

#percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #leo valdez x you #leo valdez headcanons #leo valdez fluff #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez

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berilaksl · 3 months ago

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omg percy with a jealous girlfriend and she tries to dom him for once but she can’t and he takes over

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

warnings : only a make out scene nothing much !

notes ! ALL AGED UP! i couldn’t help but think of a smut scene right now but the first thing that came up to my mind was this maybe another time I can write it with the same thing! (THANKS FOR THE IDEA THOUGH🫶🏻)

Fuming and fussing about a so called “useless” topic all afternoon was not expected but still it did happened.

Not in an over-the-top, steam-blowing-from-your-ears kind of way, but in the quietly possessive yet stomach twisting , “don’t make me act up” kind of way.

It had started earlier at dinner. The evening went pretty well as the Some daughter of Aphrodite had gotten a little too touchy with Percy, laughing a little too hard at his jokes, her hand resting way too long on his arm. And Percy—being his usual dumb, flirty self—had just smiled like an idiot and let it happen. It wasn’t harmless for sure you thought but deep down it’s the bottom of your heart and the thoughts that ran over your head wasn’t telling the same thing.

So time passed by pretty long especially the walk to Percy’s cabin to atleast confront him about it , you sit on the edge of his soft bed with wrinkled sheets, arms crossed, legs swinging, plotting.

The door creaks open softly, and you hear the wet patter of bare feet against the wooden floor before you see him.

Percy Jackson enters the room like he has all the time in the world, completely unaware—or maybe purposely ignorant—of the thundercloud brewing in your expression. His damp swim trunks cling low on his hips, water trailing in slow rivulets down his chest, carving a glistening path over toned muscle and soft freckles you’ve kissed a hundred times.

His dark hair is a messy halo of wet curls, dripping slightly onto his shoulders. A orange Camp Half-Blood shirt clings tightly to his torso, half transparent with how soaked it is, leaving little to the imagination. It rides up just a bit at the hem, flashing a sliver of his v-line that makes your mouth go dry despite yourself.

And he’s smiling. Of course, he is. That lazy, easygoing grin that he knows drives you crazy.

He shrugs the towel off his shoulders, ruffling his hair casually before his eyes finally land on you, seated at the edge of his bed, arms crossed, legs swinging, and jaw locked.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he says, voice soft, familiar, and smooth like sea glass. “How was your day?”

His tone is light, like he hasn’t just come back from entertaining an Aphrodite camper with that same smile he’s wearing now. His eyes linger on your face, searching yours with that boyish curiosity that should be endearing but right now feels infuriatingly cocky.

You stare at him. He stares back.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, flatly—without so much as a blink—you say:

“Have fun?”

The smile falters just slightly at the corners of his mouth. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But you do. His weight shifts from one foot to the other, towel now hanging from his hand as he tilts his head, blinking like he’s still playing innocent.

“Fun?” he echoes, voice dipped in amusement. “What, the swim?”

You give him a slow, withering once-over. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

He looks up, towel draped around his neck, a stupid grin already playing on his lips. “Mm, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound a little jealous, sweet girl.”

You scoff. “Jealous? Of her? Please.”

“Oh?” he tilts his head, stepping between your knees. “So you didn’t glare at her like you were ready to drown her in the lake?”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way his wet curls are clinging to his temples. “You liked the attention.”

Percy hums, leaning down to press a kiss to your jaw. “Only like yours.”

That makes your chest flutter—ugh, annoying. You steel yourself, hands pushing lightly at his chest. “Lie down.”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“I said,” you repeat, pushing again, “Lie. Down.”

He raises a brow, clearly amused, but doesn’t argue. He throws himself back onto the bed, hands behind his head like he’s waiting to be entertained.

You crawl over him, straddling his hips, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at the control. You trail your fingers up his chest slowly, teasing.

“Mm, you’re getting bold, huh?” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, lips twitching. “Look at you trying to be in charge. Should I be scared?”

“Maybe,” you whisper, leaning down to nip at his throat.

He lets out a breathy laugh, hands still behind his head, letting you explore. But just as you start to grind down slightly, his grip snaps to your hips—tight, firm, and all too confident.

“You’re cute when you try,” he murmurs, flipping you with barely any effort. Your back hits the mattress and he’s suddenly over you, smirking down with that infuriating, all-knowing glint in his sea-green eyes. “But we both know how this ends.”

“Percy—”

“Hush.” His voice drops, low and velvet-smooth. One hand pins your wrists above your head while the other traces slow, maddening circles on the inside of your thigh. “You really thought you could top me, sweet girl?”

You arch your back in response, trying to regain some control, but his hand grips your chin gently, forcing you to look at him.

“Eyes on me.” His voice softens. “Don’t pout now—you know I love when you try.”

Your breath hitches as his fingers trail up beneath your shirt, dragging across your skin with purpose. He leans down, brushing his lips against your neck—light, feather-soft—until he reaches that one spot that always makes your breath catch.

“There,” he whispers, kissing it again. “Right here, huh? That little spot you melt for?”

You squirm, trying to close your thighs, but he’s already settling between them, warm and heavy and maddening.

His kisses trail lower, dipping beneath the neckline of your shirt. He doesn’t rush. That’s the worst part. He takes his sweet, agonizing time. You can feel his smile against your skin every time you shiver.

“Smell like vanilla,” he murmurs, nosing along your collarbone. “New body wash?”

“They were out of strawberry,” you mumble.

He chuckles. “I liked being your body wash better.”

“Percy—”

“Mm, sweet girl,” he breathes, lifting his head to meet your gaze again. “Look at you. So tense. What’s got you all worked up? Hm?”

You glare up at him, flushed and breathless, lips parted with anticipation you can’t hide.

“You,” you muttered. “You and your—your smug face and your stupid Aphrodite fan club—”

He kisses you, full and slow, stealing the rest of your sentence.

“My smug face, huh?” he mumbles against your lips, tongue slipping in just enough to make you gasp. “Guess you’ll just have to put up with it, sweetheart.”

His hand slips between your thighs and you jolt, hips rising instinctively.

“Still wanna be in charge?” he teases.

You shake your head.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

He makes good on the promise. Every stroke, every kiss, every breath is deliberate. He knows your body too well—knows what makes you twitch, what makes you moan, what makes you beg.

And he loves to hear you beg.

“Say it,” he breathes against your skin.

“Percy—”

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “Always yours.”

That earns you a deep groan, his lips crashing into yours as he drags you closer, until there’s no space left between you. The world blurs around the edges—only Percy remains: his scent, his voice, his warmth.

You don’t even remember what had you so jealous in the first place.

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #jason grace x reader #jason grace #pjo fluff #pjo x reader #pjo hoo toa #pjo

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wlntrsldler · 1 year ago

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heartless | luke castellan

MDNI!!!!!!

fuckboy! luke (kinda) but also kind of loser!luke a little bit. enemies to lovers (more of sexual tension really); not canon, no betrayal, and pokes fun of aphrodite girls but yk i love them, this is just for the plot. ares!reader x luke castellan.

i. never need a bitch, i'm what a bitch need, tryna find the one that can fix me; i've been dodging death in the six-speed.

there were many things about being a half-blood that luke hated. having a deadbeat father ranks highly on the list, obviously, and the lack of exposure to the real world was up there, too. he ran away from camp once during the year when there weren’t many kids around. it was right after his eighteenth birthday when he thought that his life would magically change for the better now that he beat the odds (sue him for being hopeful), but when the clock hit midnight and he was still stuck on his cramped, cot in the corner of the hermes cabin, he decided enough was enough.

he did his final cabin checks and left camp after, wandering aimlessly until he found the train station to take him straight to the city. he hopped over the turnstile and squeezed himself into the crowded subway car. the first thing that struck luke was how different each group of people was from each other. in one corner, there were businessmen in itchy suits, trying to check out the group of girls across from them, clearly dressed for a night out. luke scoffed at them, smirking to himself when one of the men flushed in embarrassment at the fact that luke caught him.

what a fucking loser, luke thought.

there was a girl around luke’s age, sneaking glances at him. she was pretty; blonde, pouty-lipped, and definitely interested. at this point, luke hadn’t been experienced. other than the aphrodite girls flirting with him and the occasional hazed and rushed makeout sessions during the campfires, luke hadn’t done anything with anyone. but if he can make the daughters of the goddess of love blush, surely it couldn’t be that difficult to make a mortal fall under his charm too.

he was right.

he shot her one of his signature smirks, feeling a sense of pride bloom in his chest when she had to grab onto the pole in front of her to keep steady. luke adjusted the navy sweater he had on, tugging on the collar a bit to show off a little skin. his silver necklace sat nicely on his neck and he watched subway girl’s eyes rake over his body. luke bit his bottom lip, motioning for the girl to take the empty seat beside him. her eyes widened, but she did what she was told.

unfortunately, reality caught up with him quickly when a hellhound found him as he was exiting the subway car with the pretty girl (jessie? jane? janet? he doesn’t remember.) around his arm. luke castellan was a lot of things, but a killer wasn’t one of them, so he made some stupid excuse to the girl about why he had to leave just so he could keep her safe. (it killed him to do it. he’s a teenage boy. he has needs.) the girl walked away, upset, huffing to her friends about how he wasted her time and got her hopes up. luke just rolled his eyes and dislodged his small knife from his pocket sitting beside his half-smoked cigarette box, ready to take on the hellhound.

“you couldn’t wait ‘til i at least got to second base?” luke cringed, partly at himself for talking to the hellhound like it could talk back to him. “had to show up right now, huh, buddy?”

he received a growl in return.

the fight wasn’t too terrible, but after the hellhound whimpered, walking away in defeat, luke was too tired to continue his exploration of the real world. he hopped on the train back to camp, clutching the scratch the hellhound left on him. his (only nice piece of clothing) navy sweater was ruined. the thread was falling apart where the hellhound dug its claws in and it was stained with his blood. he would’ve fought better and avoided the injury if his balls weren’t fucking blue.

luke closed his eyes, breathing heavily. even though it was only for a few minutes, the idea of being a regular teenager, flirting with girls, going to clubs, drinking cheap tequila from a plastic bottle, was something luke yearned for. he only got to experience a fraction of it. he wanted to experience it more, preferably without testing death each time.

the older kids heard of luke’s adventure when they saw the counselor walking into the apollo cabin the following morning to get his wounds treated. he made a note to never tell chris anything again because the boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he tried. by lunch, the entire camp, including chiron and mr. d, heard about luke’s unplanned visit to the city and his interaction with one of hades’ guards.

“luke.”

he turned around, eyebrows furrowed, then raised in surprise. in front of him were three aphrodite girls, pouting at him. he crossed his arms across his chest, smirking, “what’s up, gorgeous?”

“heard you went looking for some fun last night.”

“are we not good enough for you, luke?”

“why would you go looking for better when you have the best right here in camp?”

luke wanted to laugh. the aphrodite girls were always so bold with their words, but when it came down to the wire, they would never want to disappoint their mom by being with the golden boy-turned-teenage dirtbag. he respected it, though. their allegiance to their mom was admirable. if aphrodite was his godly parent and she gave him the power to always be attractive, he didn’t think he’d do anything to piss her off either.

“why do you think i came back?” luke flirted, running a hand through his curls, “realized there was nobody like you.”

the three girls blushed and giggled, even if none of them knew who his comment was actually directed toward. they waved goodbye to him, and he watched them walk away, admiring the view.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

luke couldn’t stop his lips from quirking upwards at the sound of your voice, “what now, y/n?”

you and luke had been at each other’s throats since you first got to camp half-blood. you, as the daughter of ares, one of his favorites coming only second to clarisse, pushed luke’s buttons like no other. you walked into camp and immediately saw through his boy-next-door facade and saw him for who he truly was. usually, luke would hate you for it, but now, it was hard for him not to think about shutting you up in other ways. less friendly ways, but if he had his ways, just as harsh.

the rivalry began when you were fourteen. the title of best swordsman bounced between the two of you over the years. luke currently has the title, but it was only because he cheated; he swears he’s just better, but there’s no universe where you’d actually admit luke castellan was better than you at something. the five seconds between you being chosen to be head counselor for the ares cabin and him being chosen as the head counselor for the hermes cabin were the best five seconds of your life. it was the only time you held a higher position than him.

luke quite enjoyed your little banter (when you weren’t around to ruin his game). it only got better when he had his huge growth spurt and you could no longer reach things when he held it up over his head. when you didn’t talk and run your mouth (usually cursing at him or cursing him), luke thought you might even be cute. he loved making you turn red, even if it was out of pure anger over his antics, but his favorite is when he gets you tongue-tied because his dirty, teenage brain makes him say something before he thinks.

“there’s no way that actually worked on them.”

“take a look for yourself,” luke motioned to the group of girls who were now whispering and shooting heart eyes at him. “it always works.”

“oh, get your head out your ass, castellan,” you spat.

“spitting is not going to get you the reaction you might think,” luke smirked, eyeing you up and down. your eyes widened and you looked away from him to hide the redness of your cheeks. like that. luke licked his lips, “might actually have the opposite effect on me.”

“you’re disgusting.”

luke let out a full belly laugh as you walked away from him. sure, there were some pretty shitty things about camp half-blood, but there were some pretty great things there too, and messing with you is on the top of his list.

ii. hundred models gettin' faded in the compound, tryna love me but they never get a pulse down.

“do you guys always fight like this?”

you and luke peeled your eyes away from each other at the sound of percy’s voice. the poor boy was looking between his two mentors, torn because he had no idea who to listen to. you sighed, walking over to him.

you placed a hand on his shoulder, “sorry, percy. luke is just… forget it, let’s just try it one more time, yeah?”

“luke is just what?” luke asked, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. “finish your sentence, y/n. c’mon.”

“the words i’d like to use wouldn’t be appropriate for a twelve-year-old to hear.”

“‘m from new york, i probably heard it already,” percy shrugged, pausing. “come to think of it, i probably used it before.”

luke let out a chuckle, patting percy on the back. “my man.”

“can you not encourage cussing, head counselor?”

“fine, i guess you’re just gonna have to tell me what you were going to say later. in private.”

“castellan,” you smacked his chest. hard. you were furious with luke, but you couldn’t help but flush at his suggestive words, “don’t start.”

percy frowned, “i don’t get it.”

luke took mercy on you and wrapped an arm around the boy. he led percy away, promising to continue working on his sword skills later after capture the flag. before they disappeared from your view, luke made sure to turn around to shoot you a wink. you flipped him off in return.

it wasn’t always like this between you and luke. once upon a time, your banters were innocent, like kids fighting over the last piece of candy in the jar. luke literally used to pull your hair when he was behind you in the line for food and you used to stick your foot out to trip him when he was playing tag with his siblings.

but then, he returned from his quest. at first, you felt bad for him. he came back unable to complete it, and he was permanently scarred from it. it must’ve been difficult to have that constant reminder. after a few months, though, when his scar was almost fully healed, the whispers about how attractive luke castellan was started. luke closed himself off after his quest and spent his time doing extra training. you could lie and say that all the extra workouts didn’t do wonders for him, but nobody would believe you anyway.

in short, luke castellan got hot. he was no longer the pesky little boy you bantered with. he got taller, broader, and dirtier. you weren’t dumb, you knew the innuendos that he would throw at you. you were in the same sex ed class as he was in. (side note: mr. d teaching teenagers about sex ed was your own personal version of hell. tartarus be damned.) somehow, luke turned into a teenage heartthrob at camp and all of a sudden, all the girls were throwing themselves at him. it made you sick, but what made you more sick, was that you understood why.

ever since luke’s confidence skyrocketed and he leaned into his bad boy persona, there was a different charge in your banter; as if instead of trying to push your buttons, now, he was trying to get you under him. from blowing his cigarette smoke directly into your direction to all his dirty comments, luke castellan was acting like he wanted you. and surprisingly, you didn’t stop him.

“can y’all just fuck already?” you spun around to find clarisse leaning against a tree, her spear mounted on the floor. she had a teasing smile on her lips, “maybe once you hate-fuck, you guys will get it out your systems.”

“ew, castellan?” you sneered. your nose scrunched up in disgust, though your stomach churned at the thought of it. “never in a million years.”

“dude, the sexual tension between you guys is insane,” she shrugged, walking over to you. “come on, sis, you can’t pretend like you don’t feel it.”

“i feel a lot of things for luke castellan, but wanting to fuck him is not one of them.”

you’re a liar. you knew that. clarisse knew that. but you’re thankful that your sister didn’t call you out on your bullshit.

she laughed, “whatever you say. now, ready to train me?”

you spun your sword around expertly, “always.”

this week’s game of capture the flag was eventful. you lost, much to your dismay, but the results of the game were overshadowed by poseidon claiming percy as his kid. the subject of forbidden kids were a touchy subject, for obvious reasons, but you knew that it was especially hard for luke. you didn’t know thalia well, but with how often annabeth talked about her, you felt like you knew her.

luke never talked about thalia, though. you figured it was because it was too painful for him to think about. he knew her longer than annabeth did and his memories of her were much more vivid than the young girl’s. with percy being poseidon’s kid, you knew that it was bound to bring up some unwanted memories for the hermes counselor. but what shocked you was seeing luke sitting with his siblings at the campfire instead of being surrounded by fawning girls like he usually was. whenever his team won, he would bask in the glory of the win, shotgunning smoke into the mouth of whoever was closest to him before disappearing for a bit only to come back with marks all over his neck.

but tonight, he was sitting next to chris, a beer can in his hand, staring directly at you. the red cup in your hand filled with mysterious liquor was cold to the touch. clarisse was trying to hide the smile on her face as she watched you and luke lock eyes. she mumbled a fake excuse, running away to leave you alone while she tried to find silena. luke chugged the rest of his beer before crushing the can in his hand and walking over to you.

you stood your ground, feet planted on the floor, with your arms folded across your chest. “no celebration tonight castellan?”

“not unless you want to celebrate with me,” he replied.

“shut the fuck up,” you sighed.

luke watched as your arms pushed your tits up your chest. he couldn’t stop himself from biting his lip, watching your chest rise and fall as you took your breaths. he was almost tempted to burn his toast tomorrow morning just to thank the gods that you decided to wear a low-cut shirt tonight. your camp necklace was resting on top of your tits and he wanted to reach over and count the beads on your necklace. four, just one less than he has.

“i love that you’re a sore loser,” he said, pulling out the cigarette that was tucked behind his ear. “makes it so easy to mess with you.”

“‘m not a sore loser,” you argued, absentmindedly pulling out the lighter in your pocket.

he was surprised by your actions. he knew you smoked, but you’d never smoked with him before. he pulled out a cigarette for you which you gladly took. you lit yours first then leaned over for him to light his own. luke shook his head, bringing up his index finger for you to come closer. he lit his cigarette with the burning end of yours, humming in appreciation when the nicotine hit his senses.

“you are,” he blew out the smoke, “but it’s adorable.”

“flirting with me isn’t gonna get you very far, castellan. you should know this by now.”

“what, you want me to be mean to you?” luke said it teasingly, but then he saw your shoulders freeze for a millisecond. he chuckled, darkly, voice dropping an octave when he spoke again. “holy shit, you’re into that.”

“none of your fucking business,” you shook your head, thankful that you had at least one substance already in your system to keep you from turning red.

“it’s hot, y/n, own it,” he shrugged his shoulders, turning a bit to face the rest of the campers. all of the younger kids were off in their own world. they knew better than to hang out with the older kids at these things. he had a cocky smile on his face when he turned to you again, “i can be mean, if you want, y’know. just say the word.”

you downed the drink, needing some sort of liquid courage if you were going to keep this conversation going. clarisse and silena were watching you and luke a few feet away and you can tell by their faces that they weren’t going to come save you from the conversation even if you begged them to. “that kind defeats the purpose, no?”

“what do you mean?”

you wiped the drop of liquor away from the corner of your lips, “having to ask you to be mean. you should just be mean without me asking.”

luke’s eyes darkened. sure, he flirted with you, but you never kept up with him before. you usually tell him to fuck off and walk away, leaving him with a head full of images of your red, embarrassed face, to keep him occupied at night. “noted.”

you shoved the empty cup into his chest, taking a puff out of your cigarette before walking away, “no need to take notes, castellan. i know you’re all talk anyway.”

iii. 'cause i'm heartless and i'm back to my ways 'cause i'm heartless.

luke was pissed. you can tell by the way his shoulders were tense. you just disarmed him during practice, the tip of your sword resting comfortably under his jaw. the title was yours again.

“say you surrender,” you taunted, pushing the sword just a little deeper on his skin, but not enough to cause any damage, “say you surrender and i’ll let you leave with some dignity.”

“this doesn’t count,” he replied, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “i was distracted.”

and he was. you took your shirt off, leaving you in a sports bra, at around the third sparring session. the sun was beating down harshly on the both of you and the lack of a breeze in the air didn’t help. your chest was glistening with sweat and you were breathing heavily. luke took his eyes away from your moves for a second to look at your figure and you took advantage of it.

“no excuses, castellan,” you lifted his face up with your sword, “surrender.”

“fine,” he relented. he got up from his knees when you removed the sword from his jaw, “i surrender.”

“good.” you twirled your sword in your hand, walking away from him to grab a sip of water. your back was turned and luke couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down the curve of your spine. your muscles were defined, no doubt due to the hours of sparring you just did, and your hair cascaded perfectly down when you pulled it out of the ponytail you had it in. he wanted to wrap it around his fist and pull it.

“fuck,” he groaned, trying to push down his hardening cock in his cargo pants. the action didn’t do anything to help. it was no use.

“what was that?” you tossed the bottle of water on the ground as you turned to face him. your eyes widened as you took in the image in front of you. luke was staring at you, lips slightly parted, hair in disarray as if he just ran his hand through it, and his pants were tight around his dick. “luke…”

fuck it, he thought.

“shut up.”

luke marched over to you, grabbing your face with a force that knocked you off balance. it was disorienting feeling his lips hungrily over yours because it felt so damn good. his hands migrated from your face down to your ass, gripping it and massaging the flesh so he could push you closer to him. you could feel his hard cock poking against your skin and you moaned at the feeling. luke wanted to bottle the sound so he could listen to it whenever he wanted to.

he pushed you against a tree, grinding his aching hips against yours. he could feel your wetness growing against his pants. he pulled away from your lips, turning your face to the side to give himself access to your neck. he licked a stripe up your jugular, mixing his saliva with the sweat on your skin. he started his attack on your neck, nipping, sucking, licking, everywhere he could. you couldn’t help but whimper at his actions.

against your better judgment, you pulled him away by threading your fingers through his curls. his eyes were closed, mouth agape when he knocked his forehead against yours. you tugged on the hair by the nape of his neck, “you’re not fucking me, luke.”

“fuck, okay,” he breathed out. he was horny, but he respected your wishes.

“not today,” you placed a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling away. his lips followed yours, but you tutted, “but you can watch me if you let me watch you.”

“yes,” his eyes snapped open, moving away from you to give you space.

“come here,” you walked away from him, motioning him to come to the patch of grass secluded from the training area. he followed you, hissing as he tried to adjust himself in his pants. you lay on the grass, propping yourself up on your elbows. your hand slowly trailed down to your pants before you dipped your finger inside your underwear. your back arched as you felt how wet you were from the earlier interaction with luke.

luke sat at your feet, undoing his pants. he pulled out his cock; red, dripping, and angry. he felt his confidence rise when you moaned at the sight of it. his veiny hand was wrapped at the base of his cock, slowly pumping. his voice was broken as he spoke, “let me see you.”

for a moment, you were vulnerable, hesitating to expose everything to him. but luke’s face showed nothing but desire and you melted under his gaze. you shimmied out of your pants, tossing them somewhere near, before opening your legs for him to see you. your fingers pulled apart your folds, showing him your slick-covered pussy.

“prettiest fucking pussy in the world,” he groaned, watching as you circled your clit. “fucking perfect, y/n.”

his words spurred you on. you dipped two fingers inside, mewling at the stretch. luke flicked the tip of his dick, moaning at how your fingers disappeared as you pumped them inside you. he can hear your wetness loud and clear and he wanted nothing more than to slurp it up with his tongue, but he can be patient. this can be enough for now.

his hand moved faster on his dick, the muscles on his arm tensing with each stroke. he watched as you threw your head back in pleasure, admiring the marks he left on your skin. a feeling of possessiveness bloomed in his chest knowing that he marked you.

“want a taste?”

luke nodded, crawling over to your outstretched fingers while still pumping his cock. his lips hollowed to suck off your juices from your fingers, eyes closing at the sweet taste. his tongue danced between your fingers, licking them clean. you watched in awe as he hungrily sucked off your fingers. there were beads of sweat trickling down the edge of his face, his curls were sticky on his forehead, and there was a look of pure bliss on his features.

“so sweet,” he whispered, letting your fingers go with a pop. “fuck, y/n.”

“luke,” you panted, continuing to get yourself off. “i’m close.”

“give it to me,” he said. his voice was nearly gone. “need it.”

there was something about luke castellan begging you to cum for him that made your head spin. you came, hard, all over your fingers while he watched you come undone. the image of you cumming, the whisper of his name leaving your lips, was going to be burned into his memory forever.

“i’m coming,” luke groaned, the veins in his neck popping out as he gritted his teeth. “open up.”

you moved closer to him, leaning down with your tongue out for him. he pumped his cock until white spurts covered your pink, patient tongue. he wanted to take a picture of you right now for later. eyes closed, makeup on your face ruined, hickeys on your neck on full display while his cum coated your tongue. you were a wet dream come to life.

luke gripped blades of grass with his other hand, trying to steady himself as he watched you swallow his load. when you opened your eyes, you opened your mouth to show him you didn’t waste a drop, and luke couldn’t do anything else but kiss you to show his appreciation.

you had avoided luke after your training session. you didn’t know what got into you doing that with him, but one thing was for sure, the tension didn’t disappear after it. it just got worse.

everywhere you went, you felt his eyes following your every move. he would stare at you, eyes narrowed, during classes or during meals. but he never did anything.

until he lost at capture the flag. you skipped the celebration, opting to stay alone in the ares cabin to avoid running into luke. the whole situation left you with so many questions that you were afraid to get the answer to. you fucked yourself in front of luke. and you liked it. there hasn’t been a day since when you didn’t think about his cock and how it would feel inside of you. it was getting pitiful how often you got off thinking about him. his sounds, his face when he came, his taste. everything.

you were getting ready for bed when you heard the door of the ares cabin slam open. you turned your head, eyes widening, when you saw luke walking towards you, kicking the door shut. he didn’t break eye contact with you as he reached the foot of your bed.

he licked his lips, “you’re avoiding me.”

“i’m not,” you lied, tugging your blanket up to cover yourself. “was just too tired to celebrate.”

“bullshit,” he ripped the blanket away from your body, “you want mean, right? i can give you mean.”

you pushed your thighs together, making him smirk.

luke got on your bed, his knees on either side of you. he pushed his head into the crook of your neck, leaving rough kisses on your skin. your hands flew up to his hair, pulling softly, “my pretty girl won’t betray me.”

it took you a minute to realize that he wasn’t talking about you. his fingers rubbed on your clit over your pajama shorts, making you arch into him. you whimpered, “luke, please.”

“nuh uh,” he pulled away from your neck, “you don’t get to say please, anymore. you’re gonna take my dick until i’m done.”

luke connected your lips. his lips were relentless against yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth. he groaned at the feeling of your hand reaching down to palm him. he grinded his hips into your hand, lips sloppily crashing against yours. luke put all his weight on one arm, using the other one to lightly wrap his fingers around your throat. he did an experimental squeeze, growing harder when you moaned in pleasure at the pressure.

clothes were flying off both of your bodies after that. your pants drowned out the faint hum of the campers away at the campfire. luke pulled away from your lips, marking your neck again. the hickeys he left you were already fading and he hated not seeing the remnants of his time with you on your skin. he trailed the hickeys down your body, spending extra time on your plush thighs. he pried your legs open, sighing in content when your pussy welcomed his thick fingers.

he pressed his tongue against your folds, closing his eyes at the sounds of pleasure that left your lips. his lips wrapped around your bud, sucking, until you were lifting your hips up. he placed an arm across your stomach, pressing down on you to keep you still. from where you were lying, you could only see his eyes. his eyes were boring into yours, watching your reaction to learn what you liked. when his tongue darted inside of you, touching that spongy part, your face contorted in unparalleled pressure and luke knew that he needed to keep hitting that spot.

you were a mess under him. you’ve never came before unless it was your own doing, but you were dangerously close to the edge with how luke was eating your pussy. he was determined to have your wetness coat his tongue. he’d been dreaming of tasting you since you last let him. he’d been craving it.

when your thighs pressed against the side of his head, he knew it was coming. he used his thumb to draw figure eights on your clit. you came with a cry, his name repeating off your lips like a mantra, like a prayer.

luke pulled away from your pussy, wiping the wetness on his chin away with his forearm. he pumped his cock in his hand a few times, hissing at the pain of it being forgotten.

“luke,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. you clung onto him like a lifeline. “give me a second.”

he took in your state. all fucked out just from his tongue. his jaw ticked, “been givin’ you space for days, don’t think you deserve any more.”

“fuck!” you cried as his dick entered you. luke had to shut his eyes to keep himself from cumming. your pussy was so tight and so wet and so greedy for his cock. he pushed all the way in, stopping for a moment to catch his breath.

“perfect fucking pussy, like i said,” luke’s voice was hoarse as he thrusted into you. his hand grabbed one of your tits, flicking the hardened bud with his fingers. he continued to snap his hips into you as he leaned down to your ear, “been thinking about fucking you dumb with my cock.”

“been-ah- thinking about it too,” you admitted, cheeks growing red at his words. you were clawing at his back, no doubt leaving marks, “been touching myself thinking about you.”

“looks like you’re the one who’s all talk, y/n,” he was going faster now, reveling in the sounds that your connected bodies were making with each push of his cock. reminders of your first orgasm were all over his base. “made me watch you fuck your perfect pussy, then-fuck- avoiding me.”

“didn’t think you were serious with your words.”

luke pulled out of you completely. you got a good look at him for the first time. his nostrils were flared, chest heaving as he pumped his cock in his hand. he made a noise, “seems like i’m not doing my job right.”

you reached out for him, pussy tightening around nothing, “huh?”

“you’re still being smart,” luke grabbed your hips then and turned you around. you arched your back for him, giving him a view of your ass. he rubbed his hands over the flesh, slapping it. he pushed your head down on your pillow, wrapping your messy hair around his fist. he leaned over to whisper in your ear, “told you, i wanted to fuck you dumb on my cock.”

he thrusted into you with fervor, skin slapping as he took you from behind. luke watched as your ass bounced sinfully against him as he pushed his cock deeper into you. with this angle, he can can push into you more easily. he was on his knees, holding your hips flush against his body. the sounds you were making as his cock found your pussy were delicious.

you were incoherent then, mumbling into your pillow, begging for him to keep going. luke wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. when your second orgasm of the night came crashing down, you screamed luke’s name loudly.

he came inside you, ropes of milky cum coating your gummy walls. he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he moved your hair away to place kisses on your back.

when you both got dressed, luke left a lingering kiss on your raw lips. he left one last hickey on the side of your jaw, “training. tomorrow. don’t be late.”

#frances writes #frances song fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #i need water

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xoxochb · 7 months ago

Note

i’d loveee to request an apollo x daughter ares and aphrodite smut if possible.. 😓

guess who’s back…

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“you’re unhealthily addicted!” your voice is shaky, coming out between uncontrollable laughs.

“addicted?” your husband perks up from your neck, pecks along your in stifling his words. “I simply love my wife, is that a crime? would you prefer I hate you?”

“sometimes I think my life would be far easier if so. you cling to me like a child.”

“you love me, say it.”

you groan and throw your head back, this new angle giving apollo better access of your neck. you only realized this too late. “I love you.”

“great. I love you too.”

“you’re such a fucking ass.”

he remains silent, only a silent hum along your skin, the vibrations sending a shiver down your spine. his hand, once roaming your clothed waist, finds the skin of your thigh from underneath your dress, goosebumps in the trailing wake of his fingertips.

“what do you think you’re doing?” your voice holds skepticism despite your already knowing. very much all too well.

“nothing.”

you roll your eyes. you don’t want to fight this— as much as you would love nothing more than pushing apollo off and taunting him, you also ache for his touch in an embarrassing way that would surely be concerning to all feminism.

so you allow his fingers to loop through the waistband of your pretty pink panties, and at an antagonizing slow pace, pull them down the length of your thighs.

“leaving my dress on? mhm.”

“patience, darling.”

though as soon as the words leave your mouth, his other hand slides the straps of your dress down your shoulders, only reaching about halfway before stopping, ultimately leaving your dress on as predicted.

but with it falling like this, apollo has new access to your chest, kissing over the new skin now. the same hand that had dragged your lace fabric down your legs rubs your thighs delicately, with each, inching closer to your pulsing core.

you wish he wouldn’t tease you like this.

“please. you’re killing me here.”

“we’ve talked about having patience, haven’t we?”

you tug at his blond locks viscously, ushering his fingers to enter you at last.

and they do. but not after two minutes more of whines from your bruised lips.

the utter ecstatic feeling hits you instantly— and half relief from his finally listening to your pleads. though you knew after the first it wouldn’t take long for him to cave into your wishes.

you were his beloved wife after all.

but this also doesn’t mean he’s all that nice to you.

with the most leisurely pace humanly (or not so) possibly, his thumb rubs your clit, surely knowing you will be angry with this. and he is right in that.

“will you…” you try to conquer the words as your brain is entirely fuzzy at the moment. “please.”

apollo does not listen. his lips continue their way along your skin, surely marking you up to the brim. and you had dinner with your mother tonight— you would make sure he would not hear the end of this.

without a warning, a second finger enters you. you bite down hard along your bottom lip, stifling any sound that threatens to escape from your mouth. you know he hates that— but you presume you can tease as much as he can— that’s fair.

your poor eyes fill with tears at the godly effect to which he fingers you, your poor makeup so nicely done ruined by your salty tears.

“I despise you.” your words are gritted through clenched teeth.

but though you say this, you unfortunately love him all the same.

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #percy series #trials of apollo #apollo #apollo x you #apollo x reader #apollo pjo #apollo pjo x reader #apollo x y/n #riordanverse x reader #riordan universe #riordanverse

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7s3ven · 1 year ago

Text

NOBODY’S SON, NOBODY’S DAUGHTER. luke (pjo) pt 4

PART 1 > PART 2 > PART 3 > PART 4 (last pt)

( masterlist )

IN WHICH… Y/N is chosen for a quest, one of which Luke knows she might not return from. When she returns a three months later, he vows to never let her go again. After all, the son of Hermes and the daughter of Zeus can never stay apart for long.

“I’m in the wind, you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.”

Warnings : gore, violence, really descriptive words of gore (it’s lowkey grossing me out), complicated relationship, doesn’t follow canon plot, just a little bit of swearing

—

TAG LIST : @lostinhisworld @julielightwood @outerbanks-stuff @jennapancake @csifandom @evrybodydies1 @kkrenae @s0ulsniper @annispamz @justanotherkpopstanlol @soraya-09 @simpforeveyone @papichulo120627 @corpsebridenightamare @lilacspider @prettylilsimp @urmomsbananabread @ur-lacol-dsylexic @hottiewifeyyyy @kamiliora @be-bap @finnickodaddy @th0tblckgrl @shoyofroyoyoyo @uniquely-her @imafrkinsimp @syraxesrevenge @ahh-chickens @dracoslovergirl @midnightstar-90 @8812-342 @liv1104 @krkiiz @arialikestea @ch16rles @lizziesliz @maryclx01 @lukecastellandefender @yuminako @coryoskywalker @julielightwood @crybabysbakery @jsbaby @liviessun @p3pperm1nttea @angie-esc @purplerose291 @prettylilsimp @10ava01 @froggiesstalks @happy-jj @czennieszn @gisellesprettylies @loveyava @csifandom @luvvfromme @mashiromochi @kamiliora @yorksyree @mqg125 @jamesmackreideswife

—

Three months without Luke. Three terrible, lonely months without him. They were supposed to be on a break but they hadn’t spoken since capture the flag.

Luke stopped talking to Lana and Allen finally stopped annoying Y/N after she accidentally electrocuted him again, but worse. It was safe to say he spent a few weeks with the Apollo kids.

Y/N sat alone at her table, picking at her food. Percy looked as lonely as her. With no siblings to sit beside, they were left in their own company.

Y/N almost jumped when someone sat beside her. Part of her wished it was Luke and she felt disappointed when it was only Mai. “Hey.” She softly said, leaning forward. “You’ve always wanted to go on a quest, right?”

In all her ten years at camp, Y/N had never been on a quest. It’s not like she wasn’t a top candidate because she was. But nobody really wanted an unclaimed demigod on their team, even if she was more than qualified.

“I guess.” Y/N shrugged. Her occupied mind wasn’t really focused on quests right now. Mai’s beautiful brown eyes shined even brighter as she grinned, her eyes crinkling.

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone until Chiron announces it… but I’ve been chosen for quest.” She squealed, kicking her legs.

“And?” Y/N raised an eyebrow as she slowly chewed on her food. Why was Mai telling her that? They weren’t exactly close and they had barely spoken since Y/N’s night in the Aphrodite cabin.

“I want you to know that you,” She lightly poked the tip of Y/N’s nose. “Are coming with me.” Mai giggled as she stood up, rushing off before Y/N could even question it. Y/N whipped her head around, speechless. She could hardly focus on training with Luke haunting her mind. How was she supposed to help with a quest?

She slowly sighed, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. When she felt someone burning holes into her with their gaze, she lifted her head. To no one’s surprise, it was Luke. He quickly looked away, resuming his conversation with Chris as if nothing had happened.

Y/N gripped her fork. Maybe a quest would be good for her. She could get away from Camp and focus on lashing out all her anger on the poor monsters.

After breakfast, Chiron gathered up the camp’s best fighters and possible allies for Mai on her quest. Y/N wasn’t surprised to see Luke and Clarisse lined up beside her.

Y/N shifted around awkwardly, uncomfortable with the idea of standing next to Luke. The air was thick with tension and not just because everyone was eager to get chosen. Y/N’s fidgeting caught Luke’s keen eye but he didn’t say a word, simply turning his gaze to look ahead once more.

“The Oracle has confirmed what we expected.” Chiron uttered, his hands clasped behind his back. “The monsters are attempting to enter the mortal realm, which is bad news for both us and them. Their base of operation lies in New York, which is where you will venture to. Time is of the essence. I have selected the best candidates to join you on your journey.”

“Y/N.” Mai suddenly cut Chiron off.

“Usually, one waits to head at least one name.” Chiron retorted.

“I know all their names. I want Y/N. If there’s anyone who can help me succeed, it’s her. I mean, she’d probably push me down a flight of stairs if it was part of the quest. And I need someone like that.” Mai’s eyes scanned over the rest of the demigods, weighing out all her options in her head. “I also want Clarisse. If we run into a monster and we don’t weapons, I can count on her to slay it with a piece of paper.”

Luke parted his lips to say something but no words came out. For the first time in three months, he talked to Y/N. “Hey.” He jogged towards her, staring down at her with so much emotion in his eyes. “Um, I know we haven’t talked in a while but… stay safe. On your quest, I mean.”

Y/N slowly and stiffly smiled. “Thanks… Luke. I’ll try my best.” She nodded.

“Wait, Y/N.” Luke called out, reaching for her again. “Don’t die. Please.” He grabbed her face, kissing her with so much strength and passion that it felt like her were turning to jelly. “This way… you have to come back because we definitely need to talk about that and our break.”

“Y/N, you coming?” Mai asked, turning around just as Luke pulled away.

“Uh…” Her cheeks flushed red. “Yes. Yeah. I’m coming, Mai!” She looked at Luke and poked his chest. “Stop being confusing and learn to communicate more while I’m gone. See you soon, Luke.” She hurried off, faltering when Mai slung an arm around her shoulder.

Luke didn’t really care about the other demigods being sent off on dangerous quests but if Y/N didn’t return, he swore he would set the world on fire. And he always kept his promises.

Camp was lonely without Y/N, even if all he did was stare longingly at her. “Hey, Lana.” Luke uttered as he leaned against the walls of the Aphrodite cabin, arms crossed over his chest. “How do I… improve my communication?”

“Is this about Y/N?” Lana questioned, tilting her head to the side.

Luke lightly scoffed. “Of course it is. She deserves better but I can’t see her with anyone else so I want to become better.” Luke ran a hand through his hair, clenching his jaw. “I thought that since you’re an Aphrodite kid, you can help me.”

Lana stared at him with a pointed look before she lightly huffed in amusement and nodded. “Okay, first of all… we need to fix your communication problem.”

“I do not have a communication issue.”

“Your relationship with Y/N says otherwise.” Lana raised her eyebrows while Luke sighed. “You see what I mean? So first, communication. Second, words of encouragement. Make her feel special. Validate her. You love her, yes? Then show it. Actions speak louder than words. Once Y/N comes back, you’ll be a whole new person. With my help, duh.”

Lana grinned, pulling Luke into the cabin. “You don’t need a physical makeover. You’re the definition of a pretty boy. What you need is a new mindset. Sure, you and Y/N are in a rough patch with all the arguments.”

Lana slightly scrunched up her nose as she chuckled.

“But if Y/N is this special to you, then changing for her should be no problem. I won’t lie, it’s gonna be hard, Luke. For now, I’m going to make you watch To All the Boys I’ve loved Before, all of the movies, because they have terrible communication. And you’re also gonna watch Say Anything because you need to see the boombox scene.”

“I’ve seen the Lloyd boombox scene, Lana… I’m not holding up a boombox.”

“Not even for Y/N?”

Luke groaned, holding his face in his hands. “Okay. I’ll hold the damn boombox.”

“And play Lana Del Rey?”

“Why Lana Del Rey?”

“Because Y/N loves her. And it’s Lana Del Rey. Who else would you play? Besides, I’m sure Y/N is having a great time and I am in dire need of some toxic love songs here.”

Y/N stared at the hypnotising and flashing lights in front of her. “Let me get this straight,” She muttered, turning to Clarisse and Mai, “We need to get in there…” She pointed at the only entrance, “But the only way to do so is…”

“To walk in. As one of the models.” Mai quickly finished Y/N’s sentence, nodding her head.

Y/N sharply clicked her tongue. “Why not cause a distraction? That seems easier. I mean, we could definitely pull off the model look because we’re all pretty hot but it’s risky.”

“Y/N’s right.” Clarisse piped up. “Lucky for her, I’ve come up with the perfect distraction. Get ready to run in.” The Ares girl cunningly grinned while Y/N and Mai hid beneath a table.

“So, what do you think she’s going to do?” Y/N questioned, peeking out from under the white cloth.

“Maybe pull a fire alarm?”

Y/N shook her head. “That’s not her style.” A loud boom suddenly echoed through the hall. Exploded bits of stone and rubble smashed against the tiled floor, a few bits scratching Y/N’s ankles.

She pressed her lips into a line as she looked at Mai again. “Yeah. That’s more of what I was expecting.”

At this very moment, Y/N hated the number three. It seemed to bring bad luck to her. Three months without Luke and three months on a quest. That was practically six months without his energetic company.

Y/N quietly scoffed to herself. She couldn’t believe that after all this time, Luke still plagued her mind like a disease. Except he wasn’t a disease. Once upon a time, he was Y/N’s light in the darkness.

“What are you doing?” Clarisse asked when she found her best friend curled up in a blanket and rolled up into a small ball.

“Uh… Sleeping?” Y/N came up with a lousy excuse. Clarisse rolled her eyes and lightly kicked Y/N in the side.

“Get up. We’ve got to get to camp before any more monsters find us.”

It had been a difficult mission but Clarisse, Y/N, and Mai had managed to pull it off. Y/N slowly stood up but froze when he heard a loud roar echo through the trees. She and Clarisse exchanged a panicked look.

“Wake Mai up!” Y/N exclaimed, shoving as much as she could into her bag. Clarisse violated shook Mai awake, not giving the groggy girl time to adjust to the light.

The trio sprinted through the woods, trying to stay ahead of whatever was hunting them down. Y/N loudly panted as she reached the top of the hill. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. Unfortunately, neither Clarisse and Mai were blessed with her lighting fast running and the two girls were still lagging behind.

The monster burst through the thick foliage and Y/N’s heart fearfully skipped a beat. “Is that…” She trailed off in shock, staring at the beast with wide eyes.

“It’s a fucking manticore!” Clarisse shouted, pulling her sword out of its sheath. Everything was still and nobody dared to move as the Manticore growled at the group and circled around them.

“One of us has to distract it.” Clarisse quietly muttered as to not alarm the monster.

“I’ll do it.” Y/N quickly replied, reaching for new spear.

Mai pulled out a dagger, gripping it tightly in her left hand. “It’s my quest, guys. I’ll distract the manticore and you run.”

“No way.” Y/N shook her head, “I can take it.”

“I promised Luke I’d keep you safe.” Clarisse sneered, adjusting her stance. “So it should be me.”

“Now is not the time to talk about Luke and I’s complicated relationship.” Y/N snapped, flinching slightly when the manticore growled again.

“He kissed you, Y/N. I’d say he still has plenty of feelings left for you.” Mai’s eyes carefully followed the manticore’s moves. It seemed to have enough of their bickering and it lunged at the person closest to it. That person was Mai.

She screamed as the manticore attempted to claw at her face. Clarisse slashed through the monster’s wing and it howled in evident pain. Its scorpion tail reached for Y/N but she jumped back before the stinger could pierce her flesh.

“I could use some help!” Mai shouted as the manticore’s sharp fangs sank into her right shoulder. Y/N knocked the monster off Mai and quickly helped the girl up.

“I’d say the cut wing is plenty of distraction. Now I would prefer to run before it stings us all!” Y/N exclaimed. She was lucky enough to dodge it’s stinger the first time but she couldn’t guarantee her success at doing it again.

Clarisse hacked at the manticore’s eyes, almost slitting its face open. “Let’s go!” She screamed, pushing an injured Mai towards camp. Y/N took off after her friends but the manticore made one more desperate lunge for a target.

Its stinger sank into her leg and she screamed in pain. Y/N stumbled, eventually falling and hitting the hard ground.

“Y/N!” Clarisse turned back, sprinting towards the H/C-nette.

The manticore pulled its stinger out with a loud squelch and it’s claws sliced at Y/N’s leg, creating a gash so bloody that Clarisse had to look away in fear she’d throw up at the gruesome sight.

Y/N desperately stretched out her hand to grab something, anything. When her hand brushed against a decently-sized rock, she grabbed it and whacked the manticore.

She scrambled up, pulling out her spear once more and hurling it in the direction of the monster’s heart. The sharp weapon pierced its chest and the monster exploded into golden fragments.

“Shit, shit, shit. We need to get you back to camp.” Clarisse said, panicking as she watched light grey veins stem from the sting. That was never a good sign.

“What’s taking them so long?” Percy asked as he sat beside Luke, holding a plate of food. It had been ages since Mai, Y/N, and Clarisse had left

“A quest takes time.” Annabeth butted in, “And this sounded like a hard one, even for them.”

“I’m sure the three of them can handle it.” Luke said, mainly to reassure himself that Y/N hadn’t died a painful and untimely death. Percy’s eyes flickered to a trio approaching the top of the hill.

“Hey.” He nudged Luke, “Is… Is that them?”

Luke could recognise Y/N’s H/C hair from a mile away. He stood up, accidentally hitting the table. That was Percy’s unspoken answer. Mai and Clarisse had Y/N’s arms slung around their shoulders as she limped forward. But Y/N suddenly tripped and the three of them stumbled, more like rolled, down the hill.

“Oh. Shit.” Luke was the first to react. He ran over to Y/N, who was lying underneath Mai. She groaned under the weight of the other demigod.

“I told you to be careful with your shoulder.” Clarisse grumbled, pulling Mai off Y/N. Luke hurriedly helped her up.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Apart from almost getting my leg torn off and the venom spreading quickly, I’m great.” Y/N awkwardly smiled and winced when she moved her injured limb. “Would you mind helping me to the infirmity?” She asked, but Luke was already one step ahead. He easily picked her up and laid her down on the first free bed he saw.

“What happened?” He asked as he looked at Y/N’s slashed leg.

Y/N was silent for a moment before she shrugged. “Manticore.” She said like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was because half her leg was almost falling off. Luke wanted to puke as he merely stared at it.

“Hey,” He said to a passing Apollo kid, “Do you think you could, I dunno, save her before she dies from manticore venom?”

The Apollo kid looked at Y/N’s leg, his nose scrunching up. “It did a good number on you. Mai got away with only a bite.”

“Yeah, I guess it has something to do with Zeus being my father.” Y/N sighed. “But my leg is really starting to hurt now.”

“The venom hasn’t spread to your torso yet so that’s good news. We may have to knock you unconscious because fixing this wound will take some time… and pain. Probably a lot of pain.” The boy called a few of his siblings over, quickly explaining the situation to them.

Luke stepped back to give them space and he waited until Y/N was unconscious before he left. “She’ll be okay, right?” He asked Genieve, one of the most skilled healers.

“She’s a tough girl, Luke. She’ll be fine.”

Y/N awoke a week later. She groaned as she sat up, stretching her arms and popping her back. She yawned, looking around at her surroundings. Multiple get better cards littered the table next to her and she smiled when she saw Percy’s bad attempt at drawing a whale.

“Oh. You’re awake.” Genieve kindly smiled at Y/N, “I was getting a little scared that you were in a coma.”

Y/N moved her injured leg, surprised to see that nothing was left of the grisly cut except a dark scar.

“We did our best but injuries from monsters don’t fully go away.” Genieve sheepishly piped up.

Y/N knew that. It was the same case with Luke’s scar. She jolted at the thought of Luke. Y/N turned to Genieve, wanting to ask where the boy was. She figured that it was finally time to talk with him.

No arguments, no misunderstandings, no blaming each other for something they couldn’t control.

As if understanding what she wanted, Genieve pointed towards the closed door. “Outside.” Was all she said.

Y/N walked towards the door, slowly pulling it open. A cold gust of air hit her and she shivered. Camp was usually warm all year round, even when it was snowing because the snow couldn’t get past the barrier.

Y/N stepped forward, looking around in shock as she sank into the freezing, knee-height snow. She had always wanted to touch it but Chiron warned her that going outside the barrier, even if it was close to camp, was dangerous.

There was a new sparkle in Y/N’s eye as she crouched down to grab a handful. She heard the lulling sound of music and when she looked up, she burst into laughter at the sight of Luke holding a boombox. He held it up high and with pride, not caring about the questioning looks campers gave him.

“You said you always wanted to see and touch snow… so I brought you some.” Luke uttered, his voice overlapping with the melodic sound of Lana Del Rey.

Tell me I'm your national anthem.

Red, white, blue is in the sky.

Summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes.

“I don’t care what you do, Sparky.” Luke said as he walked until he was standing in front of her. He placed the boombox down. “Break my heart. Break my heart into a thousand pieces and bury them. Do whatever you want… because I love you.”

Y/N cupped his cold face in her hands, lightly sniffing. She cracked a small smile. “You’re the only one for me, Luke. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Sparky. From now on, I’ll communicate with you better. I’ll do anything for you. I’d kill for you, I’d set the world on fire for you. Just as long as I can hug and kiss you and call you mine.”

END.

#luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #grover pjo #grover underwood #luke castellan #annabeth chase #annabeth pjo #hermes pjo #zeus pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson series #greek mythology #the lightning thief

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onismdaydream · 1 year ago

Text

short drabble that has been rotting my brain for months...

tags: 18+/mdni. gender neutral reader. dildos. dirty talk. calling gojo a narcissist. not proofread.

: ̗̀— ➛

“wow,” satoru breathes out, a faint smirk appearing on his mouth as his long finger traces one of the veins. “this is pretty damn accurate."

it's blue. a beautiful and bright shade of cerulean that doesn't quite catch the light the same way his eyes do. you can see the sparkle in his gaze now, like a kid in a candy store, so excited and amazed.

"i should hope so, they claim to be the best." you find yourself echoing his excitement, a dull thrum rushing through your body. you had been waiting for this, waiting so patiently for it to arrive in the mail, and now it's finally here. it's within your grasp. biting your bottom lip to suppress your growing smile, you take the few remaining steps between you and satoru.

"satoruuu," you coo, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. you can feel the small shudder that runs through him. "do you wanna play with your new toy?"

"now?" he asks as if he doesn't believe you, doesn't believe that you'd let him use it. maybe it was just some cruel joke of yours, to place it directly in his hands but never give him the permission he so desperately needed from you. despite how stubborn and cocky he can be, satoru listens.

"mhm," a hand moves down to rest on his pec, feeling the firm muscle underneath the fabric of his shirt. "put on a good show for me, yeah?"

and he does.

god, he looks so beautiful and perfect like this. that pretty pink flush is painted across his cheeks and his eyes are droopy with pleasure, mouth slightly open as he moans. satoru, you think, was sculpted by aphrodite herself. there was no other explanation for how attractive he is. each curve and dip of his body is so alluring, the way his muscles ripple with each movement, even the sounds he makes leaves you hot and needy.

another cry from his lips and you can't stop yourself from touching. you were planning on watching, but with the sight in front of you? there was no way you could resist.

"feel good, baby?" and your palm is massaging his ass, pulling slightly to see him clench around it. satoru moans in response and pushes back into your hand, eyes glossy with tears of ecstasy.

"yeah? you like being fucked by your own dick?"

drool is starting to drip out of the corner of his mouth, soaking into the sheet beneath him. you don't think you've seen satoru lose himself that quickly in quite some time, his brain too foggy to do anything than move the dildo in and out, in and out.

"such a narcissist, 'toru." you tease, knowing exactly what it's like to be on the receiving end — to be dicked down so good until you can't form a word other than his name, repeating it like a prayer. "you gonna leave me for yourself?"

a pinch of his eyebrows tells you that he is still listening, still present enough to try to protest.

"so in love with your cock that you don't need me, is that right?" and there's a whimper, a tremble to his bottom lip, a plead that it isn't true. that he would never leave you, he loves you, adores you.

but it doesn't mean that he stops fucking himself.

no, it feels too good to stop. the replica of his own cock is bullying against his prostate and his actual cock is practically crying with precum, the constant stimulation pushing him closer and closer to the edge. all he needs is a little push to send him toppling.

your hand wraps around his own and you guide the toy to just the right spot.

"c'mon baby, wanna see you cum."

half a dozen more thrusts of his replica and that cord snaps inside him, his orgasm racking through his body and leaving a mess on the bedding. you manage to catch him before he can fall forward, gently rolling him to the side so he doesn't get covered in his own release. you've made that mistake before.

you carefully clean his body, wiping the lube and sweat and cum and leaving sweet kisses along his skin. satoru's breathing eventually evens out, his heart rate returning back to normal.

"you know i love you, right?" his voice cracks a bit, his throat and mouth dry from panting, but you don't comment on it.

"i know, baby." and your lips against his own is a sacred promise.

#i hope this is okay and not too unreadable lmao #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #perce.doc #.jjkai

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svnny-days · 1 year ago

Text

- ready to love | L. Castellan

━━━ ◦ ⋅🔱 i have a plan!

w.c: 451

a.n: just realized this is starting to seem like random pjo oc x reader but i PROMISE it's not. luke comes in soon i promise! (idk how many chapters this'll be so like... it'll be a fun suprise !) also i will write an apology w/ tears on how long this took to get out.

warnings: not proofread/edited (sorry!) also BI!LUKE

series masterlist || next part

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the struggle to find the right outfit for the bonfire tonight is a lot bigger than you thought it would be. the decision to wear a navy blue baby tee with baby blue stars on it was a no brainer, thanks to clarisse’s help, but you had struggled so hard to find the perfect bottoms and accessories. when that did finally come to you, there was barely any time left to have a moment to relax before the bonfire started. so you went off to the large fire pit and placed a blanket down for you to relax on.

as you busy yourself with enjoying the feel of the warmth of the fire and your eyes are preoccupied with the stars that hang in the sky, the blanket rustles and a dirty blonde haired boy sits himself next to you, “hello love.” oh gods, it’s him. your face flushes already and he’s only said two words.

“hi callum,” is all you could muster out, feeling yourself grow butterflies in your stomach.

the apollo demi-god gently grabs hold of your chin, bringing your face back down from its look at the sky. his light green eyes stare into yours as he smiles at you. gods, his smile is gorgeous. it's like aphrodite herself sculpted him. “you’re the only one with a blanket out here,” he whispers, not wanting to disturb the peace too much even though other campers around you are talking amongst themselves.

you look around and almost frown at the realization that he’s right, “well, maybe… i can start a new trend.”

“yeah? let me know how that goes,” he teases, “maybe we can put the blanket to good use later.” what was that supposed to mean? you shake your head and decide to not question him further. the two of you sit together on your soft blanket as the other apollo kids lead the bonfire.

sometime during the fire, you and the blonde boy had snuck off to a secluded area of the camp, to just talk. and well… that’s not how it’s going now. right now, the both of you have your lips locked together and your hands running underneath each other's shirts, touching the warm skin of each other's body.

this would be a cute moment. it’s your first kiss, your first time making out with a person. it’s in the most gorgeous clearing in the forest, sat atop your soft blanket, the stars are shining bright, everything feels perfect. however, in the shadows of the tree line surrounding the clearing, there’s a certain curly headed brunette boy running away from his hidden spot and back towards the camp with his phone gripped tightly in his hand.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

taglist: @toffytaste @fxiryeon @yourgirl-mila @qalijahbydior @appleofstrife @bubbly0 @blithecapricorn @x-moonz-xd @ahh-chickens @mxtokko @percyjacksonisamazhang @mariamsw0rld @kidkrowk @king4phrodite @kestisvrse @remuslupinsfavoritebook @yuminako @dancing-inasnowglobe @coconut-dreamz @thatpopculturenerd @luhvgalore

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purpleberiii · 2 years ago

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"Worship and Wine"

☆Prompt: In which you worship the gods of Olympus and one in particular takes a liking to you and ends up showing herself one day while worshipping.

☆Warnings: Reader drinking wine from Cabernet's body, Slight smut? Cabernet being referred to as Dionysus, two versions of Cabernet (goddess and human)

The candle light illuminated a perfect glow on the Altar you had in a secret room of your house. There is where you give offerings to your gods and goddesses; Aphrodite, Athena, Apollo, Hera and finally, Dionysus. Despite worshipping many, you felt a strong connection to Dionysus, and you came to love wine as much as he did, and loved going to parties and hooking up with others.

That still didn't stray you away from your gods, you worshipped them each with equal amount of devotion and passion and you can say that they've always responded to your prayers. You had your bowl of apples and grapes, along with several different bottles of wine lined off on Dionysus' Altar. As you closed your eyes to pray, you felt light headed, as if you were going to pass out and before you knew it, you did.

Some time later, you woke up, slightly puzzled as to why you were in your room rather than the Altar. As your eyes slowly opened, you could make out the glimpse of a woman, sitting on your couch you had in your room. Her smooth creamy legs rested on one another and a few empty bottles of what looked like wine had laid on the floor. You slowly looked up to find a beautiful woman, her skin pale as snow whilst her hair red as blood.

She started at you intently, whilst sipping on a glass that had wine in it, judging by the smell. "Staring at a goddess is quite rude I must say," her eyes never leaving you.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house? Why are you drinking my wine? What's going on?!"

She chuckled as she finally got up and walked towards you. She was tall, extremely tall and you immediately knew that she wasn't human. What was she really? "You've been a loyal follower of my brothers, sisters and I. I was sent to reward you for that."

Half of what she was saying is the truth, the lie was that she was never sent by anyone, she just came on her own. Now that you really thought of it, she did finish out a few bottles of wine, and she did have a bitten apple in her hand when you woke up.

"Dionysus?! Lady Dionysus?!" A smile crept on her face.

"You sound surprised."

"Of course I'd be! I have a literal goddesses in my presence!" You jumped out of bed. "Can I get you anything? Any wine or so?"

"It's no need. I've already finished out the remaining of your wine but I did save one for something special." A shiver ran down your spine as she said that.

She took a seat on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs. "You are looked over by all of us whom you worship. Your prayers were answered but you still worship us. Most humans would immediately forget about us once they have what they need. Why?"

"Well Lady Dionysus, I guess I'm not like most humans. You all gave me what I wanted and I'm truly indebted to you which is why I will continue to worship you all until my last breath."

She seemed pleased with your answer. "Only one wish hasn't been answered."

"Yes. But I do believe it will someday. I mean..I haven't done anything to anger Lady Aphrodite right?"

She laughed at your question and frightened state. "No you didn't. You will get it, however, I'd like to do something with you. Would you be up to the task?"

"Anything," your eyes held determination in them. Dionysus smiled and collected the bottle of wine. She slowly took off her dress, not fully. She left the top half of her body uncovered while the bottom was covered. "W-what are you doing Lady Dionysus?"

"This will help you find the one you are looking for." She popped opened the bottle and poured wine all over her body. She leaned back with a smile. "Come, drink wine from my body."

You felt like your Brian had stopped working. Did she really mean drink it from her bare body. "I-isn't it inappropriate to do so?"

"Not if I permit it."

You took a deep breath before walking towards her slowly. She uncrossed her legs so you could stand between them. You slowly leaned down and your trembling tongue lapped her the wine running down her neck. She leaned her head back and sighed.

Wine had never tasted so good in your life and you find yourself wanting more. You licked her clean, not letting a single drop fall. "Good girl. Did you like the way it tasted?"

"I did. Thank you for the opportunity."

"Of course. Now I must get back." She put on her dress while you watched her with an unexplainable expression.

"Do you have to go? Can't you stay?"

"Oh my sweet girl. I do. I cannot linger on earth here for much longer but do know this... I'll always be watching over you, as well as my sisters and brothers. We thank you for not letting us down."

In Dionysus presence, you felt a much more safe and protected and that connection you felt grew stronger, until you realised that you loved your goddess. Even though you saw her for the first time, you wanted to see her forever.

Sensing your uneasiness, Dionysus gently left a kiss to your forehead. "Farewill, sweet one."

Before you know it, only a puff of white smoke was in your room and just like that, she was gone.

You curled up on your bed as tears escaped your eyes, the feeling of longing hitting you hard but it hit her harder.

A/n:

Imma post a part 2 of this. This is my first Greek based story ever so I hope you liked it.

#cabernet franc #cabernet x reader #cabernet franc x reader #path to nowhere cabernet #ptn cabernet #ptn cabernet x reader

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buoyantsaturn · 7 months ago

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read my friends' fics from 2024 or else

The Father Dilemma by ember @gatesofember from the wild west au series

A year after deciding to stay permanently, Nico di Angelo has long since settled into Ladon Creek. He has two bothersome but loyal housemates, a caring community of friends, and a loving partner. His days have never been so peaceful and he never thought he’d feel so happy. But his calm, blissful life is thrown into disarray when he learns some truly sinister news: Will’s father is coming to visit. [T, 6,841, 2/7]

FAR GALAXIES by rosy @rosyredlipstick

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled out her PADD from her coat, slow enough that Nico only slightly twitched. Jason’s transmission was loaded up on the screen—at the bottom, their signature tag was spelled out. “Guardians of the Galaxy. That supposed to be a joke?” “More like an aspiration,” Jason said. - Space, the final frontier. Or whatever. [E, 365,994, 14/14]

three-in-one soap by emi @thelordofshrimp

Austin glared at his sister. “Will can’t lie, genius. He says that since he became head counselor, any shower that lasts more than three minutes gets interrupted by someone needing his help.” “That’s… crazy.” Nico considered the number of showers he’d taken even in his short time at camp and imagined if even half of them had been interrupted. “It is,” Jerry agreed. “Not like there’s much we can do about it, though.” “You can always do something about it.” Nico sat up. “There has to be something.” “Not unless you can somehow keep the whole camp safe at once.” [G, 5,798, 4/4]

I wanna make you mine, but that's hard to say by ethan @ethannku

Rather than dignifying Will’s likely insult with a response, Nico took another deep inhale, then tipped his head back to blow the smoke straight up into the air. When he tipped his head to the side, he found that Will was still watching him, his eyes cast low, maybe to Nico’s shoulders or neck or mouth-- [T, 8,615]

kiss with a fist is better than none by lori @sunflowersandscreams

Well, if he wanted to play it like that, then Will would meet him halfway. “I meant it. What I said earlier. I would have liked to make peace so we can get over this whole… whatever, but you just had to be an asshole, so never mind, I guess.” Nico looked at him, bored, a distinct lack of an expression on his face. “You think I’d really believe that? That you’d be so courteous, so kind, as to- what, ‘use your hand as an olive branch’? I’m not naïve, Solace.” “I wasn’t saying that you- it’s not like-” Will bit his tongue. “You don’t wanna be nice to each other? Fine. I don’t care. It’s not like it would change much, or that we could change much, at this point.” “Your guilt tripping isn’t going to affect me.” Nico tilted his chin up, angry now. “Maybe I’m fine with being like this? Or maybe it just doesn’t matter as much as you seem to think it does.” ~ Nico and Will have been rivals slash sworn enemies since the beginning of high school, when they both joined the orchestra. Things change, for better or worse. [T, 62,457, 6/8]

Does This Still Count as Solangelo Week if It's July by alfie @lordstormageddidnt

Will likes cuddling with Nico in his sleep. Nico likes cuddling with Will. But Nico does not like waking up in a pool of sweat because his boyfriend is half-sun-god, half-space-heater. [G, 1,232]

never a clean break (no one here to save me) by katherine @yrbeecharmer from the exes au series

It’s been a year and a half since Aphrodite’s shitshow, since they finally processed the things they never had and agreed to move on, and how many times has Will made it clear they’re fine now? Not that they really talk about it in so many words anymore, but that’s because they shouldn’t have to. They’re friends. Not close ones, but friends. And Nico has a boyfriend. So why on earth is he calling Will, right now, to do this? [M, 12,444]

a sweet tooth for you series by becca @thebhorror

Nico works in a bakery and is determined to make Will fall in love with him his baked goods [G, 23,447]

& if you stay too long it will kill you marble @marbleheavy

As he looked up and stared at the sky, his thoughts seemed to fall through the grates of the fire escape. He could pretend that the flickering light from the planes passing by were stars if he didn’t think too much about it. As if the light pollution hadn’t swallowed the whole of his visible universe. He took a drag from the cigarette and sighed, dropping his gaze back ahead. [T, 1,232]

bulls and blood by allison @rainnows

Cowboys were not Nico’s type. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself for the better part of two hours, propped up as he was against a fence bordering the arena, where he definitely wasn’t allowed to be, photographer’s pass around his neck or not. [T, 1,213]

#fic rec #solangelo #ember #rosy #emi #ethan #lori #alfie #katherine #becca #marble #allison

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j4keluver · 1 year ago

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To All The Boys I've Loved Before: To Whom it may concern, I like you

casting: reader as lara jean, heeseung as peter kavinsky, sunghoon as reader's older brother, jungwon as josh sanderson, jay as greg, sunoo as lucas, ni-ki as kitty | ft... yunjin as chris, chaewon as gen

warning : explicit sexual implication (no smut) , swearing

synopsis: you've always dreamed of finding the picture perfect boyfriend but high school boys suck. whenever you get feelings so intense but can't put it to words, you write a letter that gets stuffed into a hidden blue box. so why is yang jungwon, your neighbor, walking towards you with a letter in his hand and why are you kissing lee heeseung, gen's boyfriend?

author's note: here's our first officially teaser of the series ! me and tiana (@luvj4key) have been working very hard to produce this series and we are so glad to see many of you loving it ! we still have a lot of responsibilities in our outside life out of tumblr so please be patient and understand that we are doing our best to create quality work for you guys. thank you for all the love ! and we will continue to answer question and build up your anticipation <3

The feeling of the grass tickles your finger tips, almost making you throw a light laugh. The low lit sun kisses your skin and the scent of the earth breathes into your system. It's a sense of freedom and warmth that you can only delve into when getting lost in the carefully written pages and pages of a love story.

In the distance, there is a young boy that seems to enjoy the earth's presence. Sun-bathed skin that soaks up the sun's welcoming rays, playful eyes that hold a keen stare, and flushed cheeks that only Aphrodite could have blessed him with. But it's not just anybody - It's Yang Jungwon.

He catches your stare and gives you a wistful smile, slowly making his way to you. You can only stand still when he finally appears right in front of you. His calloused hands reach up to your face to caress the soft skin of your cheek. Jungwon's eyes flutter closed and it's like your eyes close on command. He leans in ever so slightly, the tip of his nose touching yours in a light nudge. His breath is getting closer to your lips until -

"Hey ! What was that for?" you groan. The pillow Riki just threw at you is now somewhere on the ground onto of a mountain of unfolded laundry. You look up to him from your book to see him leaning on your door frame.

"Well in case you didn't notice, dinner is about to be ready. We've called you like six times," he rolls his eyes. Sunghoon pops up from behind him, "Yeah peanut. If you weren't reading those shitty books, you would have noticed that Dad made your favorite."

"I'm coming, I'm coming. I just finished this chapter," you shooed them away. You put on a pair of slippers and stop at the bottom step when the door opens and a familar frame greets you. The man of the hour again - Yang Jungwon.

"Hoon, Riki," Jungwon says, pulling in them for a quick hug and a firm pat on the back. "Sick ! Jungwon brought the new fifa game. This is why you're better than Sunghoon. " Riki exclaims. Sunghoon smacks the backside of his head while Riki sheepishly mumbles an apology.

Jungwon makes eye contact with you and raises his hand for a high-five which you comply . Jungwon whispers, "My favorite siblings out of all of you guys but don't tell them that !"

You can only softly laugh, knowing he loved this household more than his own. Your dad calls out to him, ushering him the the kitchen. Jungwon winks at you before walking over.

Yang Jungwon was someone that you were almost too familiar with. The Yangs moved into the house next door when you were in the sixth grade, Sunghoon was in seventh, and Riki was in fifth. You still remember young Jungwon, hiding behind his mother's leg and peeking over with his cat-like eyes.

Jungwon's mother gave him a little nudge, "Don't be shy Jungwon, they won't bite you." You tilt your head at him before deciding to give him a small wave and offer a cheeky smile. With that, it seems like Jungwon's shell had cracked as his dimple peeked through when he smiled back.

Your brother immediately invited him in to play some video games which he just nodded too. Every since then, it was like Jungwon lived at your house. Heck, sometimes he knew your house better than you did. He came after school to get tutored by Sunghoon and he would come on the weekend to play soccer with Riki, only seeing you in fleeting moments.

Jungwon was techincally your first boyfriend. Well - space between boy and friend. You would bike to school together, eat lunch together, be each other's lab partners and join the same clubs. You guys were insperable until high school. Your dynamic was very different in high school than middle school.

Jungwon towered five inches taller than eight grade graduation, leaving him at a staggering 5'10. His jaw was more defined, cheekbones more prominent. He made the soccer team so he was frame was lean and his skin was sun-kissed from all the outside practices. And the most biggest change; the girls

Jungwon had always been attractive, at least in your eyes. But his new profound looks made him extremely popular with Adler High. You changed a little from middle school. You opted to wear contacts than your glasses, you got your braces off and you finally learned how to make your eyeliners twins and not cousins. But it was nothing compared to the 360 Jungwon made.

He tried to keep your connection strong, even when he got his first girlfriend. He would still come over on Friday after school for movie nights, and still had the usual routine with your siblings. However, you didn't know that a random Friday would be your last movie night.

In your defense, you didn't mean to ease drop on him and Sunghoon's conversation but you're glad did. You, Sunghoon and Jungwon were having a late night conversation in the backyard before you excuse yourself to grab some water.

You come back with three water bottles until you stop in your tracks as you heard Sunghoon ask Jungwon, "So THE Yang Jungwon isn't a virgin anymore huh? How was she?" You quickly hid behind the wall, trying to control your shaky hands. Jungwon laughs, "Dude her head game was insane, had me rolling my eyes and shit. And the way her walls sucked me in, literal stars."

Did Jungwon actually say that or are you imagining things? It wasn't until you heard Sunghoon hollers, "Let's fucking go Jungwon, I see you." Your face feels hot and you feel your eyes brimming with tears. But what are you crying for? Are you upset that he is disrespecting women or are you upset that you realized you're in love with him and he just confessed that he lost his virginity? Both? You take a deep breath and wait for their conversation to go still before heading out.

You drop off the waters to them and make up some excuse about a throbbing headache, clutching onto your temples. You hug them goodnight, holding onto Jungwon for a second longer than usual. You cry yourself to sleep.

Jungwon persists for the next month, constantly asking what was wrong and if there was anything he could fix. He would ask your brothers what's wrong, to which they only shrugged their shoulder not knowing the answer. He would text you and you would simply keep telling him it was personal reasons.

He stops trying one month and three weeks in, probably because his girlfriend wouldn't be so happy if she sees how much effort he is putting into you. From then on, things are a little awkward but manageable. You only see him in passing moments.

Jungwon and his first girlfriend eventually break up but he quickly gets with Kim Minji, a cheerleader for Adler high, and they're still together till now.

You take your sit at the dining table next to Sunghoon. Sunghoon plates your food for you, "Eat up, you won't have me to remind you when I'm in Ireland." You just sigh and say a 'thank you.'

Your dad starts, "So Jungwon, How's Minji? Haven't seen her around in a while." Sunghoon's eyes widen while Jungwon awkwardly clears his throat. His eyes dart around and he subconsciously makes eye contact with you. You raise an eyebrow at him before he looks away.

"Oh we've just been busy and stressed with school that we haven't been able to see each other in a while. It's.. going okay." Jungwon manages to say before Riki changes the topic, talking about the new game Jungwon brought over.

The conversation between the five of you flow smoothly. You settle for going bed early since you're waking up early to see Sunghoon off in the morning. You hug your dad and Sunghoon goodnight and drop a kiss on Riki's head ("Stop doing that (Y/N), I'm old and manly now" You know he still loves to be babied.) You choose for a small wave to Jungwon before heading upstairs.

Sunghoon isn't a guy to get emotional and shed tears. You could count on your hands how many times you've seen Sunghoon cry. But here he was, stray tears falling down his cheek. Dad pats his back as Sunghoon sniffles. He gives Riki a quick hug, a rare moment between the brothers.

And when he gets to you, he pulls you into the tighest hug before leaving a big smooch on your head. He pulls back and sternly warns you, "Now peanut, listen to me very closely. Now with your older, hot, manly, strong brother away, boys are going to try to approach you and you will turn down every single one. You understand? Especially the Lacrosse team."

You don't really focus on the words you say as your own tears start to well up in your eyes where Sunghoon only coos at you and hugs you tighter. The three of your wave to Sunghoon as he walks through his gate. You look back to see if he's looking back. He's not and it finally hits you that for this school year, you're on your own (minus riki)

taglist: @dimplewonie @wooziswife @bunnbam (unable to tag)

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #kim sunoo #lee heeseung #jake sim #park jay #park sunghoon #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #j4keluver and luvj4key tatbilb collab💌

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aphroditeinthesea · 4 months ago

Note

Can you do Conner Stoll x Aphrodite kid?! :D also I luv your account!

if you wanted headcanons those are here

⚠️ dirty joke

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

“hand me that,” you motioned towards the bottle of cream on the corner of the counter.

currently, you were sat on top of the bathroom counter, your boyfriend standing between your legs.“this?” he handed you the white bottle. he was quite a view right now. no shirt, pajama pants, and of course, a little pink headband on his head to block any hair from getting into his face.

“mhm,” you squeezed a little out from the spout.

“you know that kinda looks like,"

“no, it doesn't."

“okay.”

you pressed a dot onto his cheek before he flinched, “that’s cold!”

you rolled your eyes, "you're so dramatic.” you rubbed it into his freckled skin. you couldn't help but notice the way his blue eyes watched your face, “i can’t focus when you're doing that.”

“but you're so pretty,” he responded, leaning in to kiss you.

“corny,” you spoke as he pecked your lips. you squeezed out more to spread it out onto his face. he closed his eyes, relaxing into your touch.

“you’re like a puppy.”

“woof.”

you giggled, putting down the bottle. you grabbed a washcloth and wet it under the faucet, “this should be warm, baby.”

“promise?” he stuck out his bottom lip.

“i hate you.”

“i love you,” you stuck the cloth on his mouth, “ew, sink water.” you wiped the cream off his face with a smile plastered on yours.

you put the cloth down before grabbing your tub of moisturizer, “i love you, too, con.”

he grinned, “aw shucks, babe.”

“dont make me take it back.”

you used your finger to get some before spreading it across his face. “pretty.”

“pretty?”

“yeah, youre pretty.”

“youre pretty, too,” he tried to kiss you again but you pulled back.

“not yet.”

“oh?”

you grabbed a lip balm, “pucker up,” as he did, you applied the strawberry balm to his lips.

“tastes good.”

you shook your head, finally allowing him to kiss you, “it does.” you reached over to grab a star shaped pimple patch, “one more thing.”

“do i get a sticker for being a good boy?”

“here,” you placed it on his chin, and one on his cheek.

“what would i get if i was a bad boy?”

“kicked out.”

#connor stoll x y/n #connor stoll x you #connor stoll fluff #connor stoll x reader #connor stoll headcanon #connor stoll imagine #connor stoll #connor stoll fanfic #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #aphrodite!reader

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dastardly-imbecile · 6 months ago

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Thalassophilia

Part 2

Used to be, you would put your chin on his shoulder and watch him work, whispering ideas in his ears when you wanted to be helpful, whispering other things when you were in the mood for distraction. Galatea carved in statuesque marble, naked and tangled in his sheets, coyly asking him if you were inspiring him.

Now, now you are Aphrodite wreathed in seafoam, beautiful in raw, brutal edges, nestled within the mouth of a clamshell.

---

Elliott loves you, dead at sea. Elliott loves you, somehow still alive. OR an elaborate excuse to make elliott a monsterfucker

---

Wordcount: ~6k

The ocean is poetry. Elliott’s always liked it, ever since he was young, hunched in his father’s wood-paneled office and flipping through old books. Running his fingers over those grainy images, trying to replicate the cool caress of those foam-capped waves, the frailty of life all bundled up in the crash of the surf. It’s why, when he finally set off in pursuit of this authorial lifestyle, he settled beside the sea. It’s worth the grains of sand constantly in his bamboo sheets, it’s worth the crabs that hide in his shoes, it’s worth the constant fight against lichen and mold and moss.

There is no better feeling than to sit upon the dock as the sun crawls over the horizon, painting the sky in gauzy nectarines and pale creams, sea kissing the undersides of his bare feet.

Well, it would be a better feeling to be able to share such nirvana with someone else, but as that’s not an option, solitude still has its own kind of beauty.

Today, like every day, he makes his way down those rickety wooden slats, past Willy’s old shop, now quiet and dark and boarded-up, a great beast stripped down to its skeleton. He wonders if your farm looks the same way, all torn and unkempt, chipping away at the edges. He wouldn’t know. Hasn’t been back to check.

Leah’s left a bottle of wine on his doorstep, propped up against a paper-wrapped baguette and a small coin of soft cheese. It’s her bohemian version of a mourning casserole, and he leaves them on his porch for now, continuing along in his trek down the beach.

There, washed up upon the shore, is a plank of driftwood, and his eyes snag on the peculiarity. Most likely, it’s random, something blown into the sea by heavy winds and spat out later, but he can’t quash that niggling bit of curiosity.

Boy’s a wanderlust, Father’d said, long ago when he was a gangly boy of sixteen and trying to write instead of participate in his class’s mandate of business and economics, no room for the artistry in such high echelons. He hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but Elliott’s taken it as one, repurposed it as one makes feathers into dreamcatchers and seaglass into necklaces, made it something entirely his own. It’s that curiosity that drives him to kneel, using a delicate hand to turn it over.

The bottom half of the thing is encrusted with barnacles, pulsing softly, exposing their soft inner hearts to the air with each shellbeat. Above that, though, in algae-grown letters, faded gold, it reads Man O’ War. He drops the board like it’s burnt him.

He remembers Willy on a Thursday night at the saloon, so many months ago, “an’ she fixed it right up! Just like that! My Man O’ War, in sailing shape once again!”

So it was no coincidence after all. Figures.

It never is.

After a long, steadying breath, he picks the plank up again, tucking it under his arm, turns away from the croon of the ocean and towards town proper.

Lewis is tending to his gardens when Elliot reaches him. He doesn’t announce his presence, simply stands there until the man cottons on—and then, there is a muffled yelp as Lewis stands to find him looming over him.

“Oh! Elliott!” His eyes drop from his face down to the boat under his arm, and just like that, any pretense of cheer melts away, dripping from the last bristles of his mustache.

“It washed up this morning,” he says in explanation, drawing it out from under his arm and presenting it to Lewis. It’s soaked his jacket, but he doesn’t particularly mind. These days, he’s not the most well-kept sort of man in any case. All those fancy suits that he’d pilfered from his father falling to tatters, hair tangled and matted in the underareas, dark circles below his eyes, salt crusted in the strangest places, like he himself is being slowly subsumed by the sea.

Man O’ War, Lewis mouths, a stricken expression falling upon his face, so stark that it’s almost amusing. He stares at it for a long moment, before looking back up at Elliott, then down again. “What do you… ah, what should we do with it?”

“Willy would’ve liked,” he says after a long moment, “To be buried with it, I think. He loved that ship like a wife.”

There’s some thread of morbid humor to be found in that, in the irony, but Elliott can’t bear to find it.

“Of course,” Lewis assures, “yes, he- I do believe he would have, yes. I’ll… I’ll handle it.”

“Can I come?” Elliott asks. He feels like a little boy, asking, he feels like he is back in Father’s manor, watching him bustle about and unsure how to recapture his attention, he feels like he is unmoored and drifting in that great blue eye they call the ocean.

“Of course, of course,” Lewis assures, placing a warm, paternal hand upon his shoulder.

—

It’s up in the mountains, past the railroad, where the dirt roads fade into tall grasses and thin, reedy trees. Far from the town’s own graveyard, down in the center of the plaza, which is a nice place all in its own right—all shaded by tall, graceful oaks, well-trimmed lawn tufting up around many polished stones—but you’d have liked it better here, both of you, he thinks. It’s here that they bury adventurers, that they bury those who died in the mines or the caverns, fighting monsters, defending the sanctity of Pelican Town.

Though you’d died doing neither, when Lewis’d asked Marlon for permission, the old man nodded solemnly, of course, she was the bravest of us all. And Willy too, for good measure, because he’d shared drinks with the guildmembers at the saloon, and easy enough to spun a tale portraying him as the valiant captain in the midst of some goliath storm. Both of you heroes, both of you dead.

Marlon’s there when they enter, standing over some ancient looking slab, sword pressed into the ground. He does not even open his eyes as they swish through the path. Best not to disturb his grief.

Your grave is in a prime spot under the tallest of the trees, like some ancient king slumbering in his enchanted grove. Willy’s is further back, tucked into the crook of the mountain, where Lewis leads. Headstone carved to look somewhat like a mermaid’s figurehead—the combination of Robin and Leah’s best work; he remembers long nights watching the two of them slowly chip away at a massive block of stone—and now, he stands upon the earth, grass ticking his knees through the holes in his pants, wonders if the man dreams of krakens, down in his real grave, deep under the surface of the waves.

“Burial is hard,” Lewis says after a moment, “but we can- we can erect it here, like a marker, see?” He maneuvers the plank of wood down onto the ground, pushes it slightly into the loamy earth, looks up at Elliott for approval. He nods blankly. “Good,” Lewis says, and then repeats, “good. This… he would’ve liked this.”

“Yes,” Elliott replies simply. Lewis cuts a glance at him from under the brim of his eyelids, shifty, gauging something.

“The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies is coming up,” he says after a moment, “I hate to spring this on you, Elliott, but… if we should cancel it this year like we did the last, then it’s no imposition, really, I just should inform the-”

“No,” he cuts him off, “no, it’s quite alright. We can host the Dance.”

“Are you sure? I know it’s… it’s quite close to the anniversary, and if-”

“Mother Nature will happen either way,” Elliott replies, “there’s no use in staunching it. Perhaps it will help the mood.”

Lewis nods rapidly, swallowing. “Good idea, yes. I’ll… I’ll begin preparations immediately.”

“I cannot wait,” he replies, using the most emotion that he has at all thus far in this conversation, and truly, he means it.

—

They’d canceled the Dance, yes, though that was before they’d known you were both gone. After departure to Ginger Island the day before, a kiss upon his cheek and the promise of a return, and then a storm, winds beating against the glass of his cottage, clouds burled overhead. The day of the festival itself, there was the search, setting out upon small sailboats, until chunks of wood began to wash back up upon Pelican Town shores. They’ve kept coming in the months since—half a steering wheel here, a few smoothened shards of glass there, and now, the nameplate.

Soon, the Gem Sea will run out of pieces of ship to regurgitate onto the beach, and then it will have to start with pieces of body, and he dreads and anticipates that day in equal measure. Grotesque. Morbid. Seems that’s the only way his mind turns these days, though.

It’s seeped into his writing. He cannot unravel sci-fi epics anymore, cannot slowly turn his way through delicate romances and sprawling fantasy worlds. All he churns out are tales of the macabre, of great monsters in the froth, of waves that stretch high as the heavens and low as the hells. They don’t sell. His editor doesn’t particularly like reading the fifth story that ends in, and then, the sea took them all.

When he’d complained of this to Leah, she’d frowned, worrying over her bottom lip, and then tried to introduce him to wood carving—said maybe a different avenue of creativity could unclog whatever pipes were malfunctioning. He’d started to, on instinct, make a crude sort of kraken, and she’d taken the knife away from him.

They’re not malfunctioning, is the truth. They are working exactly as intended: pumping out a thousand gallons of saline, churning the wheels of some great, rotating machine in the depths of his mind.

Tonight, he hunches over his desk, and writes the only other thing that he can write: a letter. In a hurried script, leaving small, messy drips of ink all over the crumpled parchment. Doesn’t matter. The words have their substance and that is all he needs.

I love you, he says, and then scratches that out, I still love you, marks it again, I will always love you, before moving onto the next. An exercise in revision, in making it perfect. He’s sent you dozens—twice a week—and this time, he mentions the boat’s nameplate, Lewis’s question about the jellies. It always was your favorite holiday. You’d told him, that day you left, that you hoped you’d make it back in time to watch.

Carefully, he rolls it up, slots it delicately into a colored glass bottle. One of Leah’s old winebottles, in fact, from her weekly deliveries. He doesn’t drink them—instead, pours them straight into the ocean, another form of tribute. The letters are for you; the wine is for Willy. Always did love a good drink, that man.

Then, he pads out into the surf, bare feet digging into the sand, and pushes the bottle into the waves. The sea takes it eagerly. Of course. Greedy, always greedy, always wanting.

Though it’s spit out many other things, it’s never given back one of his bottles. He likes to imagine that’s because you’re keeping them. Tucked into the hollow of your ribcage, ensconced in bony arms, wherever you are.

—

If he were a sappy man, he would call it love at first sight, and because he is a sappy man, that’s exactly the label that he slaps upon it. You, on your first foray into the beach, picking up a mussel and turning it about in his hands—and him, emerging from his cabin after a six-hour writing marathon. Eyes meeting, hearts sparking, falling into each other’s arms as naturally as the flower blooms. The real story is of course longer and not so much a fairytale, but at this point, his own version has become so naturalised that it is all he thinks of.

He tries to write it down, sitting at his desk, with a ragged duck’s feather that you gave him many months ago. It starts strong, but sputters out by the time he reaches the final act. All there is left to say is that the ocean takes, and that is that.

—-

One week until the Dance. Six days until the anniversary. He goes up to your farm for the first time since those early days in which you didn’t come back. Brings a small notepad and another quill, just in case it finally sparks some sort of inspiration, if the ghost of his muse rises from the dead. Used to be, you would put your chin on his shoulder and watch him work, whispering ideas in his ears when you wanted to be helpful, whispering other things when you were in the mood for distraction. Galatea carved in statuesque marble, naked and tangled in his sheets, coyly asking him if you were inspiring him.

Now, now you are Aphrodite wreathed in seafoam, beautiful in raw, brutal edges, nestled within the mouth of a clamshell.

The farm is abandoned, of course. Marnie took the animals, folded them back into her Ranch, Demetrius cleared out the cave, Lewis came by and uprooted each one of the crops once they began rotting in the earth. All a necessity, of course, but it felt a bit like many small parasitic beings consuming the remnants of some gargantuan corpse. Now, all that’s left is the overgrown grass amongst the old husks of barns and coops, the scarecrows crucified above brambly fields.

Elliott tries to pick his way through the undergrowth, but the burrs begin to snag at his pants, and he can bear no more, so he retreats to the collapsing porch.

He’s never been quite the outdoorsy type of man, which only inspires more questions about why, exactly, he chose to live in possibly the most rudimentary part of the valley, but this is a different breed of unpleasant. Reminds him of when Leah tried to take him camping, and he could not bear his hair getting tangled in the branches, the hardness of the rocky ground beneath his back. You were so good, out here. It must be different in the sea.

It’s the silence that chases him away, more than anything. No crashing waves. No breeze. Unsettling.

On the way back into town, he sees the bustle of the saloon, many people slipping in and out, and thinks, why the hell not?

The first step inside, however, proves to be a mistake. He’s suddenly acutely aware of his appearance, of the fact that this has been his first time reappearing in town proper in a year—he has not attended a single one of the preceding festivals. Spent the most recent, the Luau, holed up in his cabin, blankets over his head, trying to block out the sound of forced laughter.

“Elliot!” Gus exclaims, eyebrows making a valiant effort to reach his hairline, “it’s been a while. What do you want?”

He blinks. Can’t remember what he used to order, what his usual was. He still remembers yours—ocean sunrise, some obscenely fruity drink, bright gradient of yellow foam to deep indigo syrup pooling at the bottom of the glass, thick enough to coat the mouth and strong enough to linger. He used to tell you that things as brightly-colored as that are, by natural law, never meant to be consumed, and you’d asked, then why does it taste so good?

“Ocean sunrise,” he says. To his credit, Gus does not let even a tick of his facial expression belay any concern—instead, he turns straight to pouring and measuring out small quantities of bottled liquid.

Elliott moves to Leah’s table, who’s been sitting there, watching him all this time. She has a nervous hand running down her braid, but that’s the only indication that she is not entirely relaxed.

“Not a wine?” she asks. Right. That was his old poison of choice.

“No,” he replies, “feeling… ah, nostalgic.”

She nods as if that was a profound statement. “You got my delivery?”

“Yes.” He manages to shoot her a shallow smile. “Thank you, by the way. I never do express my gratitude enough. You are… you are a good friend.”

“Anything,” she vows, moving the hand from her braid to her heart. Emily stops by their table with the violently colorful drink in hand, shoots him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, before whisking off to another table. He picks it up, takes a sip.

The lighter, orange-yellow layers taste of pineapple and tropical fruits, Ginger Island. It deepens as the bottom begins to mix in; that thick, heady indigo syrup, and by the time he reaches the bottom, it is entirely bitter, thick and sharp and acidic. This is what storms must taste like, he thinks, lightning sparking on his tongue, bright ozone filling his lungs. This is what your final moments must have tasted like. A final lick of the salt around the rim, a gulp of seawater, and it’s an altogether full experience.

He almost calls his compliments to Gus, good on distilling death at sea into a drink, but then it occurs to him that that probably wasn’t the man’s intention.

“Written anything lately?” Leah asks, around a bite of her salad. He tilts his head, thinking.

“Lots of horror. Not so much else.”

“Oh?” She perks up. “I like horror. It’s been too long since you’ve let me read one of your manuscripts.”

“They’re in the ocean,” he says, “but it’s hard, capturing what it feels like to die. When the ship begins to crack. I’ve never experienced it, obviously. If only I could ask…”

“Okay,” Leah says, voice dropping a few notes, “okay, Elliott, no more of that. Please.”

He flushes faintly. “My apologies. It is simply… inspiration is a fickle thing.”

“Really is,” she replies, but the tenuous sort of mood has snapped in half. He leaves not much later, passing his empty cup to Gus, taking the well-wishes of the others with a simple nod of his head. Back down to the beach, back to the waves that tear at the sand.

Sometimes—and these are the thoughts that he voices to nobody—he wonders if you are truly dead, if you are not somehow alive. Not in the fanciful, swam your way back to dry land sort of way, but instead, it’s some amalgamation of mermaid stories, of life breathed into you, of becoming one with the sea. Harvey tells him that this is normal—I’m not technically a psychiatrist, but from what I know…—but he feels so certain, some days, that it threatens to burst through his chest.

The only festival he’s attended this past year is the Night Market in winter. Not to peruse those exotic wares, even to take part in the free coffee. No—he made a straight beeline for the mermaid’s caravan, stepping into that thin wooden boat, shells hanging from the walls.

He did not even wait for her, the frontwoman, skin bright and soft as white taffeta, shimmering with a faint iridescence, to begin her song. Instead, he asked, “in the sea, how do you… become a mermaid?”

She turned to her sisters or companions or whoever they were, behind her, and they all chittered for a moment in a curt language that he had no frame of reference for. Not even in all his childhood study of such languages, Ferngillian and Gotoron and all those different tongues, had he encountered something like that.

Eventually, she turned back, said, “No, we are birthed.”

He saw that, after a moment. Eyes a touch too white, skin faintly translucent, many odd, small details that hinted at inhumanity. Only a pale imitation—or maybe humanity was a pale imitation of them—but there’s no alley of transformation there. Of course, then, he had to ask, “then, is there any way to… to evolve enough to survive the sea?”

Another round of chittering. This one sounded distinctly like laughter.

“No,” she replied, when she finally turned back, “no, landfolk, no.”

All that to say that both alleyways of comprehension—that of Harvey’s scientific method, and the magick of the merfolk—have refuted his hypothesis, and he’s just a fool, a lovestruck idiot who has not yet moved past the first stage of grief.

Your first kiss was upon a boat. Leah chewed him out, later, gave him a long lecture upon the implications of taking a single woman onto the water and kissing her but you’d been quite receptive at the time. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to move on.

When he remembers you, he remembers the seafleck salt upon your lips, remembers the damp hems of his pants and the brine in the air. You are the sea and the sea is you, undeniably intertwined, and all this was just both parts of you reconjoining at once.

—

Willy’s birthday, 24th of Summer, comes, passes. He’s sitting on the docks, alternating between taking light sips from Leah’s most recent bottle and pouring shots out into the sea, when Linus suddenly sits himself down beside him. Next to Linus, Clint, and finally Marlon on the far side.

“Are we interrupting?” Linus asks. Elliott shakes his head. Behind them, Willy’s shop looms, dark-windowed, beast with eyes hidden behind their lids.

“He was a good man,” Marlon says after a moment, “took us across the sea more than once. Would’ve liked to die on the water, if you pardon me saying.”

Clint hums in agreement. “Told me to just… y’know, roll him into the surf when he keeled over. Uh, I always thought he was crazy, but…”

“And she,” Marlon adds, referring to you, “brave ‘un too. If a storm was somethin’ you could fight, she’d’ve come back no worse for wear.”

Dawn is upon them before they’re even done swapping stories, the bottle empty, all those many drops poured for Willy to drink, eventually, wherever he is. They stumble back to their respective homes, but Elliott remains on the dock. The air is charged not only from the weight of a thousand recollections, but something else, something bright and salty and there are only a few days left, now, only a few days left.

—

A storm. Promised by the newfound height of the waves, grasping at the lip of the dock, by the pebbled clouds overhead. Elliott sits within his cabin, listening to the wind do its damn best to try and uproot the thing, and draws a monster upon the table. Today, tonight by technicality, is the anniversary, and there is none of that crushing weight he’d expected, no grief that bows his back down like a sapling.

Leah makes it to his cabin by mid-day, when the winds are just beginning to pick up. “Hey,” she tells him, when he opens the door, “I think your house might blow down. Do you want to come back to my place?”

“No,” he replies, looking not at her but instead over her shoulders, at the ocean beyond. “No.”

“If you’re sure,” she says doubtfully. Gives him a hesitant pat on the shoulder, “just don’t blow away, ‘kay? I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll try my best.”

She leaves after only one more reproachful look over her shoulder, braid whipping about in the breeze. For lack of anything better to do, he sits himself down in front of a small mirror, and begins to work back through his hair. If he closes his eyes… well, if he closes his eyes, then it’s nowhere near the sensation of your fingers working through his hair, primarily because he needs to positively yank to untangle some of these knots, but it reminds him of that feeling, anyways.

Often, it was the prelude to things. Him, sprawled out in bed, head upon your lap, while you worked your fingers through his scalp, scratching lightly enough to make his back arch in search of more. Then, of course, inevitably, it would turn to kissing, to the warmth of your tongue and the press of his body upon yours, hands still entangled in his hair. To him within you, suit discarded somewhere upon the floor, skin to skin in all the closest of ways.

Outside, thunder cracks, and lightning flashes like the whip of some storm god overhead. He runs his fingers through his hair one final time, moving to the window. The waves are dark and obsidian, an infinite tar pit with many primeval beasts rotting within, mesozoic creatures under the coruscant sun, and there is something, there is a shape beneath the waves.

He presses a palm to the window. Watches.

It rises like a buried God, head breaking the surface, then body, torso and hips and legs until it is shedding the last of the sea, still walking steadily across the beach.

It looks at him.

You look at him, and he knows.

Elliott rushes to the door and flings it open, allowing the wind to bunch and unfurl into the house, send his papers scattering, but none of that matters because it is you, you the same and different all at once. Hair plastered to your cheeks and your neck, naked, dripping. As you draw closer, more details make themselves clear, more strangeness. Your left eye is entirely gone, nothing but a gaping hole, and the skin of your right cheek has been superseded by the iridescence of scales—indeed, they run down your arms too, coil around your legs. Some of your skin is rocky, barnacled, made up of nothing but gray crag, but you are too close to turn back, and he would not turn back either way.

Only when you are right before him do you pause. Part of your upper lip has been torn away by a predator in the depths, and the teeth it reveals are jagged, barbed.

“You’re back,” he says. You fall forwards, into his arms, bracing yourself only once he has stumbled back under the brunt of your weight. A long moment is dedicated simply to holding you, to breathing in the briny scent of your skin, running his fingers down the slickness of the scales that line your skin.

And then, you look up at him, singular remaining eye wide. He notices that there are small threads of gossamer substance entangled throughout your hair, and, when he looks closer, they have eyes too, many small pinpricks looking back at him.

“Where have you been?” He asks. You tilt your head a fraction of a fraction, almost imperceptible, open your mouth to reveal those long, sharp teeth, and beyond them, a tongue that is black as coal, blending into the darkness that falls upon the back of your throat. Close it with a snap. He reaches out, uses a light finger to trace that ragged bit of flesh where your face was torn apart and you duck instinctively, shy.

“No,” he says, “no, no,” reaching a hand beneath your chin to tilt your face back up, “you’re beautiful. Still. Did you get my letter? I’ll always love you.”

You do not blink. The pupil of that eye is slitted now, like a snake’s, a goat’s, and he could not care less. He runs his hands down your side, over the rocky bits that stick out from your waist, ducks his head so his forehead can settle against yours.

“So much has changed,” he whispers, “I can’t write without you, you know. You’re my muse. I miss you terribly, every second, every day.”

Your hands, clawed, tighten around his side. He dips a bit lower, lips to yours, waits a fraction of a second to see if you’ll draw away—if you’re different now, if you are nothing but unfeeling sea—but no, your grip tightens once again, grabbing handfuls of his suit jacket, and you lean up. When your tongues meet, it is a bit of a shock, slippery with some bitter sort of mucous. Reminds him of Gus’s drink. Reminds him of death at sea. Reminds him that, no matter what, he still has you here and relatively whole before him, so none of that matters, and he takes it in stride, deepening the kiss.

He cuts himself on your teeth, he’s pretty sure, because the taste of copper fills both your mouths, but that is of little matter and little consequence, simply another flavor to this kiss. Se maneuvers you slowly to the bed, wetting his sheets, tracking sand in, and has he not already established that none of this matters?

Slowly, you pull him down, dipping until your back lays flat upon the sheets, hand wandering to run up and down his back in an almost wondrous way. Maybe you are just as surprised to see him as he is for you. Maybe both of you have been lost in equal ways, land and sea, forever separated by that line in the sand. As the shock of initial embrace wears off, there comes the new realization that you are in fact naked, and you are pulling him towards you. He draws back for only a second to shuck off his suit and, with fumbling fingers, unbutton the seam of his pants, kicking them off. The area around your mouth is stained with red and black and still slick with seawater. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

Soon, he’s unclothed as well, and hardly a moment is wasted in pulling him back. Though you are not entirely flesh anymore, the parts he is interested in are all seemingly intact. Not that he’d mind if they weren’t. He’s determined enough to find a way. He starts with first a hand, but you make a quick movement, angling your chin towards him, and so he withdraws that and thrusts in fully instead, into the smoothness of your warmth. His hand, he moves back up to your chest, rubbing in slowly-expanding circles. When he reaches the patch of scales beneath your armpit, you huff out a quiet breath, and then, as he begins to scratch along their seams, you begin to writhe, so he lingers.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, and he’s said this already, but you are not here to stay, he knows. Just a slip of seafoam in the breeze, the briefness of a late-summer storm, “it’s why I stay, so I can be-” you clench, and he loses track of his words for a brief moment—“-be here, with the sea, with you. I wade, sometimes, and pretend that it is an embrace.”

Overtly wordy confession of love when you are saying nothing at all, but the tail end of his words coincides with you tensing beneath him, so perhaps it had an effect after all. He tips over the edge in unison, both of you free-falling, and you bite into his neck with those sharp teeth, hard enough that blood immediately wells up and stains the sheet. Another dimension of pleasure, in such an adrenaline-hazed state, the spike of salt at the end of a long drink.

Coming down is an exercise in drowsiness and the slow return of pain, both in his tongue and upon his neck, both lacerated by your teeth. His hair is matted in sweat and seawater and blood, spread out across the sheets, and you take to combing through it. When your newfound claws scratch against his scalp, it makes him shiver in something approaching rapture. Eventually, though, he cannot even stand that, too far from you, and instead turns to press his face into your chest.

He is crying, he realizes belatedly. You run a single finger down from the crown of his head to the nape of his spine, and there it lingers.

“How can I do it?” He murmurs into your chest, breath hot against your skin, “I cannot write without you, I cannot… cannot live. I wish to throw myself from the cliffs, some days. Would we be together, then?”

Your chin scrapes across his head in a negation. Whatever you did, whatever happened to allow you survival, he supposes it’s something he—boy born with an iridium spoon in his mouth, whose half-formed childhood idea of rebellion was to run off and become a hermit—would never be able to stand.

“How, then?” He asks. You rest your head upon his with a heavy weight, a heavy finality, and he knows you have no good answer. He rises after a long moment, an idea striking him—leans over, skin unsticking from yours, to grab a quill and one of the many papers scattered across the room. “Can you-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, a shrug. Whether that means that you physically cannot write, do not know how to write, or any number of possibilities between those, he’s unsure, but he deflates almost as quickly. Seeing his sudden disappointment, you hesitate, before pointing towards the letter, towards the sea.

“I should continue sending?” He asks. You nod, a small, controlled motion. “I will,” he vows immediately, “Every day, a poem, a sonnet, for you, for the sea. My… my muse, my love, my glimmering waters,” and the last bits of that devolve into nonsense as he once again buries his head against you, laps the salt from your skin.

Sleep comes with the swiftness of a storm. The last thing he recalls is saline, a sharp hand circling the top of his head.

—

The bed is cold when he wakes. He reaches, instinctively, for you, but his hands hit nothing but damp blankets.

When he finally pushes himself into a sitting position, he sees many wet puddle-footsteps leading to the open door, already soaking into the hardwood floor.

Outside, there is no difference. The sea is placid. Unfeeling.

He smiles anyways.

Returns into his cabin and pens with a fervor—a poem, firstly, long enough that it stretches across the length of the paper, and then a letter on the other side, rolls it up and sends it into the sea. Finishes it with his signature, and then, under that, love you always.

—

One last thing.

The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies comes with the last bits of dusk. More muted than usual, of course, townsfolk picking their way through the detritus of the beach, and Elliott is already upon the docks.

Lewis sends off the lantern without much ado, no ceremony or great speech, and the jellies appear as pinpricks upon the horizon that undulate, pulsing with their own internal rhythm.

But in the water off to the side of the dock, he notices something. Believes it to be a jelly, at first, but no, it’s glassy and hard and, when he reaches down to grab it, he finds that it is a bottle. One of Leah’s old ones, filled with silted seawater and a scrap of paper.

He opens it carefully, heart staccato in his chest. Out comes flooding the water over his hand, and along with it, the delicate scrap. He unfolds it as slowly as his eager hands are able, cautious not to rip it.

It’s one of his own letters. Can’t remember when he wrote it, what it was about, but there is clearly a bit of text available, framed by the ragged edges.

In familiar black script, it reads, until next year.

He watches the jellyfish slowly approach below, lit by some internal glow, and thinks that it cannot come soon enough.

#sdv elliott #stardew elliott #elliott x reader #elliott x farmer #sdv elliott x reader #fanfiction #angst #slightly offputting sea monster smut

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