#i will fight for that name to stick yall | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cosmosluckycharms · 2 months ago

Text

Bug like angel

Feeling Good today

technically just filler and for fun tbh

chatfic i know people hate them but i needed more spiderkids crumbs

idk if people wanted to be tagged in this since technically there wasnt a plot so no tags for rn ig

this was okay idk i hate it

lots of stupid brainrot prolly unfunny but i had fun with this

also pavitr and reader can break the 4th wall dont think too hard abt it

Y/N L/N Made a group chat

Y/N L/N Added Hobart Brown

Y/N L/N Added Pavitr Prabhakar

Y/N L/N Added Miles Morales

Y/N L/N Added Gwen Stacy

Y/N L/N Added Peni Parker

Y/N L/N added Margo Kess

Y/N L/N Changed their name to y/n

y/n: hey guys

Pavitr changed their name to Pav

Gwen Stacy changed their name to Gwen

Miles Morales changed their name to Miles

Hobart Brown changed their name to Hobie

Margo Kess changed their name to Margo

Peni Parker changed their name to Peni

y/n changed Peni's name to Penjamin

Penjamin: what (　｀□´)

Peni Parker changed their name to Peni

y/n changed Peni's name to Penjamin Penjamin: BR9

BRO*

Penjamin changed their name to peni

y/n changed peni's name to penjamin

penjamin changed their name to peni

y/n changed peni's name to penjamin

penjamin changed their name to peni

y/n changed peni's name to penjamin

penjamin changed their name to peni

y/n changed peni's name to penis

penis: ill stick to penjamin ig (｡-｀へ´-｡)

y/n: LMFAOOOOOO

y/n changed penis's name to peni

peni: YAY

y/n: peni doesnt look like a real word anymore

miles: why r u guys awake its like 2 am

y/n: dont worry about it

gwen: no but like actually

why r u awake

ur a sleepy person

y/n: dude its cause like

my family is so fuckinf loud it actually pisses me off

like idgaf what yall do stop screaming

stop cryin and start grinding

miles: LMFAOO

what r they even doing

y/n: damian and jason r fighting like full on fist fighting

tim is yelling over not being able to do his work

dick is tryna defuse the situation

bruce is brooding also tryna calm everything down

and alfred js pmo

gwen: not the alfred stray

miles: guys

wanna sneak out

we should all like

go to see a movie

y/n: omg ur so right

guys

@.everyone

qho can comw

miles: who* can*

y/n: KILL YOURSELF

miles: WOWWWW OKAY DIE I GUESS

anyway

@.everyone

peni: i can! (*･ω･*)

gwen: same

margo: me too

y/n: RARE MARGO APPEARANCE!!!!!!

margo: rare margo appearance!

pav: i can also come! can we sneak snacks in?

y/n: HI PAVIIII and yessss

hobie: lets sneak in

margo: no lets use y/ns dads credit card

we hate that guy

gwen: wait we should

@.y/n

y/n: what

HELL YEAH i love spending his money

hes too rich

miles: throwback to back when we all used his money to get us tickets to concerts lmfao

pav: #ihatebrucewayne

y/n: LMFAOOO ty twin ily

ur so funny pavi please dont get run over by a horse carriage

pav: ???

hobie: what movie

y/n: idk lets freeball it

miles: meet me in my universe

pav: Y/N WHAT DO YOU MEAN DONT GET RUN OVERARE YOU PLOTTING SOMETHING

y/n: dont worry about it

y/n: hi guys

guys i just made a rly good tamale

miles:tyler the creator reference

y/n: I LOVE THAT SONG

throwback to when pavi literally almost burnt my kitchen down

pav: THAT WAS ONE TIME

y/n: DUDE ISTG UR LUCKY MY FAMILY WASNT HOME AND I DISABLED THE CAMERAS

they prolly wouldve grounded me

miles: i wish they grounded youWOAAAHHH WHO SAID THAT

y/n: miles remember who got you and gwen to datedont play with me rn

miles: i stand by what i said

gwen: miles stop teasing y/n

miles: id like to apologize.

margo: LMFAOOOOOO

peni: NOT THE SWITCH UPP

y/n: i DONT forgive you

miles: aight lets fight

y/n: OH BRIELLA WAITI NEED THAT!

miles: oh dear

margo: you guys are so brainrotted i fear

hobie: right

y/n: hobie where have you beenyou ahvent been in this chat lately

hobie: dont worry about it

Miles: my dad js bought me a bunch of markers

Y/N: whats that

whats a 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻

gwen: STOPP

margo: i can feel the pain in her dih🥀

y/n: nah 🥀 she 🥀 got 🥀you 🥀 blushin 🥀 twin 🥀 aw 🥀hell 🥀naw 🥀twin 🥀 you 🥀gotta 🥀 lock up 🥀 twin 🥀bruh🥀 this 🥀ain’t 🥀 even 🥀you 🥀twin 🥀on 🥀fomeon🥀grave 🥀bruh 🥀euuahhhh

peni: GOODBYE

y/n: dude i got into an argument with my school councler like a year ago cause i said my family was pissing me off and neglecting melike js cause my fathers the richest man ever does NOT make me like him

"hes family" he can smd

margo: your whole family pisses me off

y/n: i hate them all

one time damian dropped a vase and blamed it on tim who blamed it on me

and THEN when i argued and proved myself right i still got in trouble.

miles: im on thar good koosh and alekhauwl

y/n: die

peni: have you guys seen my remote

for my tv

gwen: peni your technology is like a million years away from ours

why would we have it

miles: didnt you leave it inside your jewlery box

margo: my jewl

peni: YOU WERE RIGHT THANK YOU MILES (/--)/

miles: yw (^.^)

hobie: i just blew up a car

gwen: can i have it

hobie: no its mine

gwen: sigh

hey y/n

youve been quiet for a while

r u ok

miles: yeah lowk im worried

margo: y/n r u dead

peni: she probably is

y/n is typing...

hobie: oh boy here we go

y/n: guys i am hiding in a vent in my closet rn damian chased me cause i called him an asshole and he has a katana help

gwen: oh my god??? are you??? okay???

y/n: help yes i am okay i just panicked and ran into a wall my nose bleeding help

pav: im omw

y/n: I JUST SLIPPED ON MY NOSW BLEED BLOOD LKFAOOOOO

miles: bro 😭

y/n: guys im okay now damian called me pathetic and walked away mopping the blood rn

margo: how are you always hurting yourself

y/n: parker luck

y/n: guys pavi literally cursed me

pav: ?

y/n: im a really good cook as you guys know

and a really good baker cause yk all neglected reader stories make the reader a baker for some reason

gwen: ???what

pav: YOU CAN BREAK THE 4RTH WALL TOO?? I THOUGHT ONLY I COULD DO THAT

y/n: YESSSSS I THOUGHT I WAS GOINF INSANE

we got twin telepathy fr

pav: real

y/n: anyways

pav cursed me now i js almost burnt down the kitchen

its a good thing miguels on speed dial i almost burnt down the manor with me in it

pav: I DID NOT CURSE YOU

y/n: YOU DIDYOU RUINED MY KITCHEN

pav: I DID NOT GWEN SEND HER AWAY TO JAIL AND HAVE HER IMPRISONED 😡😡😡😡

gwen: WHY ME

y/n: you and margo r the only responsible ones here

miles: im responsible!

y/n: me when i lie

miles: die

i hope you uhhhhh get chased again by damian again

y/n: you guys dont know true fear until your youngest sibling chases you with a long knife

y/n: miles i have a bone to pick with you

miles: its not even 1 pm yet what did i do

y/n: YOU STOLE THE COOKIES I BAKED FOR UR PARENTS HO

miles: ya and id do it again

y/n: you pmo me off

miles: fuck u

(image.jpeg)

y/n: STOP NO DELETE THAT

gwen: AW WAIT THATS CUTE

margo: cutie

peni: the image wont load for me what is it

pav: ITS Y/N SLEEPING ON MIGUELS SHOULDERS

peni: OHHHHHH

y/n: i see how it is

(image.jpeg)

miles: WHERED YOU GET THAT FROM

peni: my phone is tweaking what is it

gwen: MILES UR SO CUTE

pav: its a pic of miles asleep at his dads desk 😭

miles: Y/N WHEN DID U TAKE THAT

y/n: dont worry about it

peni: im cryinf this is so silly

y/n: penjamin you are NOT safe

(image.jpeg)

peni: MY PHONE IS TWEAKING is it the pic of me on noirs back

pav: yes

peni: i knew it isighwait NOOOO NOT PENJAMIN

y/n: peni penjamin we r so back

hobie: girl scout cookies

margo: preach

y/n: never heard anything truer

gwen: i believe in you

pav: proud of you

peni: can i have one

miles: girl cookie scout

pav: do you all notice you all have a spider parent besides me and margo and hobie

gwen: huh

pav: miles has peter b, gwen you have jess, y/n has miguel, and peni is greedy and has 2 which are noir and ham

margo: damn share with the class peni

peni: those are MY DADS (＾ω＾)

y/n: miguel is saved as 'spider-dad' on my phone

hes actually my emergency contact

miles: im peter b's emergency contact that man is always up to something

gwen: jess is like my 2nd emergency contact

margo: whats the order

gwen: miles (♡) jess and my dad in that order

y/n: wowwww so not me

gwen: girl you are the emergency

y/n: die ho die

y/n: miles

miles

miless

miles: what

y/n: whats ur mom making tonight

miles: yeah im doing great thanks for asking

y/n: shut up and tell me

miles: lemme check

arroz con gandules

y/n: im coming over

miles: no youre not

y/n: yeah i am

miles: i hate you

y/n: lyt

im so happy your mom cooks i love puerto ricans

miles: die

the chatfic no one asked for and no one needed

also prolly highkey ooc cause its a crackchatfic and im half asleep

guys im actually working on the next chapter i swear

no taglist cause i dont think anyone wanted this

#spider bat!reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batsis #bruce wayne x daughter reader #yandere batfam #platonic batfam #batfam x neglected reader #neglected reader #miles morales #gwen stacy #peni parker #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #margo kess #ghostflower #bruce wayne x child reader #fem reader #spider reader

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meganegatari · 17 days ago

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EATING ELLIE OUT FROM THE BACKKK!!

idk if you’ve written this but omg she’d be the biggest mess crying into her pillow

eek sorry for the wait!! have been sitting on this for a while, but the loveliest, most genius ever @bloodstainedsapphic helped out SO MUCH by offering her skills to create a backstory and introduction + proofread the rest! once again i need to see yall showing her all the love or else, kay? i luv u lyssbug ♡

nsfw drabble—what the ask says, lol. dom!reader x sub!ellie, bratty!ellie, horndog!ellie acting up in public, praise & degradation, restraints ("scratchy rope"), fingering + oral, slight spanking (like once), edging, overstimulation...all e! receiving. this is so filthy i'm almost embarrassed...jfc. ++ 2k wc.

it had all started during dinner with your friends, earlier in the evening. your group was tucked into a corner booth, sharing stories and spouting nonsense like usual. you had noticed something…off, about ellie tonight, to say the least. not that she ever was miss sunshine, but her attitude all throughout was surly, dishing out tons of lip for the most innocuous comments and tamest teases.

you shot her a side-long glance and quirked your brow while your friends were distracted, trying to decipher the stick clearly lodged up her ass. ellie stares dead ahead, chewing on her lip, intent on avoiding your silent wrath.

you let it slide. for the moment.

but then, a few minutes later, the hand she’d casually snaked behind you—resting harmlessly on your hip—suddenly tightened. her fingers dug in without warning, then slid down your thigh in one brash sweep, topped with a cocky little squeeze. you’d have leapt from your seat and yelped had it not been for your audience.

she liked to keep a hand on you, but this? the deliberately possessive gesture was far too much for a dinner with your unassuming friends.

“ellie? what the fuck is wrong with you tonight?” you turn on her the second the restaurant door clicks shut behind you two, ready to head back to your place.

ellie gives you an eyeroll. “jesus. dramatic much? i have no clue what you’re talking about.”

oh. that wasn’t going to work on you, not one bit. you tugged at her shirt sleeve, yanking her to face you. “ellie..”

her green-speckled eyes flicked to yours, paired with the rush of pink blossoming on her cheeks that told on her. her insolence? the brattiness? it had all been an act. a test to goad your patience.

“so what? i just got bored, okay? i wanted to go home.”

“and what, ellie? go home and do what?” your lips tipped into a sly smirk. “you need something, baby?”

ellie’s throat bobs, like she can’t convince herself to admit to you what she had really been craving all night long. that she was needy for. you lean in, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“you wanted to act like a brat tonight? just to get my attention?”

a pause. a heartbeat. her silence is answer enough.

“mm. cute.”

ellie avoids eye contact, fisting her pajama shorts, shifting uncomfortably against herself. she's mumbling under her breath—a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity. she starts to shrug off her clothes, not even attempting to hide her neediness under the previously defined attitude.

you give in.“yeah, okay. but turn around. ass up ellie, c'mon now.”

and now you're here, with ellie's body bare as the day she was born beneath you, her pert ass up in the air and pretty face shoved into the first pillow you grabbed. her wrists are tied and fighting against the scratchy restraints. you eye her dripping hole and trace your hand along the curve of her back, pushing her arch deeper.

the dim lamplight highlights just how badly she needs you, globs of glistening slick running down the back of her exposed freckly thighs, legs trembling ever so slightly. you can hear her whimpering already, if you strain.

“need me that bad, huh? wow, such a slut.” you sneer at the girl, taunting her to work her up even more. when the degrading name hits ellie's ears, she keens forward, mewling into the fabric, hands madly fidgeting against the rope. her tone is already raw, needy, and you haven't even touched her yet.

“will you do it already?” she asks you, twisting her torso around so she can glare daggers your way; or at least that's what energy she thinks she's giving off. ellie's willow green eyes are watering and her mouth is pursed, her doll-like features knitted into a purely pathetic expression. you were having a hard time not giving in and pleasing her, but the way she acted still hung heavy at the forefront of your mind.

“we're gonna do this my way, alright? be patient.” to emphasize the seriousness of your words, you give her a light smack on her ass cheek, to act as a warning. she yelps at the sudden contact, but keeps pushing. ellie was so full of attitude sometimes, you wonder where it all fits within her frame. she turns back to stuff her face in the pillow and grumbles, “fuck you, you've got me tied up and all bent over like this…jeez. the least you could is—fuck me, ahh—!!” you cut her off by shoving your middle two digits inside her sopping pussy, filling her up to the knuckle.

your own tone deepens, and you warn her again. but more sternly, “watch your mouth.”

“mmf- fine. just— keep going, please.” you could almost hear her eyes rolling back in her skull, even though you couldn't see her face.

your mouth curls into a mean smirk at her immediate submission, she was so easy to mold and you loved that about her. little touches would send her into the state immediately; toying with her was just the most fun. you're grateful she's turned away, because seeing how much you're enjoying this would cause her to hold back—and that's the very last thing you'd ever want. after all, her pleasure is your pleasure. every whine, every moan and whimper and cry…pure divinity.

ellie's breathing picks up, you see her shift in position as well, ever so slightly, just so she could covertly get you in deeper. her statuesque arch wanes while she pushes her perky chest into the mattress, her bent knees shifting further apart, simultaneously angling the front of her pelvis more outward for you.

such a feisty being, who knew she was such a whore for you?

she sighs at your intrusion, lightly squirming to get some friction. wordlessly, you let her, your free hand joining and making contact with her swollen bud—the most gentle touch on top, lighter than a feather or a summer breeze. her facade cracks even more, “please- more, i need it,”

but because ellie is, well, ellie, she summons what little fight in her she has left to throw at you with a light toss of her ass, “hahh—c'mon, you know you want to.”

your patience thins, and you exercise your control over her by bending your fingers inside her to find the spongy spot that makes her drool and you poke at it—she cracks.

dribbles of sweet slick continue to pour out of her and coat your hand, paired with whiny, high pitched moans. “thats it, fuck- yeah—right there…right there…mmh…”

you're almost concerned she's somehow going to break the restraints holding her wrists together, the way she's wiggling about. you continue your onslaught inside her, the squelching sounds of her soaked core damn near overpowering her inconsolable cries into the pillow.

she begins to shake and beg you even louder than before, “please—fuck- , yeah! ah, ah, ah-!” you watch her intently and feel the way her velvety walls clench around your digits, so you know she's close to the sweet release she's been craving all this time. you on the other hand, wanted to fuck with her some more—literally and figuratively. her stressed hole pulses, almost trapping your fingers inside her and she pushes back against you, impudently leaking like a faucet.

a moan gets caught in her throat but before she has a chance to fall off that pleasurable edge you pull out—leaving her empty and squeezing around nothing but air. she slurs into the pillow, her voice breaking mid-sob, “what the fuck...you evil bitch, i was about to cum…” oh she was pissed.

her body trembles once more, but more from the sexual craving than anything else. “you will, you will. patience, babe. remember?” you lean forward on top of her so your chest is flush against her clammy, speckled back and you whisper, “we're doing this my way.”

she sighs and gives up protesting, you hear a little sound of defeat. with a fed up groan, “i'm sorry, okay? jeez, fuck. i'll be more patient.”

“good girl, that's what i wanted to hear.” you clap your palms around the swell of her hips, pulling her ass towards you. time to get your meal. you bury your face in her heat, your mouth filling with the sweet taste of her syrupy anticipation.

your nose prods at her tight hole while your tongue works away at her cushy folds, your hands kneading her supple thighs and keeping her nice and spread wide for you. and ellie? she's just about losing her damn mind. squealing and shivering— the sensations reverberating through her.

the earlier teasing had made her so sensitive, you could feel her core fluttering against your skilled mouth already. bordering on screaming, she writhes and deepens her catlike arch even more, showcasing flexibility you didn't know she possessed.

she was still burying her face into the pillow, soaking it with salty tears and crying into it like a bitch in heat. you finally gave her throbbing clit some attention, pressing on the burning bundle of nerves with the pad of your thumb. whatever she's trying to tell you has morphed into unintelligible babbles paired with the most raunchy whines, you didn't understand a thing. but you knew how to read her body language. she was about to reach the peak once more, her cries turning shrill and needy at the overstimulation. her taste is getting stronger too, going from dainty and saccharine to rich and ambrosial; yet another telltale sign.

“fuck! wait— ohmygod…hhhhn” she careens forward again, succumbing to the mind-numbing pleasure. the orgasm rips through her lithe frame, ricocheting at such a force that would make armored knights submit. her warm release bubbles out of her overworked pussy and coats your face, coming out in ragged spurts. the pillow does next to nothing when it comes to muffling her noises, she was still so, so loud. the lungs on this woman, you thought.

pistoning your tongue in and out of her, simultaneously rubbing her flushed clit works her through the waves of ecstasy—but you weren't done yet.

you ease up on the pressure but keep your caresses the same speed, until within no time at all she shrieks and squirts all over you, slick dripping down your fingers and her legs, even running down your neck.

the scene was so animalistic, so raw and lustful, it was almost shameful. at this point she's wrung of all she can produce, shaking like a leaf and weakly weeping. you snapped out of your pussydrunk haze, smoothing your palms over her rather tense muscles.

ellie looks angelic. laid on the bed like this, ass to the heavens, a sheen of sweat coating her speckled body—as ethereal as can be.

you quickly undo the rope around her wrists, bending over to kiss the sore, irritated skin. taking notice of her deep breathing, she seemed at peace now—all fucked out. definitely learned her lesson.

you soothe some more, “did so good for me els, so good.”

she moves into a comfortable position and lets you cuddle up with her, giggling like her head is in the clouds.

but of course, her attitude returns momentarily. “had i known that was my ‘punishment’ for being silly,” she adds air quotes around the stressed word, “i'd act up even more.”

she was being cocky, considering the way she was certainly conjuring up a noise complaint and sniveling like crazy.

a guffaw tears itself from you. did she really want to hold you to that?

taglist: @limerlove @ch6douin @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @littlefallenangel111 @witchyblade @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @marsworlddd @caszzine @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @aylabv02108 @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @imdrowningindespair @sevyscoven @culuvr @meow4510 @antobooh @valiantcycleflower @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @infiniteinquiries @mimasroom2 @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @autisticintr0vert @mellifluousgirll @uhhscarr @sozvuchiy @kaykeryyy @zzombiegirl @jbimsorry @dearangxl @spncrrdlvr @thatgyalfisher @moony143 @vahnilla @ally-all-around @roseannih @viscupcakezz @ustakesis @lovelyy-moonlight @xysbree @abbysunderwear @i-dont-know-00 @lyzaxoxo

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leclercwriting · 10 months ago

Text

leo leclerc | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

you and charles get a dog together and you come out as a couple

masterlist

y/n.user

liked by francisca.cgomes, yourbff1 and 12,547 others

caption: find yourself a man who buys you a dog xx

view all comments

francisca.cgomes: when is my time :(

y/n.user: @ pierregasly buy her a dog!

pierregasly: on it

yourbff1: omg he's grown so muuch. I remember him as a little babyy

y/n.user: yeaah:(( i miss my little doggie. now he's a crazy dog, and he barks all the time

user83: what is his name?

f1fanpage: I heard that his name is leo or something like that. But she never said it publicly

user93: she's getting princess treatment. I need to find a man like this

landonorris: I want to take photos of your new family member

y/n.user: hmm he's pretty photogenic so that's not gonna be a problem

user24: OMG IS THE DOG LANDO'S AND Y/N'S??

f1gossip: there's no way that they're dating lol

charles_leclerc

liked by y/n.user, pierregasly and 345,738 others

caption: my babies. the leclerc family

view all comments

y/n.user: ugh I look so bad in the first photo

charles_leclerc: but leo looks cute

y/n.user: I hate you. if you don't want me to post you playing football, then you should consider how you're going to apologise

user34: I LOVE HER. SHE'S SO ICONIC

maxverstappen1: I fear that she ate him up

user34: max?!

user94: I want what they have

francisca.cgomes: can you fight charles?

charles_leclerc: I mean maybe, why?

francisca.cgomes: I want your gf and dog

pierregasly: I'm gonna buy you that dog kika. just wait, no need for violence

user85: can we talk about how they haven't publicly said the dog's name? does anyone know what he's called?! :((

y/n.user: his name is leo leclerc xx

user93: omg I love that name!!

charles_leclerc: she picked it and I love it too

y/n.user

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 233,485 others

caption: i enjoyed the summer break with the loves of my life. we took leo to the trainer so he doesn't bark at people randomly, lol. anyway, I'm announcing that pierre finally bought kika dog!! his name is simba. yall wait for puppy dates xx

view all comments

charles_leclerc: I love you mon amour

y/n.user: love you more ❤️

maxverstappen1: Ugh, too much

user83: max is secretly a shipper of them. I'm just saying

maxverstappen1: naah. I just love the dog

francisca.cgomes: simba can't wait to meet leo

charles_leclerc: and leo can't wait to meet simba

y/n.user: simba is so cutee and small

user838: we NEED to see simba and leo content. Also ROSCOE

y/n.user: I already texted lewis and he said that next time in the paddock leo and Roscoe can see each other

user39: OMGGG I CANT WAIT

charles_leclerc: ferrari dogs

charles_leclerc and lewishamilton

liked by y/n.user, landonorris and 987,939 others

caption: next years ferrari duo. dog dads

view all comments

y/n.user: they are so cute. Leo is having his ADHD moment while roscoe is chilling 😭

lewishamilton: roscoe is like a dog grandpa compared to leo

maxverstappen1: i love roscoe

user84: max is so random lol

landonorris: I need to tell oscar to buy a dog so we can have mclaren duo dogs

charles_leclerc: lando, you stick to your goldfish

landonorris: I DONT HAVE A GOLDFISH

oscarpiastri: he had a goldfish..

user29: I love how random the comments are. since y/n became a wag every f1 driver is in hers and charles' comments

user49: we love the ferrari duo!

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ang3ltine · 4 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬 - ft Se mi x wife reader

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: A cute little headcanon of what domestic life with Se mi as your partner would be like ♡

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: suggestive themes, but that's pretty much it

☆After getting married, Se mi was the one who suggested that you two should buy an apartment instead of renting to save money, so that's exactly what you did.

☆ It took some time, but you two finally bought your dream apartment with a cute private rooftop that has a nice view of the city.

☆ Let's just pretend in this universe, Se mi didn't have to join the games and isn't in dept. In this case, you guys would be pretty well off. I feel like Se mi would be an amazing partner and very supportive of you and your decisions!

☆ Se mi is a tattoo artist while you worked at a boutique that you own. You both take turns to see each other during break since you two worked close by. Your coworkers definitely envied you whenever Se mi came over to the boutique to see you xd

☆ Whenever it's someone's turn to cook, someone else has to clean the dishes after. That's the only rule in the household. Also you two take turns on cooking depending on the rota you guys make for the week.

☆ Honestly Se mi looks so good with just a plain white long sleeve top that she has rolled up above her elbows. While her sweatpants sits low on her hips and her dark hair sticks to her forehead due to the steam from the pot. It's such a turn on but you'd never admit that to her.

"Hm? What're you staring at babe?" Se mi smirked slightly as she felt your burning eyes from behind.

"Uhmm nothing...? Just admiring the view, hehe."

☆ Yall definitely got a black cat from an adoption centre nearby and named her Boo. She's super playful, just like Se mi! You were honestly surprised as to how similar the two were. But you're not one to complain.

☆ Se mi is surprisngly super clingy at home, even though she acts all cool she's a softie inside. Absolutely loves cuddling on the sofa or in bed and can never keep her hands to herself.

☆ Expect makeout sessions on the kitchen counter top or have lazy morning intimacy in bed and Se mi won't let you leave unless you protest alot.

"Can we please stop now..?"

You huffed as you weakly tried pushing your lover off your body who had you trapped beneath her. Not having enough strength due to the sheer amount of pleasure you had been receiving from her.

"Uh uh, not yet Sweets, we're only getting started"

☆ Se mi doesn't mind you bringing friends over, even if they're guys. However, if she sees a guy who clearly knows you're in a relationship try and make advances on you then she'll step in. She trusts you completely, but not the sleeze bag. Don't expect him to leave without a bruise or two, depending on how persistent he was.

☆ It's normal for couples to fight in a relationship but you two don't do it often. Whenever you do, Se mi does everything she can to apologise, however, if you're in the wrong she'll point it out without making the situation worse. Will comfort you after if you're upset and take you out on a date to cheer you up.

☆ Date nights are the best as you guys are often busy throughout the day. Sometimes you'd hang out in the nearby park or go to the convenience store and just catchup. Or you'd have a movie marathon where you'd cuddle on the couch, sometimes leading to more if you're in the mood.

☆ Bathtime/showers with Se mi are often calm and relaxing. If she was feeling playful then she'd have you writhing under her touch, either from a tickle attack or coming on her fingers.

☆ Like I mentioned before, both of you would definitely collect figurines, so you two definitely go to popmart together! She likes Hirono and Kubo, whereas you liked Skullpanda and Molly figurines. You'd decorate your room with showcases and get matching labubus together!!

☆ You guys are decent neighbours, and everyone seems to love you two! There weren't any complaints from them as you two are respectful and try to keep the noise down when listening to music late at night.

☆ Se mi would definitely be the one to give you the most gifts/presents whenever she has the chance to. Especially bouquets, each would be different every time but they'd be your favourite. Of course, she'd be super grateful if you did the same!

☆ Overall domestic life with Se mi would be full of surprises and she's the best partner you could ever ask for!! ♡♡

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #se mi x reader #player 380 x reader #squid game smut #squid game headcanons #player 380 #ang3ltine

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secretlyazombi3 · 3 months ago

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Nightmares... ⊹₊⟡⋆

RE4R leon x GN! Reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count: 1.5k words ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SFW, 2nd person, gender neutral reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: Leon’s no stranger to nightmares, but this time his nightmare involved you, and he needs your comfort.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: I’m so sorry for not posting for a month 😭 I genuinely have no ideas for what to write, pls send me requests yall. I just wrote this to get back into the flow of writing .

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It wasn’t unusual for Leon to fight sleep like it was his enemy. He remembered having nightmares as a kid, dreams about his parents' deaths plagued him, even when he was in college.

Raccoon City just seriously escalated things. His mind warped every memory of that damned night and looped it in his head like it was his brain’s favorite film. It was like Leon’s personal hell, and it often felt his brain was working against him.

His nightmares slightly eased up since you moved in - he felt safer with you in bed next to him. The warmth of your body next to him made his muscles relax, cuddling with you felt therapeutic.

But the nightmares didn’t stop.

This night, Leon jerked awake from his nightmare, sitting up in bed. Sweat slicked his forehead, his hair was damp and sticking to his skin.

He felt hot, but he didn’t want to throw the sheets off of himself and risk waking you.

Leon leaned back against the headboard, placing a hand on his chest as he tried slowing his breathing. He could feel his heart racing even as he assured himself it was just another stupid nightmare. A cruel prank played on him by his brain.

Leon was looking around the room, mentally naming five things he could see to try and ease his mind. Focus on anything but the dream. Ground himself back in reality.

As Leon felt around for 4 things he could touch, he finally noticed you had stirred awake from Leon jerking awake and breathing heavily.

The moonlight peeked through the blinds, giving enough light in the room for you to be able to see Leon’s pretty face. You made eye contact with him for a second, sitting up as you looked at his face - he looked so distressed. “Did I wake you?” Leon asked quietly, his voice raspy from just waking up. He gently brushed some of your hair out of your face. Even when he needed comfort, more than anything, he stayed focused on you.

“Yeah, but it’s fine.” you replied, noticing Leon’s breathing was still shaky and uneven. “Another nightmare..?” You asked. It wasn’t your first time being woken by Leon being jolted awake from a dream.

Leon nodded slightly. His expression made him look like a lost puppy.

You moved a bit closer to Leon before speaking again, “You wanna talk about it? You seem upset.” You asked as you tilted your head slightly.

Leon glanced down at the bed before looking back at you. “Yeah.. I just,” Leon started, swallowing and taking a quick deep breath before continuing. “I just had another stupid nightmare… about Raccoon City.” Leon said quietly. He ran his fingers through his hair - the hair sticking to his skin was making him feel overwhelmed on top of being hot and trapped under blankets.

“Yeah…? That must’ve been awful. I’m so sorry, Lee.” you replied quietly, watching his expression carefully.

“It was a pretty typical nightmare. I was trapped in that city, being chased by that tyrant. I saw innocents die, watched parents kill their own children, saw the city go up in flames.” Leon said. He exhaled slowly.

You nodded your head as you listened. “It’s okay…” you said, gently placing your hand on his back. “You’re safe here, okay?” you assured him. Leon looked at the bed, closing his eyes for a second and furrowing his brows as he thought about the dream. Images of dead bodies he had seen that night in Raccoon City flashed in his mind.

“I… I mean, it- it was a bit different than my normal nightmares.” Leon admitted, opening his eyes and looking back at you. He studied your face for a second.

“Yeah?” You replied, your hand stroking Leon’s back.

“Yeah. This time, you… you were there. It’s stupid because I know you weren’t actually there that night, but I guess my brain just remixed my memories..? It felt so real in the moment, I didn’t even think about how little sense it made.” Leon said.

Leon watched you tilt your head a bit as you listened to him describe his nightmare. He felt choked up seeing your face.

“You were there, in the middle of the mess. I… I was trying to help you, save you from that hell. But I couldn’t get to you in time, it-it was like I was running in slow motion, I guess is how I’d describe it.” Leon added. He sighed and shook his head.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled, looking away and towards the window. “I shouldn’t be getting upset over a damn dream.” “No, it’s not. It’s okay to be upset by a nightmare, it sounded awful. There’s nothing wrong with being upset about this. That’s just a normal response.” you assured him.

He looked back at you. His lip trembled ever so slightly. His expression stayed about the same as it always was, no real emotion on his face. You knew he hated showing any emotion.

He paused for a second before continuing. “I feel like I shouldn’t be this stressed over it, I’m a grown man, I’m not a child,” Leon said, his voice slightly cracking. He furrowed his brows as he looked at you. “Seeing your face now just makes me think of what you looked like in that dream. Screaming for me to help you. Getting brutalized by zombies…” Leon said, trailing off slightly.

He turned his head ever so slightly and the moonlight showed he had watery eyes. Tears were forming in the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t want to cry in front of you. “I regret a lot about that night. I wish I could’ve saved more people. And all those innocent families that were in that city before it was blown to ash.” Leon said. “I-I know I can’t save everyone. Trying to save just one person will lead to the deaths of hundreds of others. But if I could try to save anyone, I’d want to save you.” Leon added, his voice beginning to tremble. You continued to stroke his back. He leaned into the touch, your presence was comforting and your touch could soothe him better than anything.

“That dream reminded me that I’m a failure, I can’t save anyone, I want to protect you, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to.” Leon’s voice trembled. He felt a tear finally escape his eyes as he blinked.

“Lee..” You whispered as you noticed his tears.

He quickly wiped his face, sniffling. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” he said. He hated this feeling of vulnerability, he hated feeling weak. “No, no, it’s okay.” You assured him. He avoided your gaze, feeling embarrassed that he let someone see him cry. How could he ever even try to protect you if he was crying over a dream? “Leon, look at me, please?” you whispered, you placed your hand on his cheek and forced him to look at you.

Leon furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you, clearly fighting back even more tears. “It’s okay to cry, you don’t have to apologize for that, baby. I’m not mad at you, or upset at you or anything at you for crying.” you reassured him. “It’s normal to cry. The shit you went through is so much more than anything most people go through.” your thumb rubbed against his cheek. “You’re very strong, you know?”

Leon’s lip quivered and he shook his head.

“You are strong.” You assured him. Leon felt more tears leak. “Stronger than anyone I know. I know you want to protect me and keep me safe, but you should know I want to keep you safe too.”

Leon moved closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you. He didn’t want you to ever leave his sight. “I love you.” Leon mumbled into your neck. He inhaled your scent, which was calming. It helped him ground himself - you were here, alive, comforting him. Not being torn apart by zombies.

“I love you too.” You whispered back, your fingers combing his hair as he held you closer. “I really don’t deserve you.” Leon added. He couldn’t believe you didn’t find it embarrassing or unattractive or unmanly for crying. He gripped you tightly.

“Don’t say that.” You replied. “It’s true, you… you’re so understanding. Even though I’m being weak.”

“It’s not true. I’m not too good for you because I’m doing what any partner would do and comfort you.” Leon didn’t say anything back. He stayed there for a moment, enjoying the warmth of your body and your fingers in his hair.

Once he felt better, he laid back down in bed. He knew he’d have trouble falling back asleep, but at least he had you. You rested on top of him the rest of the night, Leon used you as a weighted blanket.

Your ear was pressed against Leon’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as he stroked your back. You shut your eyes, feeling Leon’s hand slowly stop moving and feeling Leon’s chest slowly rise and fall as he fell back asleep. Once you were sure Leon was back to sleeping peacefully, you felt like you could fall back asleep. It hurts you to see Leon always put himself down for not being able to keep you safe. You wished he could realize how protected you felt falling asleep in his arms every night.

#leon kennedy #fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 #{¬ºཀ°}¬ z writes ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

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tojisth3rdwife · 7 months ago

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Dont yall just love when Toji has you all bent up with your legs hooked over his shoulders and his big gorilla hand tight around your throat and he’s just drilling you hard as hell. Lips at your jaw, sloppy kissing your skin and asking you questions like you can do anything other than drool and moan right now.

Saying shit like “youre ‘bout to cum arent you? I can feel it, baby” while slamming all 8 inches into you and hitting your gspot and cervix with every stroke.

You’ll manage to say his name in between fighting for your life and he’ll hum against your skin like “hmm? Whats up mama?” and proceed to fuck you harder. Then he’ll feel your walls squeezing him again and he’ll chuckle breathily, warming your skin before lifting his head to get a look at you. You knew for a fact you looked crazy with yiur hair all over your head, some of it sticking to your face from sweat, babbling and crying for more. But Toji loved it. He loved feeling like he was the only one who could fuck you dumb like this.

“Squeezing my dick like youre about to cum on it. Stop fucking playing and give it to me..” he’ll smirk with that sexy hooded gaze fixed on your fucked out expression. He’ll bite his bottom lip and squeeze your throat until your eyes start rolling back, fucking you so hard that tears are rolling down and into your ears.

“Yup. I feel it. Gimme that shit. Cum on my fucking dick right fucking now. C’mon.”

“Toj..” you’ll hiccup his name just before you gush all over his thickness that never stops pounding into you. He groans your name and crinkles his brow while watching your pussy flutter around him and soak his bedsheets. He’ll laugh again and tease you a little.

“Nasty girl..so fucking nasty..” he’ll groan before letting go of your throat and pressing his elbows into the mattress on either side of your head, caging you under his hulking form and peppering your lips with tender kisses. Praising you for taking him so well and making him feel so good. How fucking pretty you are when you cum and how much he loves your pussy.

Then his kisses become even softer, and he’ll use his tongue to wet your lips and suck yours into his mouth with a low growl. Then he’ll say some sweet shit. Asking if youre ok and if you feel better now, because he usually had to fuck your attitude out of you most days. Not that he minded.

Dont you just love that?

Just me? Aw ok 🌚

#toji boyfriend #toji fanfic #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk toji #toji x you #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fluff #toji #anime #jjktoji #jjk fanfic #jjk #jjk x reader

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valeisaslut · 14 days ago

Note

is joel married? 😖

who is ellie's mother? what happend to her? was ellie even planned?!!! 😭😭😭😭

Is her official name ellie miller? is ellie williams just a pseudonym?!!

WOW LIDDY I LOVED THIS QUESTION!!!! i've been waiting to REALLY unravel ellies past and i was wondering when were yall gonna ask ab it lmao

COLLIDE ROCKSTAR!ELLIE'S BACKSTORY: DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY EDITION!

so!!! ellie was the product of one of joel’s wild rockstar one night stands. very much not planned. her mom dipped super early on—like, didn’t even try to stick around—and basically left her with joel, who, despite being a complete mess of a man, actually did raise her. but ellie always knew she wasn’t exactly “wanted” by either of them. not in the traditional, soft-family-photo-on-the-fridge kind of way. she never knew her mother, never wanted to. didn’t feel like she was missing anything and just didn’t care.

but the pain of her mom’s abandonment still lingers, quiet and buried deep in her mind, like a bruise she never touched but never actually healed.

joel and ellie had a really good relationship when she was younger. as good as it could’ve been. he wasn’t perfect—not super affectionate or emotionally open—but he showed up. he did his best. he taught her to play guitar, made pancakes every sunday morning, and called her “kiddo” like it meant something deeper than just a nickname. and she loved him for that. still does.

ellie grew up inside a damn rock music museum. joel’s mansion was less “home” and more shrine to his own legacy—walls lined with platinum records, grammys catching sunlight, mtv moonmen posted up like they were part of the family. every room had a poster of him at some legendary venue: madison square garden, glastonbury, the o2.

his name in lights. the biggest of the biggest musicians scribbled messages on his guitars, which he had over fifty of—lined up like they were sacred artifacts.

and yeah, he was a legend. ellie would sit on the stairs at night, listening to him blast his old albums on the surround system like he forgot she lived there too. sometimes she hated it. sometimes she’d mouth the lyrics and pretend she wasn’t proud. but mostly? it just made her feel like she’d never measure up. like no matter how loud she got, she’d always be chasing a ghost with a grammy in each hand.

joel never really understood ellie’s world. or her pain. and as she got older, things shifted. she started the fireflies. she got famous. she felt the weight of being “joel miller’s daughter” and her own person.

people had opinions about her—too loud, too angry, too queer, too much. and that pressure? that scrutiny? it ate at her. she started numbing herself very early on—drinking, using, pushing people away. joel tried to talk to her, tried to help, but it always came out sounding like disappointment. like judgment. and she couldn’t take that. so she pushed back. harder. until eventually they stopped talking. not because they didn’t care—because it hurt too much to try and fix it.

there was no final fight. no door slam. just a slow fade. calls unanswered. messages left on read. it’s one of those heartbreaks that doesn’t look like a heartbreak unless you know what to look for.

and still—she loves him. god, she does. but she carries so much shame now. so much guilt. and joel? he’s scared. scared of what she’s become, scared of saying the wrong thing, scared that maybe he already did. figures to the prologue, chapter two, four and specially five.

and the last name thing? yeah. “williams” just sounded good. she liked how it looked on a poster. people always assumed it was her mother’s last name or something deep but it really wasn’t. she just didn’t want to walk into every room and be immediately tied to joel. didn’t want to hear the whispers of “oh, that’s joel miller's kid.” didn’t want to live in his shadow, even if she still carries all of his fire, his temper, his sadness, in her blood.

it’s messy. it’s layered. but there’s still love under all that wreckage. even if they don’t know how to say it right now. even if the silence is louder than anything they ever screamed at each other.

and for everyone asking, yes. joel will make an appearance on chapter 8.

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ma1dita · 3 months ago

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asking for trouble

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words: 7.8k prev -> when the curtains close | next -> as above so below summary: (post-TLT, compliant to TLO) The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all) a/n: non-descriptive mentions of blood and war, main character death. angst. a boyfriend that yall may or may not agree with. one chapter left after this!! i imagined the last scene to play out with luke in a room where they have the immersive exhibits at a museum

—

[august 15th; camp half-blood kitchens, long island, new york — 9:49 pm]

Everything begins and ends with love if we are fortunate enough.

There’s a stillness that fills the air the night before what historians and future demigods alike will deem the Battle of Manhattan. It’s stifling—suffocating in the silence of the camp kitchens as you cover a sheet cake with blue frosting, piping the edges with a steady hand as you check the clock, time always ticking over your shoulder.

Almost lights out.

The circumstances are different now though, and surely no one will be able to sleep soundly tonight. Fate is hard at work unraveling the future, the gods and their spawn alike are preparing for war, yet you’re here putting sprinkles on Percy Jackson’s birthday cake.

It’s the most nonsensical thing you’ve done all week amidst the war preparations, taming the whirlwind of mixed emotions that shook camp in the days before. Perhaps it comes with the knowing that everything will change, and the only way out is through. Only the lucky ones get to go home after this.

“Are you really not coming with us tomorrow?”

Clarisse chuckles at your question from her position against the doorway, crossing her arms and watching you stick candles on the top of the sweet dessert. Her hands flex over her sleeves, tugging at the fabric like she needs to hide away from the rest of the world, “You make it sound like it’s a walk in the park instead of what it really is.”

“Is that why then?” You look up from your piping bag raising an eyebrow at her, “We need all the help we can get, Risse.”

“It’s a death wish. I don’t know how you do it grandma, but the world will keep spinning no matter if 5 shows up or not,” Clarisse mutters, rolling the words around in her mouth, “How do you do it? Knowing that he’ll be there…I-I don’t want Chris to put himself through that again. We’re going to lose anyway—something, if not everything.”

You know that too.

There’s something ironic about how the children of war won’t be joining the fight of their lives, but Clarisse La Rue is as stubborn as a mule when she doesn’t get her way. Only something truly special would send her running to the battlefield at this point.

“A part of me feels obligated to be there and help fix it, Risse. This is the path I chose.”

She scoffs, her sneakers knocking against the side of the kitchen island. The daughter of Ares is wistful, hesitant… and nothing like herself tonight. You suppose conflict shapes someone like her like how insanity lines the essence of your being. Intangible, but the base of every choice—the driving reason connecting you to your godrents.

“Yeah, I know that, but I still don’t get it. You don’t have to be here anymore,” she says thoughtfully, moving the cylinders of sprinkles around on the counter by height order, then by colors of the rainbow, “you could’ve chosen the easy life without all of this…I mean, if I ever got out of here alive, I wouldn’t look back.” The statement is sharp in the silence as if she’d attacked you with Maimer. Your eyes meet hers as if there’s a big secret she’s missing out on. You always look at them like that now, with a faraway gaze of a place none of them can reach.

“Who’s to say? Getting old and aging out of here is harder than you think, you know… College, rent, taxes…” you list off with every squeeze of the piping bag, spelling out Percy’s name with white frosting. Clarisse bites her lip, resting her chin against the palm of her hand as she watches you.

When she closes her eyes at night, she often dreams of being home in Arizona, dry heat prickling at her cheeks and dust swirling at her ankles. That’s what her future will look like, she thinks—and she’ll let herself be selfish if it means she gets what she wants. What do you dream of? Do you think about a future for yourself if you’re so worried about saving everyone else’s?

“But you still came back. Is this easier than that?”

Not easier, but familiar. Nothing you ever want comes easy after all. There is a comfort in walking the grounds of a camp counselor job you used to dread instead of filling out job applications; easier to you means fighting with the gods and slaying creatures of old instead of paying student loans and making rent.

“I think you’ll find out that you do stupid things for love, Clarisse La Rue.”

She’ll never tell you this, but you’re the strongest person she knows. You’ve shown her that strength doesn’t always mean brain or brawn. Sometimes strength is loving someone without expecting anything in return, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach eats at her in an unsatisfying way—like Tantalus reaching for the grapevine, fingertips grazing the leaves for eternity.

Instead, Clarisse wipes down the counter with a Clorox wipe as you make your way towards the door, cake in hand. Tonight, she and her siblings will sleep with the knowledge that they’ll get to see another day. Call her selfish, sure—but that’s how she loves them. Alive.

“I still stand ten toes behind the fact that Michael Yew can be knocked down a fucking peg,” she mutters. There’s a small smile on her face and when she looks up at you, she sees your face is illuminated by moonlight. Clarisse hopes this won’t be the last time—silently praying to her father to extend his hand onto you.

“I’ll see you when I see you, La Rue.”

Whenever that is, she thinks. This is easier than a goodbye. What matters is showing up. What matters is that they try. That’s what she reminds herself as she turns off the big light and heads toward Cabin 5.

Does any of that still matter in the end if they aren’t alive?

Her siblings are already asleep when she tucks herself into bed despite the music and laughter coming from 12. Light from across the way filters through her window, a warm glow cast across her face leaking through even when she shuts her eyes. It warms her, reminds her of the orange of the stupid shirts they wear, sunsets on Fireworks Beach, and the molten lava that drips down the climbing wall.

Home might not be what she remembered it to be after all these years. Clarisse decides to sleep on it, hoping that when they wake, there’ll be something worth fighting for.

[august 15th; cabin 12, long island, new york — 10:08pm]

Camp Half-Blood is quiet as you walk through the dark forest, minding your step over the brambles and checking off your mental list of responsibilities before day breaks. The air is especially cool for a summer night, melancholy being your only jacket as you move on auto-pilot. Your fingers tighten around the tray you hold, pushing the door open to Cabin 12 which currently houses most of your campers. It’s lively and bright in here—you would think they’re all celebrating a Capture the Flag win instead of being sent off to their deaths for the greater good.

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up soldiers.

The wood creaks beneath your boots and it’s drowned out by the sound of soft chattering and laughter, a few of them still scuffling over sleep spots, and then—”HAPPY BIRTHDAY PERCY!”

There are only enough people in here to comfortably fit in a few of the strawberry trucks tomorrow—some went home to their parents to avoid the chaos and some chose not to fight at all. And the ones that remain— all 40 of them, that is, are spread out on the floor in sleeping bags writhing like worms. All the whooping and cheering is accompanied by Michael leading his siblings in song (and Connor and Travis ruining it by chanting CHA CHA CHA!).

Percy is just shy of sixteen now, but the sheen in his blue eyes still reflects the tranquility of open water and something tender that you saw in him when he came to camp at twelve years old. Later, through mouthfuls of cake and smears of blue buttercream on his cheek, the son of Poseidon looks up at you thoughtfully, “Is this a pity cake?” He tries to make light of the situation by acting like the fate of the world doesn’t depend on his life or death, and you take a deep breath.

Even demigods fall victim to fate, and the gods still push on. But what of their children that fight for change in the world they set the rules for; their children that fight their battles for them and lose their lives for immortal beings that live forever?

“This is a birthday party, not a pity party, Percy Jackson. There's no pity for the damned,” you chuckle. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. All of the world’s problems seem so permanent when you’re 15 years old. It’s just fucked up that his will actually alter the course of humanity.

“And if this is the end of the world, I just wanted to make sure we’ve told you happy birthday first.”

“Well thanks,” Percy mumbles over a spoonful of buttercream, face reddening when Annie throws a paper towel roll at his face, “Hey!” It reminds you a lot of when you and Luke would fight in the dining pavilion, chicken tenders and mac n’ cheese flying through the air, and apples cut just the way you like.

You blink.

It all boils down to him or Luke.

“Wipe your face, Seaweed Brain!”

Percy rolls his eyes, smiling down at his plate regardless of the weight he carries upon his shoulders. The more you want to live the more you have to lose, you think as you brush your knuckles against a spot of frosting he missed. You don’t look at the blonde boy and see a hero of the Great Prophecy—still, you see him as the little boy who was mesmerized by you conjuring strawberries on his plate on his first day at camp, innocent and honest.

Looking around the room wistfully at that thought, you start to see the memories of their childhood blanket all of themlike ill-fitting clothes; it’s all you can notice. The feeling is so big it swallows you whole. Annabeth is still the little girl who’d rattle off obscure facts from Snapple bottle caps from her time on the road, drawing pictures of buildings with your eyeliner after sneaking into your room. Silena still makes blush out of berry juice and would call you about boy problems as if she’s not a child of the goddess of love herself. Will is still the boy who sings as he lights up fireflies and draws smiley faces on bandages. Katie, the girl who makes flower crowns for your birthday and eats strawberries with you soaked in morning dew. You look around and see scraped knees that you’ve kissed better, sleepy eyes you’ve sung to, and hearts you’ve kept warm—this is your glory, your greatest achievement being the family you’ve found in the woods of the Long Island Sound.

“You see it too?” Grover mumbles, nudging you and you sigh, squeezing his shoulder. Sometimes you forget the satyr is older than you; he stands tall as your pillar of support, unwavering in his promise to protect these kids.

“We’re getting old, man.”

“You’re only 23. There’s so much left of you,” he deadpans. Laughter comes out of you in waves as you shake your head smiling.

“And what a pleasure it’s been to grow up with you.”

Grover bids you a good night as you walk up the stairs to your old room, phone in hand while you dial a familiar number. Your boyfriend answers before the end of the first ring.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d still be up!”

Settling against the windowpane near your bed, a soft smile graces your features and you realize he’s not there to see it. It’s always been easy with him—Dex was unbelievably kind, and he had a heart that he’d share without you having to ask. He was unlike any man you’d ever encountered before, and over the past year and a half you found it easy to love him.

Worst of all, he’s utterly devoted to you. At least every part of you that you were willing to give him, even if it wasn’t all of you per se. Plus, you saw the ring in his desk drawer last week.

It was too…good to be true.

You recognize that this was your way out like Clarisse said, your escape from the turbulence that was your life as a demigod. But it was hard to believe that you were deserving of it. He’d never know of the ichor that runs through your veins, and the life you’d have to leave behind to truly be with him. You suppose every love you’ve ever had was sacrificial. You just wonder if because of that, easy makes it hard to feel real.

Maybe if you survive this one you’d tell him the truth. But for now, he’s rambling in your ear about his sudden work trip upstate. Morpheus and Hypnos are already at work then, redirecting the city dwellers out of Manhattan. It must be later than you thought already and in a few short hours, Apollo will be shining his rays across the Island for what you hope won’t be the last time.

“I wish I was with you right now,” you mutter in a hushed tone, and you hear him laugh breathily through the static sound of the phone. It’s easy to imagine him twirling the telephone cord between his fingers, flopped over the tiny loveseat you went halfsies on with your first big paychecks. The apartment you both moved into after graduation is more accurately a shoebox—but it’s yours, and the love you have for it is immeasurable in comparison to the square footage. You hum, listening to the sound of his voice, “Maybe I can catch you before I go—stop by and say hi before I drive up.”

He won’t. By morning, you’re not even sure if he’ll remember you—all traces of Greek gods and their counterparts wiped clean from memory until it’s all over, whenever that is. You’re mindlessly walking in circles around your room, bare feet padding against the floorboards. He repeats your name and you realize you haven’t been paying attention, the tail end catching your ear, “Hmm?”

“Or you could come to me. I’m sure your dad won’t mind. It’s time I meet him, don’t you think?”

And out of anything happening tomorrow, that especially sounds like a nightmare so you make a noise of disagreement, “I can’t. You know I can’t, honey. I’ve got…” your voice trails off as your lilac eyes land on a faded photo strip thumbtacked to your wall, “unfinished business to deal with.” There’s nothing left but inky silhouettes on the sun-damaged paper, two past lovers huddled together. But you know what it’s a picture of. Rye Playland, you and Luke at fifteen, cheek to cheek and covered in wisps of cotton candy.

“Mm. Sounds important. Does your unfinished business have a name?”

Dex sounds playful now, teasing despite the silence on your end of the line. A beat passes, and then another, and he can hear the sound of your hands rifling through the things in your desk drawer. The dragon scale necklace is cold in your palm.

For good luck, you think.

It’s been a while since you’ve worn it—keeping it safe in the only home you and Luke shared, and as soon as it touches your neck, you feel a little less empty inside. It feels like a safety blanket, protecting you from whatever might come next. You almost feel guilty to be relieved.

Thumbing the cord absentmindedly, you mutter, “You don’t even know the half of it, Dex.”

“Maybe one day you’ll tell me.” Sometimes, it’s like he knows— Dex must be the ivy that grows over the walls you’ve built up around yourself, and he can see glimpses of who you try to hide behind your stone-cold resolve. He wonders if you’ll ever tell him about the names you call out at night— an indistinguishable language he’ll never fully understand. He wonders where you’ve gotten your constellation of scars and where your mind goes when you sit next to the window and stare at the skyline.

Oh, he wonders.

The glow-in-the-dark stars are faded now on the ceiling when you look up at them, fighting to give their last bits of light. You wonder too, if there’s any fight left in you; a bit of Luke always remains—he’s everywhere you look. You can feel him as night falls upon New York, bidding you goodnight before it crumbles tomorrow.

“Maybe. Good night, honey.”

Dex yawns into the receiver. You know his feet are kicked up onto the coffee table even though you always tell him he shouldn’t, and that his glasses are already off for the night. You really think he could be a nice guy to end up with, all things considered. Dex was the epitome of normal, and after almost two and a half decades of existence, it’s quite evident that you are anything but.

Normal might be quite nice.

He yawns again. Hypnos must have reached his window, “I love you, you know that?”

“I do. Me too. Good night.”

It’s the truth.

You love this man and the spaces he’s filled within the chaos of your life. You love all of him, from the perfectly normal way he makes breakfast for you every morning (and laughs when he burns the toast), and takes the train to work at a middle school in Harlem (“6th grade ELA takes a lot out of a man,” he jokes). He picks you up from your job at the therapist’s office downtown if you get out too late, as a gentleman would (though you’ve fought monsters that he’d scream at the sight of). Once upon a time, normal was exactly what you used to wish for.

There’s a moment where your breath hitches and you sink against your pillow and you wonder if he would love all of you—demigod and all. Could he get used to this— summers at Camp Half-Blood with chariot races and gladiator-style fighting, pegasi and harpies roaming the grounds, and watersports with woodland nymphs? Dex never even questions your green thumb or how Pollux made him hallucinate your dead brother when he came to visit (“It’s what Castor would’ve wanted! The full twin-terrogation!” he insists. You convinced your boyfriend he got food poisoning that night). Could you come clean about knowing how to slay a chimera, or why you never get drunk, and have the stamina of an Olympian (the athletic kind, but not too far off from the truth)?

But it shouldn’t be called coming clean. That makes it sound like you’re ashamed of who you are—which you’re not. You’ve just been hiding this part of you from a normal human that you love very much.

Gods, is this how your dad felt when he was seeing your mom?

Somehow insanity has always felt bearable—love, however, has always been such an ordeal.

The phone bounces onto your bedspread once you hang up the call. There is no more time to worry about playing a part. Tomorrow, everyone comes as they are—whatever happens after will be a problem if you reach another day. Fate has its way of making itself known, you know that by now. Blinking, you take a deep breath, and very intentionally, with your feet criss-cross applesauce, you pray—for what, you still try to figure out as the minutes tick by.

Better late than never.

Here at camp, you were always the last one up after lights out, anyway. Tonight of all nights shouldn't be any different.

[august 16th; 34th street and herald square, manhattan, new york — 9:17 am]

“Where do you think you’re going, mister!”

Your little brother flinches, immediately turning tail and walking across the deserted street to meet you in the middle. He’s taller than you now, craning his neck down to look at your angry glower as you thrust a finger into his face, “You’re sticking with me.”

“Jake said he’s taking 9 and 12 to the Holland Tunnel,” Pollux calls out, shuffling his feet and you punch his arm hard, “OW! —It’s what Percy wants.” He swats your hand away for good measure, his arm guards clanking against yours when he dodges another swing at his head.

“We are Cabin 12, you shithead. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second.” Your staff is heavy against his shoulder and Pollux can’t help but let his gaze wander to where Jake Mason and the other children of Hephaestus are waiting for him a block over. Manhattan is a warzone, and the difference between fighting empousai and fighting his older sister right now is very similar in theory—hard to do alone. The tunnel is halfway across the city from the Empire State Building—if something were to happen to either of you…

"M’not here to fight,” he sighs, “with you at least. I need to do my part, sissy.” The old nickname is an arrow through your heart and you grab Pollux’s hand, “I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I couldn’t get to you in time.”

“HEY 12! You coming, or what?”

The two of you look towards the small army down the block, both of your hands intertwined like grapes from the same vine. You’re not sure if you can let go; you’re not sure if your father could lose another child. But Pollux’s face is almost set in stone—he’s never been more sure of himself. Your lip wavers, forcing itself into a stiff smile and he softens at the sight, “I’ll be okay.”

“And if you’re not? Then what?”

He shrugs, “Then… then I’ll get to see Castor.”

You nod, breathing shakily, and flinching when Jake calls for Pollux again, “Well. If you are okay…You come find me. After this is over, you come straight back home to me. You got it?”

Pollux hugs you, hard—the force of all of him sending you sprawling into his arms and it knocks the wind out of you. As the twins have grown, it’s been rare for them to show you any affection. They’d usually recoil or whine about how mushy their older sister is, and each time it makes you laugh. But right now, you stand there gripping onto his t-shirt, breathless; the ringing in your ears gives way to words he mumbles into your hair, “I love you,” he says, in case you didn’t already know.

Just in case this is goodbye. You take it in for a moment longer, running a hand through his blond hair and cupping his cheeks as you finally step away, “I love you. I’m so proud of you, P. We all are.”

“Haven’t done anything yet,” he grins, backing away slowly, a skip in his step as he nears the small troop of Hephaestus kids. You wave them off, blowing a kiss as they band together and turn in the other direction.

Why is it that you can only be proud of someone if there’s something to prove it?

You think about all 40 of your campers fighting for their lives in the greatest city in the world. The sound of hellfire, roaring monsters, and screams that could only come from your kids. Fatigue wears you down with each swipe of magic towards enemy forces, monsters writhing in pain at your feet, demigods reduced to insanity and blood-curdling screams. It disgusts you even more so that no one can witness the weapon you've been forced to become.

After all, no one knows any of you were there. Life continues on outside of the bubble containing the Battle of Manhattan. And only the ones fighting will be able to remember this. Only you will remember the blood you spilled to wrestle for your destiny.

The rest of the city continues to sleep, safe from the people who swore to protect it.

[august 17th; empire state building, manhattan, new york mount olympus, in the sky above new york??? — 11:22 pm]

Running up 492 flights of stairs was another type of hell you didn’t expect to put yourself through, but it was faster than waiting for the elevator to Olympus. It’s quiet besides the steady rush of blood pumping in your ears, your boots slapping against the tile to reach your friends who might be in danger at the hands of someone you know well. But it’s too late to give up when you’re so close—you realize you’re praying to anyone who’ll listen as you push through the pain of always being a little too late.

“Ugh!”

Air pierces through your lungs painfully as you trip up a landing, hands clawing against the banister. Have you been running in place this whole time, quick to start but hard to follow? Your lip quivers, eyes trailing up the stairwell faster than your legs can take you.

Whatever the outcome, you’ll be better for it, you hope.

It’d be easier to give up. To stay away and not watch Percy fight for his life against him. You dry heave as you press your head against the wall, wondering if it’s worth not seeing what will become of this wretched prophecy. It’s hard to survive loving the villain when the rest of the world is dying because of it. Your legs feel like jelly underneath you, and not a single soul in Manhattan knows you’re here—until you feel the strength of an old traveler lift you up and revitalize your soul. Looking down to see your boots retie themselves tightly, the feeling in your chest reminds you of him. Everything leads back to Luke, and you think wherever he is now—Hermes knows that too.

“Thank you,” you mutter. He’s handpicked your prayer through the tempest that hangs over Manhattan so that maybe your hands will be gentler in smiting his lost son. You find yourself with the nerve to run up the last dozen flights of stairs, pushing past the entryway to see Thalia Grace under a statue of her stepmother, “THALIA!” You barely make it to her fallen form before her free arm tries to push you away from the rubble.

“Get out of here! I mean it—” Thalia spits out your name through gnarled teeth and bones crunching under the heavy hands of Hera. The statue lays over the bottom half of her body, holding her legs down like how one forms a fist, and the daughter of Zeus pushes through pain and millennia worth of her dad’s karmic debt in giving her life—the essence of being a forbidden child still has a hold on her, even now.

“I’m not gonna…leave you…”

With everything in you, both demigod strength and sheer desperation, you push at the unmoving stone and your fingernails begin to splinter from the pressure.

But you know what it feels like to get left behind.

Desolation slowly sets in your bones, a hollow feeling that spreads through your core as sweat rolls down your cheeks, and when you sniff to wipe it away, Thalia’s lip quivers. She’s writhing in pain and everything is coming to an end down the hall from where you stand.

“We’re so close, Grace. I’m not giving up on you when we’re this close. I need you in there with me so you just hold on, okay?”

The marble is cool to the touch under your moist hands, and her face is fixed in a grimace as she looks up at you and sees you for who you are—another demigod who was never given a fair chance at fate but with a spirit of a hero waiting for the right chance. Thalia coughs before slapping your hand away, “LISTEN TO ME! I’ll be okay. He needs you to be there. We’re almost out of time!”

You barely register your body moving as you get up and start to run, looking back at Thalia by the time you’re at the top of the landing. There are no words that you could imagine to string together when your eyes meet hers in the distance that separates you two—the feeling of grief bearing down as you both know the end is near and inside those doors.

As you turn back around, you take a moment to wonder if you might’ve had different people in mind for who’s up there waiting for you.

[august 17th; the hall of gods, mount olympus, the sky above new york— 11:48 pm]

Finally pushing through the heavy doors of the Hall of Gods, your eyes burn like salt in a wound as you travel toward the center to see three figures laid out on the marble mezzanine. There’s a cramp in your calf by the time you reach them, your legs giving way as you skid to a stop in front of Luke’s corroded body. The pain doesn’t register for you, split skin going numb as you stare into the eyes of a storm you fell in love with almost ten years ago.

A stranger is no longer wearing your love’s skin. Percy and Annie’s eyes feel heavy against your back as they watch you sigh in relief, a landslide of emotion rolling off of you when you see he’s still breathing, even faintly, as if he waited for you to make it back to him.

“It’s Luke,” Annabeth chokes out, “the scythe transformed into Backbiter and I knew it was him. He was fighting for us.” Her voice makes you flinch, makes this more real—it echoes as the wind carries it through the hall. Without a doubt in your mind, you know it’s him by the way he looks at you with tired eyes, soft and amber—the light pushing away the shadows and he reaches out for you. His skin is paled by the River Styx, face weathered by the Titan as you gently guide his head onto your lap. A pathetic cry slips from your mouth when you realize there’s more pressure in the fingers he brushes against your cheekbone versus the one holding the blade embedded in his chest.

Fuck, what do you even say?

He’s dying right in front of you and you can’t think of a single word to say.

The clock is ticking and every breath of his comes out weaker––he speaks before you can find the words, breathing out, “I missed you,” like it was a relief to say it. And it all comes spilling out like a secret you’ve been safeguarding since the day he left— a mix of your tears and his blood smearing across your cheek as he reaches out to wipe them ever so gently. You find yourself smiling in the face of death itself—smile even if the both of you can feel death’s hand on him saying that time is finally up because the act of meeting each other here in the middle makes the years you’ve gone without him worthwhile.

The reunion is also the loss; a nasty habit you’ve both fallen into over the years. But this time, Luke’s finally able to give you the world he wanted to see just before he leaves it.

You clutch him close without intending to let go, purple eyes scavenging for confirmation that this is your Luke, the one who pushed you through the brambles of the North Woods, wind in his hair and mischief in his smile. He’s citrus and musk, cunning smiles, something sacred kept within cabin 11, calloused fingers pulling at your t-shirt, and the voice out of tune at nightly sing-a-longs—and he loves you still.

Loving you was the only thing that never changed.

“Shhhh, don’t waste your energy. The gods will…” you swallow a sob despite yourself, “I…my dad’s going to be here soon. He’ll help us.” There’s a lump in your throat that carries the weight of everything unsaid. Who would help you now that everyone else is getting what they wanted—a brighter tomorrow without the villain? But the prophecy unveils itself so cruelly, and the one who hurt you is the hero in this story, just as he’s always dreamed. It so happens to be at the cost of loving you.

Luke’s eyelids flutter like butterfly wings descending softly. You press a kiss onto his forehead like you used to while waiting for him to fall asleep. The chuckle that rumbles his ribcage is faint against the hand of yours that’s holding him together and the war is finally over and no one even knows that besides the four of you in this room.

“I'm running on borrowed time,” Luke wheezes, “I think my life ended the day I left you.” His thumb weakly traces the tear tracks cascading down your face, and he’s reacquainting himself with every feature of yours while he can touch it—to hold and be held by you after so long feels like drinking up ambrosia, his last bits of strength telling you what you’ve always known.

Is there a word stronger than love?

One that would explain how close and how far you feel to him at this moment and you don’t want to say the wrong thing but there are no wrong words when it comes to the right person. Hoarsely, through wavering lips, you chuckle, “Then it's time to stop running, baby. I’m here now.”

It’s exhausting to carry the weight of tomorrow in your arms and to know it’ll be made possible only by letting him go. You’re holding him too tightly, claws sinking in to feel—to ground yourself and keep him tethered to this reality, just in case a different answer falls out of the sky.

But falling with Luke Castellan, falling for him, has been nothing like you wanted. You've said your goodbyes more often than you can count.

This part is just about letting him go.

“I think I’m doomed,” he laughs, coughing harshly. Blood soaks his airways, retribution for the lives he took. It drips out of his mouth and you still look at Luke like he’s asked you to marry him. What a soft, funny thought.

Love must be more violent than war, to feel like this��to know he’s wrecked your world and still come out the other side smiling at him like he put the stars in the sky. His fingers are slipping out of yours as you hold onto the knife that keeps him here and Luke mutters, “I’m so s-sorry. You deserved better in this life.” You hear Annabeth sob from somewhere behind you but you can’t look at anything else but his eyes, not daring to miss another moment of him.

“Can’t be all that bad,” you say with a watery chuckle, wiping his mouth with your thumb. There’s more of a mess now with your feeble efforts but the action comforts you more than him; caring for Luke is something you cannot unlearn.

“This life gave me you. I don’t want to know anything else. Do you hear me?”

You want Luke to know this—to understand that even if this is how fate has handled the both of you, there is no other hand you would hold but his.

“You’re my whole life, Trouble.”

“I know, angel. I know. It’s always been me and you.”

You and me, he mouths, an echo of himself left to relay the message as his eyes lose their warmth, empty now and unseeing. And then he's home in your arms again as you hold every broken and bloodied piece of him together until he's no more. The parts of him he leaves behind blur into you, rivulets of his lifeforce weaving through your fingertips even when you put pressure against the knife you both hold, hands cradling the spot under his armpit, and to Percy and Annabeth it looks like you're holding his heart, clutching it between your fingers.

Protecting it until his last beat—when he finally gives it over to you.

It was always yours, anyway.

Before, in the in-between, and now after, his heart is yours.

Time stops for Luke Castellan, the man born to die, in the Hall of Gods that day— in the arms of his partner and in the presence of his little sister and truest friend.

Lips against his ear, no one tries to pull you away, even when the gods of Olympus march in expecting a battle to only find a dead hero and a story that needs to be told.

You’ve never seen him so still before.

Luke’s always been the one with something to say, hands fidgeting to hold yours. Still, you hold his hand even if he can't feel it, still smile even if he can't see you, still whisper words of devotion even if he can't hear it. By the time you feel your father’s hands on your back and hear Percy say, “We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes,” you imagine that he’s miles away from where he lays motionless, dead weight in your grasp. Nothing can pull you away from the mantra you set to remind him that he’s yours even when he leaves again. Luke’s soul will soon journey where you cannot follow, and you whisper to him in the stillness amidst the noise, “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

When the Fates come to collect the body, their ancient hands spin around the two of you as they unweave your hold on him. You weren’t given a choice—his material body dissipates in front of your eyes and you swear you feel the tug from deep within your core as you watch them float Luke away. It’s so much different now from when he used to fly around your room with his stupid winged Converse—even the gods avert their eyes when you let out a sob that shakes the ornate hall. Hopelessly you watch, sat down on the marble and unable to move or follow—as if maybe he’d still answer to your sweet nothings, and not leave you hanging once more. You slump against your father’s side, catatonic and at a loss for words—they leave with him, floating away into the distance.

Humanity’s biggest problem and resolution has always been love—this was never a story about the lack thereof.

[august 18th; 12:00 am, death, pre-judgement? — the seven minutes after]

The path that Luke Castellan takes after he dies is most peculiar and unlike any path he’s traveled before. And yes, there have been several times that he’s come close to death—under Ladon’s claws in the Garden of Hesperides, and when he relinquished his physical self by bathing in the River Styx, but neither of those times where he’s cheated his way out can compare to the real thing.

He once read in one of Annabeth’s textbooks that there are seven minutes of brain activity that wanes in your consciousness before you die. There’s a distinct thrumming in his ears when he comes to, and Luke discovers he’s completely in the dark with no sense of direction and most importantly, no visible way out. The old him, were he still alive—would be panicking by now, short terse breaths and sweat upon his brow. Old Luke would have fidgeting hands and eyes that rocket around for an exit. But this Luke, whoever he is—whatever he is now, finds himself eerily calm. Everything glows in a vignette, and familiar scenes materialize before his vision, a kaleidoscope of color and your shrieking laughter surrounding him in the familiarity of your happiness with him—it feels like lifetimes ago. He realizes he’s smiling.

Versions of you swirl in the space he stands in, taking up space wherever he can look, wherever he turns—you’re there.

And he remembers.

Memory is a choice after all, much like love is. And no one can take that away from Luke Castellan except death itself.

The scene flickers for a moment, eyelashes fluttering against morning light peeking through the windows of Cabin 11.

It’s Luke’s first morning at Camp Half-Blood after the storm that brought him and Annabeth there. You’re standing over him with a half-beaten pillow and a menacing grin that grows as he spits out feathers. It’s his first impression of you, Kool-aid tipped hair and hands shaking with a crushed Redbull can in your other fist.

“Good. You’re still breathing. Wasn’t sure for a sec.”

A voice yells out your name and you make a run for it, barefoot and giggling and looking back at him every few steps—his breath catches in his throat again like how it did on the first day you both met.

The scenery changes and he’s sitting next to you on the dock of Canoe Lake.

“I dare you.”

“No way,” he hears himself say, and then he sees you fling algae at him in ropes, cold and slimy that it makes his voice crack, “He—ey! You’re gonna get us fired and it hasn’t even been a full day since we got the job,” he says, clearing his throat as you bite your lip.

“What’s one last hurrah?”

“You’re always gonna be Trouble, aren’t you?” he says, getting annoyed by the orange fabric that temporarily blinds him. Chuckling, you pull your shorts off and look back at him, eyes glinting in the moonlight and he can’t help but ogle at the rest of you, gulping hard. You catch him staring and he averts his eyes, looking back at the treeline to see if anyone’s come to find you both. A resounding splash echoes in the silence between you and Luke turns back to find your head bobbing visible above the water and not much else.

“I double-dog dare you, Castellan.”

He jumps in.

The dark blue of the water turns into light reflecting the pinks and purples of the sky above Montauk Point at sunset.

“We’re alive! Told you we’d be fine,” you yell, clicking your seatbelt off and jumping out of the car before Luke can even put the hatchback in park. It was his first drive anywhere—you’ve finally graduated from looping around Farm Road.

“Hey wait up!”

He calls out your name, but you’re already kicking up sand as the distance between you grows until he locks up the car and chases after you. You didn’t stand a chance, slipping and sliding in the sand as the son of Hermes quickly grabs you around the waist and throws you over his shoulder as you scream bloody murder. When he sets you down, your arms are looped around his neck and you’re smiling against the pink and tender scar on his cheek.

“Think we can break into the lighthouse before the guards come, angelface?”

The sound of crashing waves turns into chattering cabin counselors and when Luke looks around again, he’s at the Big House, with everyone else pushing their chairs in and walking towards the door. He holds his hand out and you grab it with no words or instruction—like a key nestled within its lock, exactly where it’s meant to be.

“Last order of business, kind of…” Your dad drones from his spot near the windows. Luke tries to let go of your hand but you don’t let him, “Don’t panic,” you mutter.

“This… fraternization won't become an issue for all of us, will it?”

Everyone’s frozen near the doorway, staring at your intertwined hands. Luke clears his throat and turns toward Mr. D, “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t. Sir.”

You could almost hear a pin drop, and no one knows what to say next—not even Mr. D.

“Yeah, I’ll keep Castellan in line.”

That’s the confirmation everyone was waiting for; a mixture of groans and the clinking of drachma fill the air as Chris holds his hands out and takes his spoils of victory with a charming smirk on his face. Clarisse throws the coins at his head.

“I feel like I should take a bow or something,” Luke snickers into your ear, before placing a kiss against your temple.

You’re still in his arms and still look good in orange, but when he pulls back to look at you again, you’re both hovering above the ground near the dining pavilion. His knees are shaking when his winged Converse flap madly underneath you—a flurry of uncoordinated movement that makes you want to piss yourself.

“You’re lucky I have a strong core, babe,” he grins—and he’s thrilled at the fear on your face as you clutch onto him for dear life, one arm around his abdomen and the other around his neck, both legs latched around his waist.

“I swear to the fucking gods if you drop me, Castellan…”

His right foot jerks in a slightly different direction, making him laugh as you squeak.

“Castellan, huh? That scared, Trouble? Not gonna drop my baby.”

The wind around you whirls like a tornado as Luke tries to show off, getting higher and higher until, “LUKE!”

He catches you by the fingertips again and now there’s sand beneath your feet. You’re still spinning in his arms and his mom is singing along to a song playing on the radio you brought to Westport Beach. May claps lightly and you tug her up with a soft smile, “Come on Miss May! Take your son out for a spin.” Tugging at the damp white t-shirt you wear over your underwear, you take a seat on the picnic blanket and watch them with a smile you haven’t given Luke in years.

“Mother-son dance,” May whispers in his ear, humming a few notes of the wedding march.

He closes his eyes and soaks it all in, slightly swaying.

That thrumming is in his ears again, a steady beat against his chest and he feels it everywhere—a pounding rhythm that cannot be ignored. He opens his eyes and you’re snuggled against each other, tangled beneath the sheets. You’re still asleep and Luke just…watches you before the morning starts (whenever this is) and it all has to end. You’re breathing against his neck, lips slightly agape as warm air brushes his pulse. He moves hair out of your face and you pull him in unconsciously, skin to skin with no atom of space left between you.

Luke blinks.

You’re in your college apartment.

He blinks again.

His childhood bedroom.

Again, please.

In Cabin 12.

Please, just one last time.

You’re drooling against his neck in his tiny bunk in Cabin 11 and the noise is getting louder now—a static sound that morphs into the sound of your voice throbbing like a heartbeat, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It’s the last thing he can hear before he has to go.

“I wanna see your eyes / Is it a crime to say I still need you?” - Adrienne Lenker

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst #pjo x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader

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