#sometimes i think they need. lessons in how not to say stuff

[leftboob-enthusiast]

the dentist, after shaking her head for ages and getting increasingly agitated: no, no this isn't working, the bleeding won't stop, I'm going to go get the senior dentist-

me, known dentistry-related extreme anxiety-haver, numbed to high heaven and unable to talk:

[jinzouacting]

periodically people have to be reminded that you should be against these large generative ai models because its aggregate content theft and not because of like "laziness" or whatever

[miabrown007]

a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take

[collieii]

someone probably said this already but in spiderverse i think it's interesting how when pavitr was first introduced everyone thought something bad was gonna happen to him bc of how confident and optimistic he was. and then in the actual movie we see that something bad was supposed to happen to him (police chief dying!) but it doesn't! miles stops it! and miguel berates miles for this, says it's going to cause the universe to collapse or whatever.

there's this idea that tragedy is inherent to spidermans growth, and while it's true that some spiderpeople learn important lessons through loss, no one stops to ask, is it really necessary? yeah, maybe the chief was supposed to die. but why does spiderman have to be formed through tragedy? why do we (as heroes) have to let people die? pavitr didn't lose anyone, and he's still a good spiderman! maybe, if he doesn't suffer, he'll end up better off for it!

so while miguel is arguing for all this big picture stuff about saving the multiverse he's lost sight of what it really means to be a spiderman, he's not looking out for the real individual people. yeah it's just one person who would die, but that one person means something to someone. shrugging and saying "stuff just sucks sometimes, we can't do anything about it" is the opposite of what superheroes do. pretty obviously, miles arc is also a reflection of the struggles people face in real life, working within unequal systems, where it's easy to shrug and say "that's just the way it is" and not ask "but why does it need be this way? can't we do something about it?"

miguel is arguing that you can't have your cake and eat it too. presumably, miles and co. are going to find a way to get around that and change things for the better (and maybe that's why miles has that line about two cakes in the advisors office!)

[alexanderwales]

My son has been having some behavioral issues, so we've been doing arduous consultations and screeners and questionnaires to try to get some kind of guidance, which has been very frustrating. Everyone in the broad field of child psychology has said either "have you talked about autism" or "have you talked about ADHD", and sometimes both, because they're comorbid. But in order to get an actual diagnosis, you need to find the right people who are qualified to actually make a determination.

So a few days ago, this culminated in us finally talking to the guy who had the answers, at least according to modern child psychology, and he said that no, there's not really a basis for a clinical diagnosis of either autism or ADHD. There are still the behavioral issues, which are most of the reason we went for testing (along with some inattention, fidgetyness, sensory issues, and other things that are sometimes markers), but that's apparently something to work on with therapy and maybe will just go away as he gets older and matures.

But the other thing that the guy with the answers had to say was that maybe a lot of this can be explained by really high test scores in the cognitive stuff. We knew he was a smart kid, but the guy with the answers said that our son is three standard deviations above normal on all the cognitive tests, including an IQ test that I didn't know was a part of it, and that this is perhaps why he's so bored at school and difficult to keep engaged.

I think that's maybe part of the answer, but not the whole thing. I've been trying to prepare this child to not have gifted kid syndrome his whole life, trying to make sure he doesn't just breeze through everything and then crumble when he faces a challenge because he doesn't know what to do when something is actually tough. It doesn't matter how smart you are if you don't put in the work, if you can't overcome obstacles, if you coast through life. Those lessons do not seem to have sunk in at all, so I don't know.

But as we're getting ready to leave, my wife came in with her particular brand of humor.

Wife: So you're saying it's not too late to install some lead pipes in the house, right? That might be the solution to all our problems.

To his credit, the guy with the answers laughed, and then said, "yeah, or maybe asbestos".

Later, in the car:

Wife: Asbestos doesn't cause lower IQ. Me: Yeah, I know. Wife: I should have said something. Me: That would have been very awkward. Wife: Maybe he would have appreciated the correction. Me: I really don't think he would have. Wife: But you noticed too, right? My joke about lead was good, and his follow up about asbestos was bad. Me: My very first thought was "I hope she doesn't say something about this". Wife: You love me. Me: I do, but sometimes when we're talking to people together, I'm very aware of what you're going to say. Wife: It's not too late. I could message him. Me: I know you're joking, but please please don't. Wife: I wouldn't. Me: You wouldn't, unless it was funny. Wife: Yeah, and it would be hilarious, so ...

We at least know where the boy gets his tendency for pedantry from.

[zriasstuff]

Mercy—Draco Malfoy x reader smut

Warnings: 18+ oneshot (1.7k words), barely any plot; just porn, sub!draco

To the person that requested a Draco Malfoy fanfic like 10 days ago: here it finally is

Draco inhales sharply through his teeth as you go over his bleeding wound with a cotton ball. You had told him a thousand times already to not get into a fight again, yet he just wouldn’t listen and did so nonetheless.

“C'mon they deserved it, you understand right?”, he tried to justify his actions, to which you shook your head in disapproval.

“You can’t just go around acting like a dick and then expect people to clean up after you all the time”, you lecture him, hoping he’ll see his wrongdoings.

“Well for now I got you, don’t I?”, he smugly retorts, hissing along the way as the cotton ball touches his wound again. What a prick he could be sometimes.

“For now”, you warn him sternly. Draco was well aware he’d have to play nice with you, his close friend who genuinely helped him when he needed it.

You, of course, didn't want to enable Draco, but he did show his gratitude in pleasant ways. Ways such as treating you to stuff in Hogsmeade, helping you with homework, sweet talking you to professors, and so on.

Today's wound landed on his lower torso, something he’d gotten from a guy on the Gryffindor quidditch team, whom he insulted as mudblood. Being a pure blood yourself, you were aware of your guys' hate towards muggles, but you didn’t condone it.

Seeing his pained facial expression, pulling all types of grimaces, you say “I know it hurts, but that will only help you to learn your lesson.”

“And what lesson is that? That I have to show less mercy next time?”, Draco stupidly grins when failing to acknowledge his fault.

“Sure, tough guy”, you roll your eyes at him.

Now, he was almost all fixed up and you just had to put a large, squared band aid over his cleaned wound.

As you lean in towards his lower torso, you hear a huffed grunt coming from Draco, who is looking a bit thrown.

“What is it, did I hurt you?”, you ask him.

Draco wasn’t hurt. More so, he was rather feeling something completely opposite.

Innerly, he started replaying the moment in his head of when your tits made the lightest contact with his dick. They had brushed over his groin, when you were leaning in to put the band aid on the wound.

Of course you hadn’t noticed, but he certainly couldn’t forget. His mind was going through all sorts of dirty, nasty, mental images. That one little touch caused all restraint to fly out the window, and all he could think of was how you would look naked, tits uncovered, bouncing in front of him.

How would fuck your tits and afterwards paint them with his cum. The position you were in also allowed you to give him a perfect blowjob. Draco was sitting on a chair and you knelt in front of him because it was the easiest way for you to treat him.

Surely, you wouldn’t have imagined that this position would cause his poor mind to fantasize to such naughty extent.

It became all too much in his head, such a reaction from so little touch. Was he really that horny and desperate? Draco tried to block it out, to not make this weird.

But seeing you like this, having felt you in such a way, simply made you too irresistible.

Draco didn’t even know what got into him, but he bent down promptly, grabbed your ponytail and told you exactly what he wanted- no craved right now.

“Please suck me off right now”, he suddenly muttered in your ear, giving you the most troubled look you’ve ever seen.

“What the fu- what the hell is wrong with you?!”, you exclaim at his words. You couldn’t fully believe what you just heard.

Draco pulls back again, letting go of your ponytail in the process. He seemed slightly ashamed, but you could tell he wouldn’t let go of this easily. Hell, if he played his cards right…

He himself couldn’t even fully grasp why he wanted this so badly all of a sudden. His mind was definitely fucking with him. But with all the stress he was under- being involved with the Death Eaters, and having no way of venting- all he needed was you right now.

“Please, just do it?”, he appeared defeated. You’d never seen him so frantic before.

“Look, I really need this, I need you. You’ll help me with anything, right?”

Needing to come up with a response, you go over all the possibilities in your head. You arrive at a well thought out conclusion seconds later.

“You’ll explain yourself later”, you firstly demand from him. You saw that Draco was completely out of his element, but that’s not why you agreed. Doing this for him would have him at your mercy, maybe you would enjoy holding this over his head later on. Win win, right?

“Ready?”, you coo at him before your hand makes contact with the growing bulge in his pants. Draco winces a little, letting out a relieved moan.

From all the pent up frustration, he desperately needed this. While you stroke around his bulge, he already starts jerking his growing length against your palm. That’s when you give his cock a warning squeeze.

“This isn’t up to you”, you talk down to him. Innerly you loved every second of this. Draco going from harsh and brassy to obedient.

Abruptly, he stops moving, so you carry on with palming his cock until it’s visibly hard through his pants. Here and there a little wince escapes his mouth, wanting immediate pleasure instead of tedious teasing.

After enough playing around, you start to unzip his pants with your mouth. You make sure to glance at him while doing it, just to see how crazy it drives him. His stunned reaction was so worth it.

Every second he relished and wished you would just take him in already. When you remove the last layer of clothing, you’re shocked to see how much bigger he is than you’d ever encountered. From your eyes widening and your mouth gaping slightly, he could tell his size turned you on.

His cock was incredibly hard and leaking drops of precum already from all the teasing, practically aching to be sucked and toyed with.

Your tongue licks a long stripe along his shaft first, which evokes a small whimper from Draco. Instantly he shuts himself up, wanting to control himself, but you want to hear more of those delicious sounds.

So, you keep peppering his cock with kitten licks, especially at his leaking tip. No longer able to hold himself back, Draco fully lets himself go and lets out a breathy whimper.

“Please stop with the teasing already”, he whines after having already endured that much.

Luckily you are feeling generous, so you slide him into your mouth, his big cock disappearing inch by inch. When it glided fully in, it hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

Draco had to forcefully keep his hands on his thighs, otherwise he’d destroy your throat right now. His cock felt so good in your warm, wet mouth. He was amused, seeing you gag from his length.

Not wanting to back out, you ignore your gag reflex. You keep your tongue flat, and start bobbing your head up and down on his cock. Instantly, you feel the saliva running down from the corners of your mouth.

It was messy and sloppy, and the whimpers coming from Draco were heavenly. While trying your hardest to not gag, you continued sucking and twirling your tongue around him like a lollipop. Of course you made sure that his balls didn’t feel left out either. With one free hand you gently massaged them, rolling them in your hand.

Soon enough the stimulation had gotten to Draco. The way you glanced up at him, doe eyed, salivating on cock, awakened some strange feelings in him.

A few more seconds of pure ecstasy, and he started violently bucking his hips, signaling his oncoming orgasm.

More uncontrollable whimpers and curses left his mouth. Finally, you tipped him over the edge when you let his cock hit the back of your throat repeatedly.

His ropes of cum quickly dripped down your throat- shame that you could barely taste it as he was in so deep.

“That was fucking amazing”, he sighs at you, completely out of breath.

With his cock still hanging out, even though it’s soft, you have a fun idea. You spit in your mouth, and as Draco watches, he has no idea what you’re up to.

His eyes widen, when he sees your hand move towards his cock again.

He curses loudly, when you start to pump his shaft. It was absolutely too much for him, especially after he just came.

“Tell me, did you come?”, you ask Draco in a teasing tone. He didn’t answer as he was too focused on the mix of pleasure and pain that was being inflicted on his poor, overused cock.

Completely ignoring the question, you ask it again, yet when there was no answer this time you start pumping him even faster than before. “FUCK”, Draco yelps out, as he clings onto his chair with both hands.

“Earlier when you came in my mouth, did you ask for permission?”. Of course he didn’t, that’s why you asked.

“No”, he whines, looking dazzled. “Stop fucking with me”, he groans, but secretly he enjoyed being messed around with. Maybe that’s what he needed, someone assertive, yet caring.

The agonizing pain was becoming too overpowering second by second.

“Ok, please let me off, I’ll be good next time”, he continues whining in his needy tone.

“Who said there’ll be a next time”, you coo, “and don’t lie, you’re enjoying this”. You continue torturing his cock until he finally can’t take it anymore, twitching uncontrollably in your hand.

As you keep roughly squeezing and pumping his cock, Draco painfully comes a second time. He throws his head back before looking at you again, meanwhile you seductively licked his cum on your hand. In the end, Draco managed to huff out a hoarse “thank you”.

After this blissful experience, Draco would be making sure, that there would in fact be a next time.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

FOLIE Á DEUX ─── jonathan crane ✧

ೃ⁀➷ “Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it's gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it's not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.” - Azra T.

pairing. professor!jonathan crane x stalker!reader

summary. you’ve been stalking your professor for 8 months, keeping track of his movements with your diary. one day, said professor informs that you left something of yours behind in his office…

warnings. swearing, choking, p in v, dacryphilia, oral sex (f), dubcon (if u squint), stalking, breeding, orgasm delay/denial, unprotected sex, hair pulling, student-teacher relationship, SMUT UNDER THE CUT

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is my first ever smut, so if it sucks i really do apologize. also, im kinda unsure where the plot on this one went, but whatever! lastly, i do try to keep all my fics gender-neutral, but seeing as this is smut, i had to choose, and the reader is afab.

“Miss [Name], please stay behind after class. I need just a moment's worth of your time.” Your professor said absently, not looking at you, when he handed back your essay on the human id.

You hummed, nodding your head carefully. “Yes, Professor Crane.” 

Inwardly, you swooned at his choice of words: “I need just a moment's worth of your time.” He’d highlighted the existence of both you and him in the sentence, as if coexisting together, with one another, was plausible.

Later, when class ended, you’d packed up all your things, and walked into Professor Crane’s office off to the side, where he was tidying up. 

“You asked me to stay behind, sir?” 

“Yes,” Crane acknowledged your presence, looking at you squarely. “You forgot something in my office during our last tutoring session.” 

Your eyes widened slightly, both at the fact you’d left one of your items behind, and that your Professor had seen the item, and knew it belonged to you. He hadn’t mistaken it as his own, or anyone else's - he knew it was yours.

“Oh!” You said, a beat later. “Thank you for telling me. Where is it, exactly?”

“Before we get to that matter - do take a seat - I believe we need to have a, ah, talk.” He gestured to the seat in front of his office desk, the same seat you sat on every Wednesday at 6:30 for the past few months. 

“A talk, sir?” You pried, but sat down anyway, reveling in the one-on-one time you were experiencing with your favorite professor. 

That was the main motivator for getting tutored by the man - you adored going in, having an entire hour of him all to yourself. 

Prior, you pretended not to get some of his lessons, let your grade in his psychology class slip to a pitiful mark so low he couldn’t ignore it. You’d started the semester with a stellar grade, so he took it upon himself to offer tutoring - he knew you could understand his method of teaching, and theorized that you hadn’t been able to pay attention in class because of the sheer size of people attending. 

In actuality, however, you understood everything completely - it was merely your obsessive attraction following him like the sound of thunder trailing behind lightning. 

Crane scrubbed his face when you sat, thinking intently on what he wanted to say. “I need you to understand, Miss [Name], that a student-teacher relationship is completely taboo. Such a thing can never - should never, occur.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and suddenly, you were reminded how you hadn’t seen that book in a while, you hadn’t read it when you woke up, when you went for lunch, you hadn’t even written anything about him for the day—

Your professor slid open one of his desk drawers, and pulled out the familiar pocket notebook you kept with yourself at all times. 

“I’m telling you about rules, Miss [Name], because you forgot this.” He said, voice low. “And, pardon my intrusion, but the stuff you have written here is quite… intriguing.”

Your heart began racing in your chest, a cold sweat trailing down your back. “Professor, I- whatever you read in there—“ You began, but froze when he opened the notebook, thumbing through the pages. 

Crane cleared his throat, looking intently at the words. His expression changed several times as his eyes flitted over your writing, and you felt your body burn with shame. 

“January 26th. Professor's gloves were found in the nook of his podium. I was looking for the green apple he’d forgo from finishing, his teeth tracks fresh on the alabaster flesh, but found his winter wear instead. Gloves were brought home - I imagined he’d come over to mine, undressed his biting winter clothing, and forgot his sweet mittens here.” Your professor read your diary out loud. Crane looked like he enjoyed your shame being laid out bare, but you were too absorbed in a whirlwind of emotion to notice. 

“P—Professor, please, I - I can explain, I didn’t mean anything—“

“April 17th. Professor came down with a flu, like I expected. I saw him walking in last week’s evening downpour and waited for what day this week he’d call in. Later, he bought cough syrup and aspirin at the convenience store. I watched him struggle to care for himself, covered head to toe in blankets, missing meals, barely able to keep upright. I wish professor knew how well I could care for him, how I fulfill his every request and need. I saw how touchy he was, how he fidgeted, that feverish want — I could satiate him like no-one else.” 

His lips enunciated every word, and the longer he went on reading, the dizzier you felt; your professor, your darling, had found out - he had found out - he had found fucking out -

“Be honest with me, Miss [Name]. Do you stalk me?” Your professor said, slipping off his wire-framed glasses. The man leaned in closer now, elbows resting on the wooden desk. 

Your eyes darted away from him, looking anywhere but forwards. You felt like you had been stripped away, so bare your professor could count how many ribs you had, how many minor hairline fractures your tattered bones had collected over the years. You tried to analyze the man’s reaction through your peripheral, but it was to no avail - he was as cold as he had been during class, during your entire time knowing the professor. 

You breathed, in and out, analyzing the situation tenfold, precisely, trying to find a way out of this place alive, dignity intact. Then, you found it. 

This man had ensnared you, entranced you with his delicious charm and carefully spoken words. You repeat inwardly to yourself: Crane knew all the right words, all the right places to touch. If he dared press charges, you would tell the world he hurt you first. 

“Yes, Professor Crane.” You nodded, unabashed after deciding how to deal with everything. He can’t touch me with this. I’ll just go first: please, he took advantage of me! I needed to pass his class… and he offered a solution to me. He’s lying! Lying to you all. He just wants to destroy me… and hide his sin.

“The human body knows when someone’s watching them, but you haven’t noticed, not once in the 8 months I’ve watched you. You didn’t notice, even when I followed you home, even to Arkham. Every obscure outing you’ve had, I’ve been there.”

“I’m quite alarmed by this information, Miss [Name]. Moreso by the absence of your remorse.” Crane said, but mere seconds later a low laugh was drawn out of him, looking more amused than alarmed if anything. 

Crane’s tone was husky, nearing a purr, and he clasped his large, calloused hands together contemplatively. “What were you going to do to me, Miss [Name]? Or were you just going to watch, standby my life?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, unable to respond to his provocations. You didn’t want to alarm him further, tell him you’d been planning to finally have him, once and for all, as soon as you got a hold of his house keys and got the chance to replicate your own pair. You didn’t tell him that you were barely restraining yourself from knocking him out during your tutoring sessions, wanting your darling all for yourself for more than an hour a week. 

“Are you not afraid, Miss [Name]? What I can do to your life with this information? How I can ruin you, paint you mad enough to be admitted to Arkham?” he continued, closer than ever before and whispering in your ear. His plush lips brushed past the shell of your ear, making your heart skip a beat. 

You winced, both from the feeling of him near you and his sweet voice spewing poison in your ear, but quickly composed yourself, for you knew things he didn’t know you knew. 

Then - you weren’t quite sure what possessed you, but - your hand came up to his hair, tugging so he could hear you, “Professor - or, should I say… Scarecrow, what would you do, if I told the police what Gotham University’s psychology professor did in his spare time?” 

“What would you do, if I plastered pictures of the renowned Doctor Jonathan Crane wearing the familiar burlap sack mask all over Gotham - especially in places the Batman frequented?”

“I can destroy you, sir.” Your voice was quiet, but dangerous, a terribly alluring thing, like a melody Crane heard a long time ago and remembered every time he smelt the must of an old piano. “Don’t push me.”

This time, Crane stilled, turning to face you fully. His gaze had darkened, looking at you through his long lashes. “My dear, you should’ve just told me how bad you wanted to find out how this fear-toxin of mine can break you.” He whispered, so quiet you had to strain yourself to hear. 

With your professor's warm breath fanning on the nape of your neck, you couldn’t help how you squirmed, clenched your thighs together - especially when you had been dreaming of something like this for the past eight months. You couldn’t count how many times you found yourself with your hands down your pants at the thought of your darling professor having his way with you… controlling you completely. 

You didn’t answer the man for a moment, gulping down the dryness in your throat. “Would you, sir? Would you let fear dominate me like those tortured souls in the Narrows?”

Crane’s eyes trailed across your face, then he pulled back, leaning in his chair, a grin all teeth and no tongue spreading across his lips. There was something there, you realized, something he noticed in the intone of your voice - had he noticed the neediness, the warble as your thoughts went elsewhere? The arch in your back, your body desperate to be as close to him as possible?

“Can I tell you what I think?” said Crane, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I think you want me to. I think you want me to see you tremble… shake in fear… you want me to hear you beg. I think you want to be utterly consumed by me.” 

The deep timbre of his voice, the suggestion in his words, how he stared you down with each syllable, sent electric shivers down your spine. You took in a sharp breath, leaning your head back to look at the ceiling, compose yourself, when—

Crane’s rough hand gripped at your throat, thumb caressing the little notch at the center, and your heart fluttered, jumping at his touch. 

“Fear is an addicting, beautiful thing, is it not? You’re afraid of me, but you can’t help how fucking needy you are.” Your professor spoke, pressing down further on your neck. He had noticed. 

His touch made your skin feel like it was on fire, the rough pads of his fingertips digging bruises into your delicate skin. It was the most delicious thing you had ever felt, and you leaned into it, despite the connotations of death by asphyxiation looming over your shoulder. 

Your professor manhandled you, dragging your weak body over to his side of the desk, hand still curved neatly around your throat. You were growing dizzy, a fearful, pleasure-filled fog slowly clouding your mind, and you couldn’t speak. All you could do was let out little squeaks of surprise & pleasure, a moan rumbling out of you as he pressed down further. 

Crane was saying something, but you couldn’t tell under the pressure. His facial expression was all you needed, however; his eyes were bloodshot, lustful, so laser-focused that, if looks could kill, you’d have been long gone, while a feral grin replaced his emotionless facade. Crane’s usually well-kept appearance had dissolved, and his hair was askew, tie loose, buttons haphazardly undone. 

Suddenly, the man pressed himself flush against you, pressing his face into your hair, your neck - losing himself in you. His tongue flicked out, dragging a long stripe down the side of your neck, and you jumped, a startled whine tearing out of your choked-up throat. 

His grip on you tightened. “What? I’m just having a taste. Is that so wrong?” At your wide eyes, and silent response, he let out a fitful laugh. “You’re coated in shame, darling. You’re sour.”

You squirmed - not because you didn’t enjoy it - you just couldn’t breathe, but Crane didn’t care. His fingernails were sharp, maybe even drawing some of your blood.

“Plea— sir, I can’t breathe,” you stuttered out raspily. His face remained unchanged while listening to your pathetic pleas, before he leaned in close. 

“Beg for it. Beg like you’re terrified for your life. You might as well be,” he said, and he began pressing his thumb into the center of your throat, choking you fully now. 

You nodded - as much as the allowance between his hand and your head allowed, anyway. “Professor, please,” you said breathily, “please let me go. I’ll do any- anything, just puh�� please stop.” 

“Ah, there it is,” Your professor cooed, eyes shutting at the sweet intone of your pleaing, distressed voice. He was losing himself in your words. “Keep going… and don’t forget the crying. It's my favorite part.”

“Let - me go! Please,” you whimpered helplessly, mustering thick, heavy tears to form at the corners of your eyes as you saw black spots dotting your vision. 

A lump formed in your throat, choking your words. “Please… stop! Let me - breathe,” You said, leaning delightedly into his touch. His other hand was now digging painfully into your hip, as if the professor were focussing intensely on holding back. 

“Look at you go,” Crane clicked his tongue, eyes opening and gazing deep into you. He pulled you in closer to him, letting go of your abused throat. 

You finally breathed, taking in such large bouts of air you might’ve choked and keeled over right there. But then, Crane’s hands at your side crawed carefully to your rear, while the other hand came up to the crown of your head to pet you. 

He whispered into the top of your head, “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean what?” You said raspily, your face pressed flat against his bandy chest. 

His hand found the swell of your ass, fingers grabbing hold and squeezing so tight you were sure there’d be a bruise later, “About doing anything. For me.”

You nodded, still not looking at him. This answer didn’t please him, however, and the hand that had been petting you tangled through your hair and roughly pulled you away, to look up at him. “In words.”

“Y— yes. I’ll do anything for you.” You rattled off, prickling pain twisting in your scalp. 

“You’ll be a good girl for me?”

“The best.” 

A grin twisted his pink, plush lips, and he promptly pushed you face down flat against his cold, wooden desk. It was rough, and sudden, pain blooming in your side. But there was a tug in your lower stomach at the way he handled you, all selfish and touchy and focused solely on chasing after his own pleasure. 

Crane’s hands roamed all over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was insatiable, rubbing and petting and kneading at every part of your body. 

His hands found your thighs, squeezing at the flesh, before hiking up your skirt and inspecting your panties. “Oh, you’re fucking soaked,” Crane rumbled out, voice like gravel. “You liked it, didn’t you? When I said I’d admit you to Arkham.”

Then, you heard him kneel down, and begin to press sloppy, wet kisses on your legs. “Be honest,” he said between kisses, “you want me to admit you, have you all to myself in isolation.”

You didn’t respond, instead whimpering and bucking forward when you could feel Crane’s sharp teeth brush over your sensitive skin. He noticed the effect he had on you, and you felt him smile against you. 

“Please,” you keened out, not dissimilar to how you begged him just moments ago, “stop teasing, Professor.”

You felt Crane’s hot breath fan over your clothed mound, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. “Stop teasing, how?” he said at last, before suddenly pushing your panties to the side and licking a stripe up your cunt. He lapped at your lips, collecting your wetness on his tongue, but he didn’t go further. 

“Pro - Professor,” you whined, grounding out a low moan. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. He liked playing with you, making you squirm and shake and beg for more.

“What? This not enough for you?” He pulled away, and you hissed at the cold that hit you. Then, he tugged, hard, pulling both your underwear and your skirt down to your knees. 

“You want me to eat you out till you’re a trembling fucking mess, don’t you?” He buried himself between your legs, “I knew you were a horny little slut.”

Finally, his tongue found you once more, and pushed deep into your folds. Crane’s tongue ran across every rivet your pussy had, before darting out to your clit, suckling at the velvet bundle of nerves. His touch drew out a high-pitched keen, your back arching. 

You couldn’t see him, face still pressed against the wooden desk, but you could hear him, the filthy squelching of your pussy and his tongue making your knees buckle. 

“Fuck, Jonathan,” you choked out, when he went deeper into your quivering hole, your body tingling like nothing you’d ever felt before. At your reaction, his name curling around your pretty little lips, he went faster, wet mouth brushing against you, licking you up and down, animalistic, following his instinct to a tee.

“Please, wait -“ You said, feeling the knot in your insides grow tighter, the heat washing over you like a steaming shower, toes curling in your flats. 

“What?” He growled out beneath you, not letting up his assault on your cunt. 

“I don’t - don’t wanna come on your tongue…” You said, shaking your head weakly against the desk. “Wanna - wanna feel you in me.”

Jonathan snorted, and continued to lap up your insides, “D’you think you have a fucking choice? Huh? I know you’re a whore, you could do this all day. I’ll just make you come again on my cock.”

Before you could protest, or even just whine at his words, you shut your eyes, feeling yourself come undone, your legs barely able to keep you upright. His hands had reached away from your thighs, rough fingers toying with your fleshy button, maximizing the climax washing over you tenfold. 

“Jonathan, Jonathan!” You practically screamed out, heat in your stomach pulsing rapidly. 

“Ugh, fuck,” You heard him say, “you’re creaming all over my fucking face.” 

You were a complete mess by the time he pulled away from you, your high washing away as Crane wiped the come and wetness off his face. 

“You came that hard, just on my tongue?” He mocked, fingers spreading your lips and observing your swollen pussy as you laid flat, weakly gripping the edge of the desk so you’d stay standing. 

“Well,” he said, reaching down to his pants and undoing his belt buckle and fly, “M’not done with this sweet little cunt just yet.”

Your eyes widened, “I’m - I’m still sensitive, wait-“

Jonathan didn’t listen, however, letting his pants and boxers pool at his feet, stroking himself in the artificial light of his office, which smelt like sweat and sex. 

He spat on his hand, first coating his cock in it, then your parted lips (which you theorized was just because he wanted to feel you up again), before lining up his thick head at your entrance. “God,” he groaned, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You keened at the intrusion you felt between your legs, “Jonathan, please, jus’ - give me a sec to rest —“ You were interrupted however, by the shock of how big he felt. 

You hadn’t gotten a look at him, but as he let himself slowly enter you, you could tell it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken before. “You’re - you’re too big!” you squeaked out, “You won’t fit.”

He laughed, hands resting on your hips as he held you upright. “I’ll make it fit,” he said, before roughly pounding the rest of himself into you, stretching out your inexperienced cunt. 

You choked, his fat cock pushing you wider than you’d ever been before, the pain biting at you, a burning feeling spreading within your lower body. “Jon- Jonathan,” was all you could say, as he slowly pulled out, pure relief written on your face, until he sank right back into you, somehow deeper than before. 

Tears welled in your eyes, as he gripped harshly on the flesh of your hips, making you pound back and forth on him. His cock was hard, and thick, and he was forcing the thing deep within you at an excruciatingly quick pace. Your sensitivity was the cherry on top to this whole situation - you were trembling, body weak, shallow breaths and teary moans tearing out of you at the overstimulation.

Soon, however, the pain slowly dissolved into a filthy, exquisite pleasure that echoed throughout your entire body. The rhythm your professor had gotten to was downright perfect, filling you completely and making you clench in all the right places. Crane made your brain go foggy, focussing solely on the sound of your skin slapping against each other in the quiet, after-hours office, his taller frame encapsulating you completely.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he cooed, hands moving to splay across your ass and spread you open further. “How many cocks have taken this sweet pussy, huh?”

You gulped. “Just,” you started, but then your eyes rolled to the back of your head, stopping you mid-sentence as his length brushed up to your most sensitive spot.

“How,” he gripped you tighter, “many,” slipped out, “cocks!”  then thrust into you roughly, rougher than before and making the desk screech forward a few inches.

“Just one!” You said at last, words choked up as his long cock pierced you. 

“Just one, huh?” He said and began pounding in and out of you faster, rougher, needier, “I bet you didn’t even fucking come, you’re so tight. This pretty pussy of yours is practically virgin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said incoherently, thoughts blending together. “Jus’ a - a fucking virgin for you,” you babbled out, losing yourself in the fast-paced pleasure he was serving on a silver platter. 

“That you are,” Jonathan growled, “you’re just my horny virgin. Mine.” Every thrust he plunged into you brushed up against that plush spot deep within you, making you drool, body going slack. 

“Oh, jesus, you’re so fucked out,” he murmured, looking down at your limp, trembling form. “Drunk on my thick fucking cock.”

The ecstasy was becoming too much for you now, controlling you completely, like if he stopped fucking you right now you’d be so fucking needy, going slowly insane until he touched you again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone else and feel the same; he made you feel fucking feral, instinctual, your id going into drive and controlling you instead of logic. Your darling was the only one you wanted to offer yourself up completely to. He could do anything he fucking wanted to you, and you’d take it in stride. 

“Jonathan,” you keened, feeling your walls clench around him tighter, “m’close.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice deep and dangerous, “keep that orgasm in, whore, till I tell you to.”

Your cheeks burned, distraught at the denial of your release, especially when his cock slipped out of you as he flipped you over. Quickly, however, he rammed his cock back into you. You were facing each other now, and you could see how hot and bothered he looked, despite how confident and careless his words had been as he fucked you.

His lips were bitten between his teeth, hair sticking to the sweat on his face, cheeks flushed. He was focussed entirely on getting back that rhythm, and you let him, watching how his gorgeous features contorted as your hot cunt sucked him in. 

Your arms reached around his neck, and he promptly lifted your legs up to hook around his back, making him fill you even further. 

“Fuck me!” You squealed, his shaft reaching places you didn’t know could be reached. It was getting harder to stop your impending orgasm, and your felt fucking sick at how sweetly he was stretching you, how you knew you couldn’t let go no matter what despite the delicious pleasure. 

“Already am, baby,” he grumbled, rutting in and out of you at a dizzying pace. You felt his pace stutter, slightly, and you heard his small, revealing whines of pleasure as his head was nestled in the nook of your neck, and you knew he was close. 

The thought of him coming in you made you tighten and tense, and he felt it, your back lifting off the desk in an arch. 

“Fuck, how’d you get even tighter?” he said shakily, before sliding out of you so far he almost pulled out completely, then let his cock thrust into you so hard you saw stars dancing across your vision.

You merely mewled back at him in response. 

“Come,” he said breathily, “come all over my thick— ugh, fuuuck, just like that, yes,” his sentence was cut off as you let go, letting the waves of pleasure surge through your body like electricity. 

Your body shook, your knees trembled, and an animalistic whine slipped out of your bruise throat as he thrust into you jerkily. Just as quickly as you camez, he did too, and you felt Jonathan’s load shoot straight up into your worn-out cunt, not impeded by a condom of any sorts. Crane’s head cocked back as he did so, jaw clenching as he released his sweet and sticky liquid deep within you, warm and coating your walls completely.

For a moment, he laid atop of you, and you both kept silent, the office filled with nothing but your breathing and the sweet smell of come. Then, he pulled away, both of you wincing as his cock left you, his come dripping out of your weeping hole onto his office floors. 

He pulled his underwear and pants back on, but revelled in your own crumpled form on his desk, your shirt hiked up, your skirt and panties hanging off your ankles, barely there. It was a shame he couldn’t have explored further up your body, groped those tits he loved seeing bounce during tutoring, but his need to fill your pussy up took precedent.

Jonathan swiped a finger into your cunt, collecting some of your combined liquid, and you flinched at the feeling. Then, he licked at his dirty finger. “Oh, baby,” he heaved, “we taste delectable mixed together.” 

You raised a brow, then weakly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your panties and skirt (not without adoring the feeling of Jonathan’s fresh, wet come smearing all over your panties and sensitive cunt) before reaching for his hand. He leaned in towards you, and you lapped up the juice on his finger, grinning up at him.

Jonathan looked completely lost in your performance, brows knitted. “Jesus fucking christ,” he whispered under his breath, “where has a perfect little fucktoy like you been hiding from me?”

“Oh,” you said, nonchalant, “just stalking you.” 

[n1ght0f-nyx]

My hero academia boys asking you out pt 1

warnings/tags: cliffhanger, more fanon way of acting than canon ngl, i dont think there's other warnings other than that- feel free to dm me if you notice a common warning that could affect someone

characters: katsuki bakugo, izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, tenya ida, Eijiro kirishima, denki kamanari

🔥 Katsuki Bakugou 🔥

Bakugo seemed more agitated than usual. He kept glancing in my direction, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my heart race. I tried to ignore it, focusing on the lesson, but it was like trying to ignore a blazing inferno in the middle of a snowstorm.

When the bell finally rang, I gathered my things and started to head out, hoping to make a quick escape before he could confront me. But as soon as I stepped into the hallway, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I turned around to find Bakugo standing there, his expression unreadable.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” he said, his voice gruff but lacking its usual edge.

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady despite the rapid beating of my heart.

He led me to a more secluded part of the school, away from prying eyes and ears. I could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. He turned to face me, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.

“Look, I’m not good with this kind of stuff,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. More than I probably should.”

My breath caught in my throat. Was he really saying what I thought he was saying? I tried to keep my face neutral, but I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks.

“I like you, Y/N,” he said bluntly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t do things halfway, and I’m not gonna start now. So, what do you say? Will you go out with me?”...

💚 Izuku Midoriya 💚

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the UA High School grounds. It had been a long day of training, and I was ready to head back to the dorms when I heard a familiar voice call my name.

"Y/N, wait up!"

I turned around to see Izuku Midoriya, his messy green hair slightly tousled and his cheeks flushed from running. He caught up to me, panting a little but with that determined look in his eyes that I'd come to admire so much.

"Hey, Midoriya," I greeted him with a smile. "What's up?"

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "There's something I need to talk to you about. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," I replied, curious about what had him so worked up.

We walked over to a bench near the training field and sat down. Izuku seemed nervous, fidgeting with his hands and avoiding eye contact. I waited patiently, giving him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.

"Y/N, we've been friends for a while now, right?" he began, finally looking at me. His green eyes were filled with sincerity and a hint of something else—something that made my heart skip a beat.

"Yeah, we have," I agreed, my curiosity growing.

"I-I really admire you," he stammered, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. "You're strong, kind, and always know how to make people smile. Being around you makes me want to be a better hero."

I felt a warm blush creep up my own cheeks at his words. "Thank you, Midoriya. That means a lot to me."

He took another deep breath, clearly trying to muster his courage. "What I'm trying to say is... I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me sometime?"...

🧊 shoto todoroki 🔥

I glanced across the bustling courtyard of U.A. High School, my heart doing a little flip when my eyes landed on Shoto Todoroki. His dual-colored hair was unmistakable, a vibrant mix of crimson and white, just like his enigmatic personality. I always found him intriguing, a blend of ice and fire, both literally and figuratively.

Today, he seemed different. He was standing a bit straighter, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he was searching for something—or someone. My pulse quickened as his gaze locked onto mine. For a moment, I considered looking away, but curiosity and something deeper held my attention.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice carrying over the chatter of our classmates. I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as he approached me. Todoroki was known for his calm and stoic demeanor, so seeing him a bit unsettled was surprising.

"Hey, Todoroki," I greeted, trying to sound casual despite the rapid beating of my heart. "What's up?"

He stood in front of me, his mismatched eyes intense and focused. "Can we talk?" he asked, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of emotion that made me wonder what was going on.

"Of course," I replied, nodding. "What's on your mind?"

Todoroki took a deep breath, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "I've been meaning to tell you something," he began, his gaze unwavering. "I've realized that I have feelings for you, Y/N. And I was wondering if you would go out with me."

🗣️ tenya Iida 👔

I had always admired Tenya Iida from afar. His dedication, his sense of justice, and his unwavering commitment to his classmates were qualities I deeply respected. But today, something was different. I noticed him glancing my way more often than usual, and there was a nervous energy about him that I hadn't seen before.

The school day passed in a blur, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of Tenya. Finally, after our last class, I headed towards my locker, only to find him standing there, waiting for me. His usually stern face softened as our eyes met.

"Y/N," he began, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. "Could I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course, Tenya," I replied, trying to keep my own nerves in check. "What's up?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he continued. "I've been meaning to tell you something for a while now. I admire your strength, your kindness, and your dedication. You inspire me in ways I can't quite put into words."

I felt my cheeks heat up at his unexpected praise, but I nodded for him to continue.

"I... I have feelings for you, Y/N," he confessed, his voice steadying as he spoke. "And I was wondering if you would do me the honor of going out with me."

🗿 Eijiro Kirishima 🗿

It was a bright and sunny afternoon, the kind that made everything feel a little bit more hopeful. The UA High School campus was bustling with students, everyone going about their business, but my mind was focused on something—or rather, someone—else entirely. Eijiro Kirishima.

I had known Kirishima since we started at UA, and over time, my admiration for him grew into something deeper. His unwavering spirit, his kindness, and his infectious smile had a way of making my heart race. Today, though, something seemed different about him. There was a nervous energy in his usually confident demeanor.

We were in the courtyard, taking a break from training. Kirishima approached me with that wide, toothy grin of his, but there was a hint of something more in his eyes.

"Hey, Y/N," he began, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Can we talk for a sec?"

"Sure, what's up?" I replied, trying to keep my own nerves in check.

He led me to a quieter spot under one of the large oak trees that dotted the campus. The shade provided a nice respite from the sun, but it didn't do much to calm the fluttering in my chest.

Kirishima took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto mine with a seriousness I rarely saw in him. "Y/N, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I just... I need to tell you something."

I felt my heart skip a beat. Was this really happening?

"I really like you," he confessed, his cheeks turning a shade of pink that rivaled his hair. "Like, a lot. You're amazing, and I've been wanting to tell you for a long time, but I didn't know how. I guess what I'm trying to say is... Would you go out with me?"

⚡️ denki kamanari ⚡️

I had just finished my last class of the day, my mind still buzzing with the day’s lessons. As I walked down the hallway, I saw Denki Kaminari leaning casually against a locker, his usual grin plastered across his face. He saw me and straightened up, a spark of nervous energy in his eyes that I hadn't seen before.

“Hey, Y/N!” he called out, waving enthusiastically. I couldn’t help but smile back. Denki had always been a ball of energy, lighting up any room he entered.

“Hey, Denki! What’s up?” I asked as I approached him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign that he was nervous. “So, um, I was wondering if you have any plans this weekend?”

I tilted my head, curious. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

His cheeks flushed slightly, and he took a deep breath. “Well, I was thinking... maybe we could go out sometime? Like, on a date?”

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | damned if i do ya (damned if i don't)

a/n: oooohhhh i love them bad. the slow burn is slow burning a little bit. btw the song is daylight by 5sos!

series masterlist | previous | next

v. damned if i do ya (damned if i don't) by all time low

all the progress luke thought he was making with you was thrown out the window after the concert. at first, he was glad to have some distance between you guys. he was dealing with sorting out what he felt for you. it was stupid, really, how he realized that you reminded him a lot of his childhood nickelodeon crush, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was more than that. 

sure, you were a fucking headache sometimes, but he liked it. he liked you. he liked how you always tore him a new one, made him feel normal, like he wasn’t luke castellan – lead singer of poisoned mercury, he was just luke when he was with you. you asked him about his music, his life, but knew when to stop right before the conversation got too heavy because you understood him. you knew how he felt even when he didn’t say it. 

maybe he’d just been around his bandmates too much, teenage boys with emotional iqs of a thumbtack, but you took one look at him and he knew that you understood what he was feeling. as great of a writer he was when it came to music, he was never good with expressing how he felt. 

but now, it’s been weeks since you last talked to him, like really talked to him. whenever he’d see you in your smoke spot, he’d try to start a conversation, but you’d stuff your vape in your pocket and walk away before he could even say hi. you stopped going to the gym in the morning, often coming into the cabin after your workout during random times of the day, no longer following a set schedule. you rarely hung out with the boys, opting to retire into your room earlier than usual. you still joined clarisse during her counselor duties, but she stopped letting the boys tag along when luke was available as much as she used to. she’d offer an apologetic smile to luke and slip out an excuse why he couldn’t join for music lessons. 

luke was tired of it. he didn’t know what went wrong, what he did wrong, to make you act so cold towards him. even when you didn’t know him yet, you were never like this. you always had a snide remark ready for him, but now, he was met with silence. 

on the bright side, he at least had inspiration to write new songs. 

he wandered into the cabin, thinking that it would be empty. clarisse was being held hostage at arts and crafts again. (she complained the whole morning about it until chris offered to join her so she wouldn’t be the only one covered in glitter this time.) the stolls were in the studio recording the instrumentals for the song luke showed them a few days ago. they’d asked him who the song was about, though he had a feeling they already knew. he wasn’t really trying to be secretive with the words. and you, luke could only wonder where you were. 

he stopped in his tracks at the sound of mr. d’s voice in your room. your bedroom door was wide open and luke feared that you’d see him so he hid around the corner, back pressed against the wall. 

“this is serious, kid,” mr. d yelled. “your teammate is pressing charges so i need the full story! i don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. this can go on your record permanently.” 

“so let it!” you screamed back. luke heard you pacing around your room, heavy steps against the cabin floors. “i don’t care.” 

“i care! i’ve been pretty goddamn lenient when it comes to you, y/n, but this?” mr. d countered, veins on his neck bulging out as he raised his voice. luke had never seen him like this, “this is fucking serious. you need to tell me exactly what happened.” 

“she was talking about you, okay?” you sobbed. you sat on your bed, hands buried in your open palms. “she said something about your addiction. i don’t fucking know how she found out, but she said something and i just lost it, dad. she was talking out her ass and i just needed her to shut up because she didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about.” 

mr. d’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek. he gulped, not saying a word. your dad looked at the decorated wall of your bedroom, polaroids of you and your friends, your framed high school field hockey jersey, and the concert ticket from the first show he ever took you to. he looked down at the pink rug on your floor, unable to say anything. 

you looked up at him, eyes brimmed with tears, “there, i told you. happy now?” 

it wasn’t long before mr. d stormed out of the cabin. luke flinched as the door slammed shut behind him. he heard you sobbing in your bedroom and he contemplated approaching you. you were already mad at him, for a reason that he still didn’t know, so what the hell? 

with a deep breath, luke emerged from the corner and walked towards your door. his knuckles softly knocked on the open door. you looked up at the noise, rubbing your eyes with your forearm. you chewed on your bottom lip, “not in the mood to argue, castellan.” 

“not here to argue,” he stood under your door frame, leaning against the side. “i’m here to see if you’re okay.” 

you had this habit of running away from things when you knew it had the power to hurt you. it wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but your fight or flight response was triggered every time you started catching feelings for someone. it didn’t happen often, you developing actual feelings for people. you developed crushes, sure, but not feelings. 

you didn’t get googly-eyed and love-dumb with guys. you knew better– growing up with a dad who could quite literally transform people’s lives with a snap of his finger made you hyperaware of people’s intentions with you. but sometimes, you get blinded by the guy who sweeps you off your feet and you forget about it all. 

after the concert, you couldn’t stop thinking about luke. you already knew what kind of person he actually was, kind, caring, talented, all of the above, but there was still a nagging voice in your head telling you: “what if this is all an act?” “what if this is his move? pretending to be a different guy from the tabloids just to get you to fall for him then break your heart like everyone else did?” so you fled. you ran away from luke. 

clarisse caught onto you avoiding luke fairly quickly. she no longer saw you two walking into the cabin together in the early mornings when she was getting ready for the day. you started declining invitations to hang out at the activities center, stopped having time to help her with music lessons when the band was tagging along, and started hanging out with her in your room instead of the common space. 

she asked you about it after a week of the same thing. you told her you just weren’t in the mood, lacked energy. you said a million excuses but she could see right through you. you and the lead singer weren’t really subtle with your longing glances. 

you crossed your legs under you, pulling the blanket up to cover your legs. you moved over on your bed, tilting your head to let him inside. luke took his shoes off and closed the door behind him, sock-clad feet tapping against the wooden floors. he sat on the edge of your bed, playing with the stray thread on your blanket. 

“you ever feel like your parents wish they had a different kid?” you whispered, “maybe a kid that wasn’t so difficult?” 

“all the time,” luke replied, “every time my name is in the tabloids, i swear it takes years off my mom’s life.” 

you laughed, sniffling, “you need to take it easy on your mom. she’s too good for this world.” 

“that she is,” he leaned back on his elbows, resting his head on his shoulder. he tapped your leg under the blanket, “you know your dad loves you, right?”

“yeah,” you sighed, looking at luke. your makeup was smudged under your eyes and it took all his power not to lean over to wipe it away. you hunched your shoulders over when you spoke again, “just feels like sometimes i’m too much for him and i don’t know how to stop doing that.” 

“i don’t think you should.” 

it was the truth. you dealt in extremes. you were intense but it was only because you were passionate about things. he’d seen you practicing for hours, staying up late to help the younger kids with their projects even if it wasn’t your job, bossing people around to make sure that the camp activities were perfect. when you put your mind to something, luke knew there was no stopping you. 

“so i’m guessing you heard that whole thing with my dad?” 

“yeah,” luke rubbed the back of his neck. he looked at you, feeling caught that he’d been listening in on your private conversation. “i didn’t know anyone was in here when i walked in.” 

“it’s fine,” you shrugged, “pretty sure the whole camp heard my dad yelling anyways.” 

he laughed, “probably. i’d never seen him like that before. he’s usually so chill. it kinda caught me off guard.” 

“me too.” 

“it’s not as bad as when my mom yells at me though,” luke offered, trying to lighten the mood. he grinned when he saw your eyes brighten. you never did pass up the opportunity to have luke embarrass himself. if he could stop you from crying, he would lay out all his embarrassing stories in front of you for your listening pleasure. “the time she found out that me and trav got banned from wichita, like the whole city, she got so mad that the hotel we were staying at kicked us out because there were so many noise complaints. had to sleep on the bus. my back was killing me the entire time we were playing a show the next day.” 

“what the fuck did you guys do that warranted a ban from the whole city?” 

luke’s cheeks turned pink, “we mooned a cop car.” 

you bursted into uncontrollable laughter, falling back on your pillows. luke watched you, laughing along at your reaction. you were crying again, but it was a good cry this time. luke thought you looked pretty like this; cheeks red, eyes shut as you tried to regain your composure, and smiling, all teeth and lips. he hadn’t seen it in a while and he wanted to take a picture of you right now just so he could always remember how you looked at this moment. he wasn’t sure if he could survive another few weeks without seeing it again.

luke nudged you as your laughter died down, “if shit goes down with your teammate, there will be three of us with a permanent record in this cabin.”

you smiled at him, sadly, voice returning to the hushed tone you used earlier, “you think my dad could forgive me for this?” 

“don’t think anyone could hold a grudge against you even if they tried, five star,” luke placed a hand on your thigh covered by the blanket. he relished in the feeling of the hand you placed over his own. it felt intimate. “what does your mom think about all of this?” 

“i dunno,” you played with the rings on his hand, twisting the silver metals on his fingers, “i haven’t talked to her about it yet. been avoiding her calls.” 

“well, happy to know that i wasn’t the only one getting the silent treatment,” he teased, no bite to his voice. “shit, five star, even with your punishments, you still manage to not make me feel special.” 

you squeezed his hand, a giggle escaping your lips, “shut up.” 

luke looked at you, “you should probably talk to her soon.” 

“i will,” you nodded, meeting his gaze, “soon.” 

the two of you stayed there in silence, you playing with his rings and the bracelets on his arm. you were so enamored by the silver jewelry on his hand, twirling his rings to read each engraving, looking at each design, humming in appreciation. you looked at the camp half blood bracelet on his wrist, recognizing the beads on the string. 

“i can’t believe you got a camp bracelet before i did this summer,” you huffed, admiring the beads. “i’ve been here longer than you and nobody made me one yet.” 

“a little girl made it for me,” luke said, smiling at the memory. “i helped her with her with the production of the song for her summer project and she made it for me.” 

“i didn’t know you also produced music.” luke castellan continued to surprise you. 

“not well,” he replied. “just the basics, but i like to think i helped her out. annabeth— you know her? the kid with perfect pitch. fucking brilliant. smarter than i was at her age.”

“i love beth. i’m pretty sure she’s the smartest 12-year-old to ever exist,” your eyes twinkled, moving your index finger to his own, “what’s the story with this one?”

luke looked down at the ring you were touching. it was the silver ring he bought for himself using his first paycheck from their album sales. it cost him a pretty penny, but it was worth it. the font was tiny, but he memorized the words. 

“aγάπη χωρίς πείσματα δεν έχει νοστιμάδα,” luke said, no doubt butchering the pronunciation. “it’s greek. my mom used to read greek proverbs to me as a child. i think she hoped i’d become the next great philosopher, but instead i became a musician. this phrase stuck with me.”

“what does it mean?”

“love without a bit of stubbornness isn’t tasteful,” he whispered, “it’s a little reminder to myself that even though i can be difficult as shit sometimes, i’m worth it.”

luke cleared his throat, “had a tough time when we first got big. i’m sure you’ve heard of some stories. there was a time when me and my mom didn’t talk much. i thought i knew what was best and i pushed her away. i was so stubborn, five star.” 

“my dad left when i was a kid and for second, i thought i would lose my mom too,” he shook his head, the bitter taste of regret in his mouth as he recalled those memories. “im glad i didn’t. this ring reminds me that no matter how stubborn i am, i still deserve love, y’know? maybe it’s stupid, but sometimes i doubt it. mom always told me that love isn’t supposed to be easy, but it’s supposed to always be worth it– worth all the trouble, the stubbornness, the hurt, so this little phrase keeps me grounded in a weird way.”

“worth it to an extent,” you said. there was something hidden in your words like you were somehow asking him if you fell within the extent of it being worth it. it was in the look in your eye, doubt and worry that maybe you pushed it too far this time and you were no longer worth the fight. 

“extent is subjective. i know my mom thinks i’m worth it. i know that no matter how much me and the stolls get into fights, our friendship is worth it. i know that even though me and chris grew up to be different people, our bond is worth it,” luke leaned in closer as if he was going to tell you a secret, something that stays between you and him, only allowed to be spoken within the walls of your room. “and you, five star–” 

he couldn’t finish his sentence. his words got caught in his throat. he was afraid that if he kept talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop. he didn’t know if there was a universe out there where fighting for you wouldn’t be worth it. had you been thinking about him all this time you’d been apart? have your thoughts been plagued by the idea of him? all he could think of was you. all his songs were about you. it seemed like everything had been about you since he met you. 

is it too much too soon to even say things like that? luke didn’t know where you stood, if you even felt the same way about him as he did about you. how evil must the world be to have you exist in his orbit but not allow him to fight for you? 

the corner of your lips lifted a tiny bit and luke knew he didn’t need to say anything else. you understood. 

luke wanted to stop you when you removed your hand from his, but he didn’t want to test his luck. you dug through the drawer by your bed, pulling out the familiar vape, “i could really go for a smoke right now but this stupid thing died.” 

an idea popped into luke’s mind. he got up, motioning for you to do the same. you stayed seated on your bed, eyebrow raised in concern. 

“come on,” luke sighed, playfully rolling his eyes when you still refused to get up. he held out his hand, looking down at you. “you trust me?” 

you glanced at him then at his hand, deciding. it felt like a loaded question, like he was asking about something more than if you’d go with him to whatever adventure he had planned for the both of you. his heart hammered in his chest as he waited for your answer. you didn’t say anything to his question, unsure if you could rationalize your decision, but when you laced your fingers with his, luke didn’t let go of your hand until you were both out of the campgrounds.

[azrakaban]

I love the Smiths - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: It's short. I know. I'm just in shock. #4 in jkrowling?! HELLO? TYSM I LOVE YOU AAAALL

Summary: Mattheo finds a non depressing person who listens to the same depressing music as him

Music suggestions: Back to the old house (2011 remaster) - The Smiths, There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - The Smith

Warnings: Mentions of drug use (not Mattheo or reader), cursing, fluff

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT DO DRUGS. I never have and never intend to, all descriptions of the effects of weed are brought to you from compulsory PSHE lessons (That's all I'm basing it off of so may be inaccurate) :) 

Pronouns mentioned: The reader has she/her pronouns, but feel free to change it in ur mind, it's not plot relevant xxx

...

Mattheo's POV

Sometimes all you need at the end of the bad day is rain and a smiths vinyl.

And fortunately for a certain younger Riddle son, that's exactly what he had. Well, that and a pack of cigarettes. 

He lit one as he sat back against the cracking stone bricks of the tower walls, just as A There Is Light That Never Goes Out came on. He exhaled the smoke, feeling partially guilty about the health effects he'd been so dubiously warned about by the posters plastered across the school walls. 

It's not like professor sprout didn't mean well by growing medicinal cannabis for some students, it's just that some slightly more raucous Ravenclaws and Gryffindors saw it as a personal invitation to get high. 

Not Mattheo though - he didn't like the stuff, knew it fucked with your head in the worst way possible, so he steered clear of it. He stuck to depressing 80s music to keep him happy. Ironic really. 

He looked up at the stars, trying to spot patterns before drifting off into his mind. 

'Because it's not my home, it's their home

and I'm welcome no more...'

"I love the smiths." Came a voice from the doorway, and Mattheo spun sharply. "What?" He said quietly. 

"I said I love the smiths." Came the voice again, and this time it registered with him that it belonged to a gorgeous girl standing in the doorway.

He grinned, returning the nervous smile on your face. "Yeah?? Well, you've got good taste then." He said, taking a puff of his cig. You flicked it from his hand with a small smile. He looked up at you, confused. 

"Why-?" He said, raising an eyebrow. 

"I heard you complaining about it in transfiguration earlier. At least, I think it was you. Sounded like your voice. It was a deep voice, whining something like 'Theo I wanna quit but you keep putting them on my bedside so I caaaaaan't.'" You imitated him perfectly, and Mattheo laughed. 

"Yeah, sounds about right." He said, smirking to himself. 

You laughed with him. "I imagined you looking at him the way a toddler looks at you before asking if you have games on your phone." You admit, smiling as you sit beside him. 

Mattheo stifled a laugh. "Really? I think I was more looking at him like how a kid looks at their parent before they ask them to watch them do something really bad, like a backflip that turns into an A&E trip." He replied, trying to light another cigarette. You flicked that one off the tower. 

He nodded, mouthing a quick thanks. You laughed. "I'll take those." You stole the cigarettes from his pocket, leaning across Mattheo. Instinctually, he sniffed, smelling your shampoo. You pulled back, looking confused.

"Did you just sniff my hair?" You said, half laughing. He flushed. "It was right there! What was I gonna do? Smelt good though." He acknowledged. "Some kind of spice?" He guessed. 

"Cinnamon." You replied, smiling. He ah'ed in acknowledgement, before he looked up at the stars. You mirrored him. 

"Look. Taurus." You pointed up at a cluster of stars. Mattheo looked up, not seeing anything. "Is it really?" He replied, raising an eyebrow. You giggled. "No idea, but it could be. Why, did it make me seem smart?" You replied, looking over at him.

"Will you push me off of here if I say no?" He laughed. You gently pushed him. "Debating it. If I push you I can steal your vinyl and player." You smirked. 

"Ah, but without me, you'd have no-one to listen to them with." He gently shoved you back. 

You nodded, agreeing with him. "True that."

He smiled, and you sat in silence for a while, before he broke it. "So, what brings you up here at midnight?" He queried, looking at you with a strange expression. 

"Friends. They're driving me insane." You replied, laughing a little. He nodded with you. "Same here." He sighed. 

You looked at him. "What did yours do?" He laughed. 

"Nothing much... they have good intentions it's just..." He grimaced.  "They're trying to set me up with this girl I've never met. She sounds great it's just... I want to know someone before I ask them out, you know? God that sounds corny." He groaned, and your mouth quirked, eyes seeing the stars but not registering them.

"No, I agree. Blind dates are awkward." You shuddered. "Have much experience?" He teased. You shook your head, smiling. "I'm going off of several cheesy rom coms." You shrugged.

"A romance girl hmm?" He smirked. You shoved him. "Loud and proud, tease me all you want, at least my standards aren't the bare minimum." He looked surprised. "It's not a bad thing you know. In my cheesy romance movies, the romance book girls tend to be the best love interests." He shoved you back gently as you gasped. 

"You watch romance movies?" You said quietly. "Don't give me that look, Blaise's mum loved them and I spent summers with them. You learn to tolerate them." He chuckled. You smiled.

"Do you have a favourite?" He gave you a look. "Don't be ridiculous."

You gave him puppy eyes and he relented. "10 Things I hate About you." You smiled happily. "Good choice." 

And then something hit you. "Did you call me a love interest?" He looked confused. "What?" 

"You said the romance book girls are the best love interests are the romance book girls directly after i said it. Do you see me as a love interest, Mr Riddle?" You teased, and he flushed again. 

"You know who I am?" He said quietly. You nodded. "Then why for Salazar's sake are you still here?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"You didn't ask me to leave, so why would I go?" You looked confused. He shook his head. "If you know who I am you've probably heard the rumours about what I'm like. That I'm like... him." You got the implication. 

"Well, you haven't tried to kill me, and you've had plenty of opportunities to push me off the tower, so I'd say you're pretty good in my books." You smiled. He gave you a weak one, clearly still processing. 

"So, do you see me as a love interest?" You repeated, smiling as he blushed slightly again.

"Maybe I do." He murmured. You smiled. "You're cute when you blush." You kissed his cheek before you stood. "Where are you going?" He said, looking crestfallen.

"I prefer to get to know people before I cast them as my love interest." You replied, smiling. 

"See you in transfiguration." And with that, you made your dramatic exit. 

He smiled to himself as you left, and sat there for a few moments in contemplation. What in the fever dream?

...

Mattheo was just leaving charms as he saw a head of (y/h/c) hair leave the history of magic classroom. He looked closer, spotting your gorgeous eyes that he'd been lost in the previous night. And then, in horrifying mortification, he realised he didn't know your name. 

"HEY! SMITHS GIRL!" He yelled, pushing past people to catch up with you, you span around, smiling. 

"Hi." He said a little breathlessly, and you giggled. "We umm, only listened to Side A of my vinyl last night, you wanna do Side B tonight?" He asked, crossing his fingers in his robes. You nodded, smiling, as his friends caught up. 

"I'd love to. But i don't want to keep you from your friends. Hey Theo." You waved to the guy standing behind Mattheo. Mattheo froze as Theo smirked. "Hi n/n. Mattheo, this is the girl I was telling you about. Y/n, Mattheo, Mattheo, Y/n. Though it seems you two are already aquainted?" He raised an eyebrow. 

You flushed. "A little." You murmured. Mattheo nodded sheepishly. "See you tonight, Smiths Girl." He smirked. 

"I have a name!" You called as he left with his friends. "SEE YOU TONIGHT Y/N!" He yelled back, laughing. Theo smirked at him. 

"Don't."

...

Over the next few weeks, you two grew incredibly close. Yapping about people, buried trauma... everything and anything that came up under the moonlight. 

"I love the moon." You said after a particularly deep talk, which had Mattheo nearly on the verge of the tears for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. He turned to you, giving you a sad smile.

"Why's that?" He murmured, watching your features illuminated by the light. 

"It's known you your whole life, through every bad fringe, through every cringy Twilight era, and still loves you. It still doesn't go away, except during the day, which is when the sun watches you. You don't need it then. But as soon as you do, it's there. It only goes when it has to, not because it wants to." You said thoughtfully. Mattheo chuckled slightly.

"Sure you're not over personifying it there?" He whispered, gently nudging you. You shook your head. 

"Look at that and tell me you don't think it can feel." Mattheo looked. And this time he saw. 

He saw what you saw in the moon. He saw what it represented in you. And he decided in that moment, he would stay. He would be your moon, if you would be his sun. But how could he tell you that? He couldn't, god no. 

So he just let his hand inch closer to yours, getting close, so unbearably close and then moving away, like magnets. 

"Y/n?" He murmured. You turned to look at him. "Yeah?" You whispered. 

He swallowed the words he wanted to say, instead opting for something that wouldn't probably make you turn and run away from him. 

"Thank you for telling me about you. And thank you for hearing about me." He said, giving you a small smile. 

"Don't thank me for something I'd willingly do whenever." You replied, watching the stars, and Mattheo wasn't sure if something inside him healed or broke. 

"You'll be the death of me." He chuckled lowly. You smiled. 

"I'd rather be the life of you." You replied, giggling before standing and going to leave. He reacted on instinct, grabbing your hand and pulling you back. 

"Stay? Please." He murmured, pulling you back down. You let him pull you, and found yourself sat between his legs, back against his chest, watching the stars. 

Another song came on, and you smiled. "I love this one!" You said, and stood again. For a moment, Mattheo panicked, before you held out a hand for him. 

"Dance with me?" You whispered, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Well, to Mattheo, your eyes sparkled all the time, but more under the starlight. 

He stood, smiling as he took your hand and fake bowed, wiggling his eyebrows as he gently rested his hands on your hips, pulling you a little closer. 

You smiled, dancing  in silence for a while before he spoke. "It's a little cold." He said, and you nodded, shivering a little. "Mhm." You said. Damn, you should have brought a jumper. He noticed you shivering. "Come here, y/n." He murmured, outstretching his arms for you. 

You hesitated, and he worried that he'd pushed you too far, before you conceded, moving into his arms. He rested his chin on your head, happy to be a source of warmth if it kept you happy. You snuggled into him and Mattheo physically felt his heart ache, like it wanted out of his chest and into yours. 

"Honestly, fuck you." He said, groaning. You looked up, seeming surprised. "What?" 

"You come up here, where I was fine alone, and share all these things, and  that make me share things that I haven't told anyone before, and what's fucking more, you don't make me feel bad about it, you help me, and suddenly I'm not fine alone, and I need you."

"And I don't like needing people, it just gets you hurt, but you're not like other people, and I'm okay with needing you, because everytime I see you, you heal some tiny part of me, and fuck you because I am so hopelessly, desperately, in love with you." He said, walking back and forth infront of you as you tried to process. 

"I'm sorry." You whispered, smiling. He groaned. "And now you're apologising for it, and you look so fucking pretty and all I can think about it how much I want to kiss you." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, damp from the rain, and a raindrop fell down his face like a tear. 

"You should. Kiss me I mean. I'd like that." You whispered, and you were barely through with your sentence before his lips were on yours, and you were kissing him, and his one of his hands was cupping your face and another one held your waist.

Mattheo kissed like a man starved, but oh god was it amazing. He kissed you, because you were his oxygen, his everything. 

When he finally broke apart from you, he grinned, then laughed softly, and so did you. 

"Merlin, I love The Smiths." He exhaled, still laughing quietly. You giggled. "Me too. But they share my heart with this one guy, can't think who." 

He laughed at that too. "Can't imagine who you'd be talking about." 

You smiled. "Yeah, it's this stranger I met on the astronomy tower, who likes the same music as me, and is super nice when you get to know him, and who i think loves me too. Oh, and he's also really cute." You added as an afterthought. 

"He's definitely in love with you, given he's usually a little shit to everyone else, including his best friends. OH SHIT. Theo. He's going to be so smug. We CANNOT tell him. I'm begging you." Mattheo fell to his knees, pleading with you in  mocking way. 

"Tell him what?" You smiled innocently, and Mattheo rolled his eyes. 

"That I am yours, Y/N, if you want me, and you are mine if you want that." He replied. 

You nodded. "I want that."

Mattheo kissed you at that, and before you left the astronomy tower, and before he said goodnight to you.

...

The next day, Mattheo saw you outside his charms class, and you shot him a smile. He gave up at that, walking over and giving you a short kiss, smiling into it when you kissed back before the two of you pulled apart. 

"What happened to staying secret?" You murmured, giggling at the surprised expressions of your friends and the surrounding students. He shrugged. "I love my smiths girl." There was a cough behind you, and you turned to see Theo smirking. 

"HA." Theo coughed loudly, his smirk growing more cocky by the second. 

"DON'T." Mattheo glared. 

"Okay, I won't, jeez." Theo put his hands up in mock surrender. 

Mattheo relaxed. 

"Just call me cupid." 

"SON OF A-"

A/N: WOAH. Azra uploaded twice within a month, is she okay? NO GUYS. I have a new crush. YIPPEE. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this crack fic and didn't cringe too much reading it. xxxx

REQUESTS STILL OPEN FOR ALL CHARACTERS <333

K THX BYEEEE

[starry-bi-sky]

Who is the more well-adjusted twin; Damian, or Danyal? Why, it's Damian, of course!

And I have an explanation for this! But first I wanna preface this that this is just me like, rambling about this thought I have and it's not an attack on the trope as a whole. I love the Danyal Al Ghul au which is why i'm so deeply passionate about it, because I think it has a lot of potential to be explored. It's no secret that I've mentioned before that I think Danny's psychological development tends to get overlooked and underutilized in DAG aus, and the impact that growing up in an assassin league often goes ignored. This is just me further expanding on that.

Now lets set the stage! This is specifically for Danny who is adopted by the Fentons later down in life. Lets go twin au. At 10 years old, Damian goes to the Wayne Family, Danny is adopted by the Fentons (regardless of their affiliation with the League). By 14 years old, who ends up the better adjusted, more socially aware, spiritually in-tune with themselves, sibling? Why, Damian is! Why is that?

Because he has the actual support he needs compared to Danny. And I'm not talking about good or bad parents Fentons, because either way my opinion doesn't change. Damian would end up the better off twin, because, frankly, his family knows his background. They know he grew up in the League, they know what the League's teachings are, and they know he's a born and raised assassin. Knowing this, they can then help tackle and dismantle the teachings and lessons he has been given and ingrained into by the League. They may be a dysfunctional family, but they're functional enough to at least actively help deprogram all of the League's teachings that have been ingrained in Damian throughout his childhood.

Can't say the same for Danny.

Lets say Fentons here don't know his background -- and even if they do, the results may just stay the same if they play their cards wrong, -- Danny's now just been thrown into the deep end of a pool and is essentially being told sink or swim. Regardless of how he got there -- undercover, faked death, etc -- he has no proper support. He knows the League is meant to be secret, he's not gonna speak on it for various reasons. Whether it be some still lingering loyalty, fear of harm, or whatever. Whatever the reason is, he does not have a proper support system in the Fentons, no matter how nice they are. They can only tackle the surface level stuff and whatever Danny allows them to see -- if Danny ever lets them see it at all. For what do assassins do when they don't want to be caught? They hide. Sometimes in plain sight.

"But Jazz--" Jazz is a child. She is 2 years older than Danyal and no better at giving him a proper support system than the two adult Fenton parents, even with parentification. We don't know when she got into psychology or how long she'd been studying it by the time Danny's 14. We just know she's really into it. Even then, Jazz is not a licensed or reliable therapist, or even an experienced or implied good therapist, and should not be used as one either. It's a disservice to her character to reduce her down to 'supporting female emotional crutch'. Besides, therapy only works on people who want to get better. Danny, who'd be hiding who he really is, has very little incentive to want to, or to even think something is wrong with his way of thinking, even with exposure to the outside world.

When people's beliefs are outright challenged, they tend to double down on them, and Jazz canonically has a habit of psychoanalyzing her family and declaring what she thinks is the problem -- regardless of whether or not she's right about it. Jazz would get into psychology, try and psychoanalyze Danny, and all it would do is cause him to clam up, shut into himself further, and throw up even more walls so that she can't figure out that he has been lying this whole time. It would do more harm than good, and would actively hinder any progress he'd make in trying to open up to them. Roads and good intentions and all that.

That being said, I think Danny's development and dismantling of the League's teachings would be slower than Damian's. Much slower. Because he would be the one having to pick apart everything and figure out what is right, what is wrong, what he wants to keep, and what he wants to toss. Everything he unlearns would be stuff he has to unlearn himself. If he even gets to that point at all -- depending on his experiences, he very well could not change at all, or change very little. The League acts as a purge for humanity, meant to reign in their hubris and retain balance, they just also happen to be assassins for hire. Danny's time spent in Amity Park could as well strengthen his belief in their teachings just as much as it could weaken it, especially if it goes as canon and he gets bullied.

Regardless, being tossed to a civilian family as someone who is very much not a civilian, without any support, would be actively detrimental to Danny's overall mental health and development. Especially to strangers like the Fentons. Damian was closed off and standoffish even with blood family, and it took him time to open up to them -- Danny, with the Fentons, would be even more so. He doesn't know them, he doesn't trust them, he has no rhyme or reason to open up to them, and since the Fentons don't actually know him, they can't help him the way he needs. Once "Danny Fenton" is made, he has even less reason to open up. So long as Danyal allows it, they will only ever know Danny, and they'll never know Danyal.

TL:DR the Fentons aren't the better family option just because they're civilians, and actually that makes them the worser option between the two because they can't give Danny the proper support he needs. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

[lycheeloving]

another continuation of this AU, this time; yandere!Superman!

-I think he takes you out of the Watchtower sometimes to go on picnics (in super secluded areas). He's fast and strong enough for you to have absolutely no chance of escaping and he thinks it's important for you to spend some time in nature! Yes the Watchtower is built in a way so you get the perfect amount of sunlight in there and there are a lot of plants in the darlings common room, but going outside on planet earth is important to him! To get some fresh air! Walk around a bit! It's a wonderful reprieve from being in the same place all the time, but has the unfortunate side effect that every time the word "picnic" is mentioned you perk up like a dog who heard someone say "treat".

-Will fly you there. If you enjoy it he's happy that you two have that in common and that you're having fun with him, but if you're afraid of heights he's also happy, because you're holding him so tightly. It's a bit like a little trust exercise to him! Look, he won't drop you! See? You know you can trust him, right? :)

-You're so cute and weak to him, he needs to protect you!! In comparison to him, everyone is weak, but with you his protector instinct goes completely haywire. You'll have to deal with him hovering next to you and telling you to be careful all the time, even if you're not doing anything dangerous. Like using a fork. (It could easily pierce your skin!!)

-Absolutely loves cuddling with you when you're sleeping. Like to fall asleep he has to has his arms around you, or better yet you lying on top of him. I also headcanon that when he feels safe and content he starts flying/hovering a bit in his sleep, so sometimes you'll wake up to find you're not on the bed anymore. But don't worry he won't let you fall, even in his sleep he's holding on to you.

(Sometimes you worry he'll lose control in his sleep and hug you too tightly and accidentally kill you, but luckily he's spent all his life learning how to control his strength + his subconscious recognizes that it's you he's holding, so that won't happen. Phew! But you still worry sometimes, like after watching him rip open a car on the news as if it was made of paper. What if one day he gets tired of you and... No. That won't happen... right?)

-Probably the softest with his darling out of all of them. Tries very hard not to overwhelm you.

-That said, he tries his best to control his powers around you as to not be intimidating! He wants you to see him as just some guy. If your universe doesn't have a Superman you don't even realize how powerful he is until you see him fight against a villain on TV. What do you mean Clark can do all that stuff?? You knew he could fly, sure, but laser eyes and super strength? You had no idea! (Clark doesn't like it when you watch the news, but Flash turned them on in the common room to show his darling "how heroic he was today", so for once you were able to watch them).

-Hopes you never find out about his superhearing. Or at least about the fact that he's literally listening to you all the time. Doesn't matter where he is, part of him is always focusing on your heartbeat to make sure you're ok and exactly where he left you. He thinks that would probably freak you out a lot and he'd rather not make you upset. (Won't stop though.)

-Teaches you a lot about Kryptonian culture. It's important to him, so you should know about it as well! Especially as his partner! Might make you wear some kryptonian fashion, probably something that signifies that you're in a relationship with him. Maybe even something that implies you're married to him. Might not even outright tell you what it means before giving you the clothes and you have to piece it together yourself after a bunch of kryptonian lessons.

[veryblushyswitch]

💔 A Better Way to Fight 💔

Summary: A sarcastic comment makes Robbie wanna pound Dipper into dust. However, when Wendy rides up on her bike, Robbie needs to figure out another way to take out his anger. 💔

Lee: Dipper

Lers: Robbie & Wendy

Author’s Note: I had an idea and I ran with it. I don’t know why ler Robbie was so intriguing, but here we are. Hope you enjoy! 💔

The sky was a beautiful blue and the pine trees glowed varying shades of green in the sunlight. It seemed like there was a rainbow of colors in Gravity Falls today. Yes the colors were always there, but I guess something about today felt different. Special almost.

Dipper Pines stepped outside of his Great Uncle’s Mystery Shack. A nice deep breath of fresh air filled his lungs. Nothing was going to ruin today. Dipper and Wendy had planned a movie night at her house. Nothing new for the two, but ever since Robbie and Wendy started dating, Dipper and Wendy haven’t been able to hang out one on one as much. So let’s just say Dipper couldn’t stop smiling whenever he thought about today’s plans. That was until he heard that agitating voice.

“Wendy!! Yo, Wendy where are you? You haven’t answered any of my calls!” Robbie was cupping his hands around his mouth shouting. Dipper rolled his eyes. Of course Robbie interrupts this perfect morning. He sighed and walked over to the still yelling teen. Robbie visibly cringed when he saw the kid.

“Oh, it’s you. Any idea where Wendy is? Learned some new chords on my guitar and wanted to show them off.” Robbie bragged, knowing how jealous Dipper must’ve been. Unfortunately, he was right.

“Dude, she was out on a trip with her family all weekend. She’s coming back sometime this afternoon.” Dipper kicked a stone out of frustration. What did Wendy see in this guy?

“If you’d listen to her maybe you’d remember some of that stuff. Isn’t that what a boyfriend is supposed to do?” Dipper’s sassy tone cut through Robbie like daggers. This twelve year old kid with a sweating problem was trying to tell him how to be a good boyfriend. Oh, he was gonna get it-

“That is it you little squirt!” Robbie yelled as he lunged for Dipper. Dipper almost got out of the way in time before he was pulled up by the hem of his shirt.

“No one tells me how to be a good boyfriend!” Robbie took one hand and poked at Dipper’s collarbone. “Especially some twerp who wears the same shorts everyday.” Robbie noticed Dipper seeming to try not to smile with each poke. That’s a weird reaction. Did he think this was funny?!

“Put me down!” Dipper pulled at his shirt still in Robbie’s grasp. Robbie was about to tell him off when they heard the sound of a bell ring. The two turned their heads to see none other than the topic of their discussion. Wendy Corduroy, the cool redhead herself, was riding her bike up to the Mystery Shack.

Robbie gasped. She couldn’t see him and the kid fighting again. She’d break up with him for sure. After reaching the gate, Wendy rested her bike against the fence and walked over to where they were standing. Now able to make out the position the two were in, she scowled.

“Hey! Are you two fighting again? C’mon you guys, you know how I feel about dudes fighting.” Wendy crossed her arms with a stern look. Robbie quickly adjusted the hold he had on the pre-teen. Taking Dipper into one arm in a sort of half bear hug against his chest. Dipper was annoyed, but put on a fake smile for Wendy. Robbie matched the same expression.

“Whaaat? Noooo. I was just… just uh-” Robbie was racking his brain on what to say. He couldn’t say they were fighting, but he couldn’t just make up something outlandish either. Wendy wouldn’t believe him if he said the two of them completely made up. That’s when he remembered Dipper’s reaction to the pokes from earlier. Of course! It was so obvious now. The kid was ticklish. Incredibly so it seemed. Robbie could work with that.

“We were just messing around. Kid got a little sassy with me and I had to teach him a lesson. Isn’t that right?” Robbie asked, bringing his other hand over and starting to poke at Dipper’s side. Dipper jerked at the touch causing Robbie to tighten his hold. He tried his hardest not to smile. No way was this happening- Not in front of Wendy!

“Lehehet goho!” Dipper choked out with a giggle. This was so embarrassing! Robbie chuckled and made the speed of the pokes more random. Even moving up and down his ribs where Dipper’s arm wasn’t pinned against his side. Dipper’s giggles couldn’t be hidden any longer. They escaped his lips as a small hint of pink flushed his cheeks. Wendy smiled at the sight.

“Aww, it’s really nice to see my two boys getting along finally. And Robbie I didn’t know you could be so playful. It’s nice to see.” She walked up so she was right in front of the pair.

“Yeah yeah totally. I’m sooo playful. Especially with this little guy right here.” Robbie switched from poking to scribbling at Dipper’s stomach. Electricity suddenly filled Dipper’s body and his light giggles turned into laughter.

“Nahahahaha! Rohohobbie! Stahahahap!” Dipper squealed, much to his dismay, and kicked his legs. Wendy giggled along with him. His laughter was too contagious not to. If Robbie couldn’t beat him up, this was the next best thing. He was even making Wendy think he was just being playful with the little guy. Win win.

“Not until you take back what you said earlier.” Robbie ‘threatened’ as he added more pressure to his fingers. Dipper shrieked and his squirming became a bit more desperate.

“Nehehehever! It’s truhue! Ahahaha! Wehehendy hehehelp!” Dipper reached his hands out as far as he could. Surly Wendy would help him. After all, Wendy knew just how ticklish Dipper was from all the times she’d seen him get tickled by Mabel. She had even gotten him a few times during their movie nights. Speaking of which, she couldn’t help herself and felt the need to join in on the fun.

“Sure I’ll help. Robbie, his armpits are a hotspot.” Wendy let out a laugh at the shocked face Dipper gave her before he fell back into laughter. Robbie looked at Dipper with the most devilish grin Dipper had seen. He was having way too much fun with this.

“You don’t say?” Robbie stopped his attack for a moment to adjust his hold. He quickly grabbed Dipper under his arms and held him out in front of him. His fingers still, but the mere presence of them on his worst spot already had Dipper giggling out pleads and kicking his legs.

“Wehehehendy- GAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHO!” Robbie’s fingers suddenly sprung to life scribbling and kneading all around this underarms. Dipper pushed at Robbie’s arms, but the tickling had made his arm go weak. Only being able to grip Robbie’s wrists as gravity prevented any sort of leeway to push or pull away.

“STAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEASE! NAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHERE!” Dipper pleaded. Wendy giggled and even snapped a picture or two. If Dipper wasn’t blushing already- Dipper sometimes forgot the fact that Wendy had three younger brothers. Her older sister side was coming out and he was unfortunately the victim.

“You gonna take it back now? Or am I gonna have to ask Wendy for more tips?“ Robbie glanced at Wendy and gave her a wink. Wendy gladly accepted his invitation. Walking closer and grabbing both of Dipper’s knees in a claw-like shape. Dipper’s legs kicked out at her on instinct. Missing her, however, since she stood to the side.

“NONONONOHOHOHO! DOHOHOHON’T!” Wendy hadn’t even began and he was already feeling the phantom sensations. She nodded to Robbie and started squeezing at his kneecaps. Dipper’s laughter went up an octave as a high-pitched squeal echoed through the woods.

“Wohoah. Didn’t know someone could be this ticklish.” Robbie laughed as Dipper groaned through his laughter. Maybe this kid wasn’t so bad after all. Especially if he could take him down with a few knee squeezes.

“Oho yeah. I’ve gotten him a good few times. He deserves it almost everytime though.” Wendy’s fingers moved to behind his knees and that’s when Dipper was about ready to throw in the towel. His struggling was futile. Robbie had a good grip and he knew he wasn’t going to stop until he said what he wanted. And if he didn’t give in now he was gonna die laughing.

“OKAHAY! OKAHAHAHAY! IHI TAHAHAHA- I TAHAHAKE IT BAHAHAHACK!” Dipper managed to say through his cackles. The two finally halted their fingers. Robbie almost just let Dipper fall to the ground before remembering Wendy was there and instead set him down gently. His knees almost buckled from them still tingling. He wrapped his arms around himself and graciously took deep breaths. Man, those two could be ruthless.

“Thahat was soho mehean.” Dipper giggled out. Robbie chuckled and Wendy laughed. The kid could be really adorable when he wasn’t so uptight and hard on himself. She bent down and pulled him into a side hug.

“Oh please, I’ve seen Mabel get you way worse, buddy. Plus, you should really laugh like that more. It’s reheally contagious.“ She punctuated her sentence with a poke to his side causing him to giggle. She stood up and ruffled his hat. Dipper smiled. Still embarrassed about the whole situation, but it reminded him that Wendy doesn’t think he’s uncool.

“Hehe. Thahanks. I guess.” Dipper giggled, putting his hands in his pockets and kicking at the dirt. Wendy grabbed Robbie’s arm and dragged him over to her to hold him against her side.

“You find out he’s ticklish too yet?” Wendy jabbed at Robbie. Both in the literal and metaphorical sense when she poked Robbie’s rib after asking the question. Robbie yelped and slammed his arm down against his side. Now he was the one blushing. Dipper smirked at that. Guess Robbie was just as ticklish as him. Well maybe not as ticklish, but he was ticklish and seemed to also be embarrassed about it.

“I had no idea. But I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Dipper answered Wendy before looking over to Robbie. He smiled and gave Robbie the smuggest little face he could muster. Robbie understood what that meant. He was not going to let him live that down, but he knew Robbie wasn’t going to let him without consequence. And honestly, being tickled was way better than being beaten up. Even if it was in front of Wendy.

[gutsby]

Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

[lexisecretaccx]

A+ Student Pt.5

Masterlist!

(Fem reader, suggestive, kissing, smut, female!receiving, etc. Not proofread!)

Summary: Y/n is a great student in her college, always getting good grades. Her college professor Matt, thinks she can get even higher ones with some “extra credit.” That is until she meets her new gym teacher..

“She was talking about professor Sturniolo right?” Lizzy asks me hesitantly, I shrug. “Yeah, I’m not bothered though.” I lie unbelievably. “Pfft,” she laughs slightly, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not bothered? You’re literally gripping your skirt so tightly.” I look down as the fabric is clenched in my fists. I let go and laugh slightly, “I guess I do care a little bit.” I sigh.

Chris’ POV

I type up on my laptop plans for the next lesson with y/n’s class, gotta make it easier because I don’t want y/n to struggle. “Mr Sturniolo?” I look up, a woman in a fitted suit jacket with a pencil skirt is staring down at me with her arms crossed. “Uh yeah?” I reply in a confused tone. “I’m gonna need you to come with me please.” She states.

“Okay.. where are we going?” I ask slowly. “The Principal’s office, an anonymous note has told us something we need to talk to you about.” She keeps her eyes forward as she walks quickly ahead. Oh fuck.. this isn’t about what happened at break? Nobody else was in there nobody could’ve heard us, or seen us..

“Everything alright Mr Sturniolo?” She doesn’t look back. “Oh, yeah.. call me Chris if you want.” I try to soften the tone in the air. “No.. I keep it professional.” We arrive at the Principals door and she opens it.

“Hello Christopher.” The principal smiles softly before dropping it. “Take a seat.. thank you Andrea.” The lady leaves the room. “Why am I in here?” I ask, trying to play dumb. “Do you value your job Mr Sturniolo?” He leans on the desk and peers at me from above his glasses. “Yeah of course, I love my job.” I smile.

“Do you respect the workplace and its rules and guidelines?” He asks again staring into my eyes. “Yes I do.” I nod, he grabs something from his drawer and places it in front of me. A mirror. “You seem to have a little.. a lot of things on your neck, do you not?” I look in the mirror at my neck, which is plastered in hickies.

My face drops, “Oh uh.. I had my girlfriend over last night I didn’t know-” I start to explain.. lying obviously. “It’s okay Mr Sturniolo, I don’t need personal details but make sure to cover it up, this is a first warning so you aren’t in trouble.” He smiles softly.

I sigh softly, “I’m sorry.” I scratch the back of my head, “it’s alright, us men like our women but sometimes we have to hide it.” He chuckles and I awkwardly chuckle back. I get up to leave and the principal gives me a little wave. I quickly rush back to the gym and throw on my jacket, which almost covers all of the marks.

It’ll have to do.

Y/n’s POV

I pack up my stuff and leave the sociology classroom, “I fell asleep.” Lizzy smiles as we walk to the exit. “Really? I couldn’t tell.” I sarcastically joke, she let out a few snores causing people around her to laugh. “Did I snore loudly?” She asks nervously, “meh, it was like semi loud.” I laugh and she groans in embarrassment.

“Right I gotta go, my mom needs me,” Lizzy rolls her eyes, “my aunt and uncle are visiting.” She sighs. “Does that mean?” I start to say but she finishes my sentence. “My annoying little cousin is here too.”

Lizzys cousin Theo is like 10 years old and the most annoying kid ever, he will tell his parents any gossip Lizzy says while she’s on the phone, he will constantly go through her stuff and he told Liz’s mom about my secret boyfriend 2 years ago and then my dad found out.. wasn’t fun.

I start to walk home as I get a text from Matt. “I have 2 hours where Chris and Nick aren’t here, at 5. Come over.” I smile and reply, “okayy.” I put my phone away and start to walk home faster. I hear footsteps running behind me, Mason. “Hey.” He smiles, breathing heavily. “How far did you run?” I laugh slightly.

“Just from the bench down there to.. here.” His cheeks are slightly flushed. “I thought you were an athlete, how are you out of breath from that?” I scoff. “I am an athlete y/n, I just didn’t stretch.” He rolls his eyes. “Why are you walking with me?” I ask him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh I am meeting my friends this way to walk home.”

“What are you doing in like an hour?” He asks me, breaking the silence. I look up at him with confusion. “Why?” I hesitantly ask. “I dunno if you wanna like get coffee or something.” He shrugs. He’s got nice intentions but no.

“I’m busy sorry.” I sigh, trying to act sympathetic. “Oh.. no worries, it was worth asking.” He smiles. About 10 minutes pass and I’m about to turn down my street, “I thought you were meeting your friends?” I tilt my head, “yeah I am, in the field down there.” He points down the main road and smiles softly. “Oh okay, this is my street so I’ll see ya.” I smile back.

“Bye y/n!” He calls as I walk away. He’s a sweet person but I just can’t find him attractive, hopefully he finds someone else to like. I walk through my front door to see my dad laying on the couch with a Pepsi in his hand watching sports or something. “Hey dad.” I smile, “hey pumpkin, how was your day?”

Pumpkin is the nickname he’s called me for the past 12 years, because when I was 6 around Halloween we went to a pumpkin patch with mom and I was running and fell face first into a pile of pumpkins and it went all over me. I cried but he thought it was funny to call me pumpkin after that. Now I find it a sweet nickname but I hated it when I was a kid.

“It was okay, I’m going out in like an hour.” I tell him, he nods. “No worries, stay safe though.” I walk upstairs to my bedroom and lay on my bed, spreading my limbs out on it. I take a deep breath before going in the shower.

After my shower I dry my hair and get dressed into a basic fit, I want to be comfy bc I know what’s gonna go down. I do some makeup, not too much, and I go downstairs to leave. “Bye dad!” I call as I leave, “see you later y/n!” I hear from the kitchen. I walk to his house, as it’s only 15 minute walk away, although last time I took a cab.

I finally arrive at Matts house and I see the expensive car is gone. I knock the door hoping Chris and Nick are not there. Luckily Matt opens in and smiles when he sees me, “I’m guessing either Nick or Chris drive the Porsche?” I smirk, “yeah Chris spent a stupid amount of money on it, I drive it sometimes too.” He explains as we walk in.

We sit on the couch, “Deja vu.” I laugh softly, “yeah, except this time I won’t freak out.” He chuckles, “prove it.” I taunt him with a smirk, he tilts his head and grins before leaning in and kissing me, this time feels more passionate.

His hand finds place at the back of my head and the other one on my thigh. My hands entangle in his hair as he pushes me back on the couch slightly, deepening the kiss. His tongue explores my mouth and I let out a soft moan as his hand rubs my upper thigh. He breaks the kiss partially to say something.

“Let’s go upstairs, don’t wanna make a mess on my couch.” He breathes out. I nod and go to stand up but he picks me up like a princess and carries me up the stairs, walking into his room which has a comforting vibe to it. Before I can take it all in he throws me down onto the satin sheets.

“Bet Chris didn’t do this did he?” Matt smirks as he slides my shorts off pulling me to the edge of the bed. “No, it was different because he had to stand and hold me the whole ti-” I start speaking but Matts hand covers my mouth. “I don’t need to hear how my brother fucked you okay?” He looks at me before removing my panties quickly.

He kneels at the end of the bed, his hot breath fanning against my inner thigh as he moves my legs onto his shoulders. “Gonna make you feel good, treat you for being such a good girl in class.” He peppers kisses along my thighs closer and closer to my heat as I squirm. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this with him, he’s had a change of heart now that he knows Chris fucked me first. He’s gonna make this a competition between them I know it.

He starts to kitten lick my folds to tease me, I whine pushing towards him for more. He grabs my hip with one hand, pushing it against the bed to stop me moving. Without warning he dips his tongue inside of me before swirling it around my clit. My back arches off the bed as I moan out.

He grabs both my thighs and pulls me closer, his tongue lapping at my heat. “Fuck Matt..” my hands travel down to his hair as I grip it tightly. He continues to swish and swirl his tongue around me, occasionally dipping it into me causing my back to arch and my grip on his hair to tighten.

“Matt.. I can’t.. I’m gonna cum.. please..” I whimper as his pace doesn’t slow. He hums against me, the vibration hitting my clit in the right way which results in me reaching my high and coming undone. He licks up the rest of my arousal before bringing his face up towards me, I wipe the sweat off of my forehead and breathe heavily.

He leans to kiss me, my arousal still on his chin and I turn my head away, “wipe that off ya lips before kissing me.” I chuckle softly, “you don’t wanna taste yourself? Hm?” He continues to try and put his face by mine, teasing and joking around. “Definitely not, it’s gross.” I squirm, “I disagree, I could have my head between your thighs every day.” He smirks, lifting his shirt to wipe the arousal from his mouth.

“Will you kiss me now?” He grabs my cheeks and brings my face to face his. I nod and he pushes his lips to mine his tongue instantly exploring my mouth, I bite his lip softly and he groans. “Fuck I need you.. to feel you.” He whispers lowly. “Please do..” I whine softly, “You’re gonna take it like the good girl you are.. yeah?” He asks, looking me in the eyes with lust.

“Yes.. of course.. definitely.. I will.” I speak rapidly, needing to feel him inside of my walls. He starts to unbuckle his belt, not breaking the eye contact. He begins to pull down his pants but then.. Slam.

Both of us look towards the bedroom door and back at eachother, “that was a car door right?” I whisper and Matt nods, he checks his watch. “It’s 6pm they said they’d be back at 7.. shit.” He re does his pants back up and I sit up, “get your clothes on.” He throws my panties and shorts at me. His entire tone and body language has changed and now it’s more tense.

“Jeez okay..” I put my clothes back on, I feel gross he didn’t clean me up or anything but I can’t go to the bathroom because they’re home. “What do I do?” I whisper, “just shut up a sec okay?” He snaps, “oh.” I sigh and sit back on the bed. “Matt?” I hear Chris call from downstairs, “stay here.” He spoke softly and I nod, “good girl.” He mumbles before leaving the room and closing it behind me.

I grab my phone from his dresser and open it, 4 missed calls from Lizzy? What the fuck? I text Lizzy, “hey everything okay?” She replies almost instantly, “No. But it’s fine now, no thanks to you though.” Fuck. “I’m pretty busy right now Liz I’m sorry.” I would help her right now but I don’t know what’s happening with me and Matt.

She leaves me on opened. Great, I don’t even know what’s happening or what her problem is. Matt comes back in and grabs my arm, quickly leading me downstairs and through the front door, “see you on Monday.” He whispers flicking his hand so I leave shutting the door behind me. So rude, I thought he was actually giving a fuck about me. It’s raining too, I’m gonna get hypothermia.

I turn to walk down the street away from his house and I hear someone call my name, I look up quickly to see.. Chris?? “Y/n? Why are you by my house?” He asks walking closer, my eyes widen in fear. “Uh.. I was.. fuck, I don’t know.” I lie looking down at my feet. “You stalking me?” He chuckles, I laugh lightly and shake my head.

“No, not that.” I sigh, “it’s cold and raining, you wanna come in for a warm drink or something?” He smiles lightly, I can’t go back in there especially if I just got kicked out by Matt. I thought Chris got home with Nick? “I can’t sorry, I’m going home.” I smile softly, “oh okay.” He looks disappointed. “You were in my house weren’t you?” He steps closer so we are inches apart.

“What no! Why would I be-” I go to like but he cuts me off, “you were with Matt. I know because I heard you shuffling around upstairs when he came downstairs to greet us.” He spoke sternly. “If you were inside then how are you out here?” I ask, looking up at him. “I watched you leave from my bedroom window, then I snuck downstairs and got out quickly to see you.” He sighs.

“So you were stalking me?” I chuckle, “you were the one inside of my house,” he laughs softly, “about that, what were you and Matt doing?” He asks me, but I know he knows the answer. I tilt my head at him, “we didn’t fuck.” I cross my arms, “I never said you did.” He smirks, “I’d rather not go into details.” I scoff.

“Mhm, he wouldn’t have been able to fuck you as good as I can.. right?” He leans down slightly and I shrug. “Right?” He asks again more aggressively. I smirk, “sure whatever you want to believe.” I go to turn around to walk away. “Let me drive you home, you’re gonna get wet ma.” The nickname causes me to turn quickly, “I already am.” I smirk, “in what way?” He tilts his head.

“Not the way you’re thinking, that’s inappropriate Mr Sturniolo.” I bite my lip lightly, “I’ll bring my car around, so Matt doesn’t see you.” He nods and rushes around the corner, the tension was so strong but the rain is getting worse I can’t think about anything other than my hands freezing off. The Porsche drives around the corner and pulls up, I open the passenger door and get in.

“Thanks.” I breathe out, he presses the seat heaters on and leans in the seat behind him and pulls out one of his jackets. “Put that on, you should wear it to school on Monday.” He smirks, “it’s a college not a school.” I scoff, “same thing, and I can take the jacket back if you’re gonna be ungrateful.” He looks at me before laughing slightly.

“You know.. I should be mad that you were with my brother but for some reason, I don’t give a shit.” He adds, turning on music, “Maybe it’s because you’ve got a bigger-” I stop myself, “a bigger??” He asks, “Ego.” I huff. “Sure, sure.” He smiles.

He pulls over for a moment “Wait where do you live? I just realised I don’t know where I’m going.” He looks at me, “we don’t need to go to my house right now.” I grin, “what’re you thinking?” He tilts his head, “I think we should go for a drive and chill out.” I smile.

“Does chilling out include you riding me in the backseat or..” he laughs and I do too, “Chris!” I say and pause for a moment. “Maybe.. just keep driving.” I add. He smiles widely and starts to drive again..

A/n: I haven’t written this in a while but omg I’m excited to continue, I’m pretty busy with school atm but I will try to update asap. Also sorry for edging y’all with this.. why am I kinda team Chris tho 😖 and Matt is kinda an asshole sorry not sorry

@blahbel668 @mattsleftnipple03 @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @hysteria-things @mattybslover @jakevwebber @braindead4l @mattybearnard @st7rnioioss @junnniiieee07 @bueckerslover @fratbrochrisgf @sturniol0s @alwayssublimedelusion @certifiednatelover @freshsturns @riasturns @sturniololvrrr @maryx2xx @whicked-hazlatwhore @cammie4298 @sturnsjtop @sturnzblog @chr1sgirl4life @evie-sturns @milasturniolo @jaxyy219 @mattsturniolosbae @h3arts4harry @littlebookworm803 @realqueenofpepsi @elsxz1 @jnkvivi

[atlabeth]

weight of the world

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: percy returns to camp after a successful quest. luke battles his guilt.

a/n: a lot of you guys seemed to like the percy pov and the pure angst of luke doing all this stuff to his first love's brother percy jackson instead of just percy jackson and first and foremost i would like to say you're all crazy but i also agree. so here you go. title from the jon bellion song

wc: 5.6k

warning(s): reader is dead (i feel like i have to tag this every time lmao). angst made angstier with fluffy flashbacks. tlt betrayal scene (pit scorpion edition). everyone is so sad

When Percy returned to camp with Annabeth and Grover, they were hailed as heroes. 

It might not have felt like it on the road, isolated with just the three of them, but they’d prevented a third World War. They certainly stopped camp from getting destroyed, if what Luke told them was true about the cabins taking sides. 

Burning their burial shrouds felt even better, especially with the Ares cabin’s expert craftsmanship. Apparently it was a tradition because demigods died so frequently on quests—Percy took pride in breaking that unsettling standard. 

It turned out all he needed to come into his own was to go on a quest everyone thought would kill him and not die. 

He excelled during his sword fighting lessons—going against a god would do that for you—he’d gotten much better at using his powers—going against a god would also do that for you—and his team always dominated on the lake during races, though that might’ve just been him cheating. 

He’d even started getting used to the Poseidon cabin in all its emptiness. It still felt too lonely, but he was working on it. The first thing he did when he got back to the cabin was pin your photo on the wall—Cabin Three belonged to you as much as it did to him.

And of course, everyone wanted to hear about how Percy saved the world. He’d told the story of his quest about a hundred times since he got back, sometimes with Annabeth piping in to set the record straight, sometimes with Grover dramatically setting the scene, always with a million different questions in between about how everything went down. 

Tonight was no different in the amphitheater—a group of Athena kids wanted to hear about his fight against Ares again—but he managed to get out of giving them the excruciating play-by-play courtesy of campfire songs. Percy didn’t really mind, though—any night with a large, golden fire was a good night in his books. 

Which was kind of how he ended up giving Luke the play-by-play of his quest. Maybe it was bragging, but he hadn’t seen who he considered his first friend at camp in a while. And yeah, sue him, but he wanted to impress Luke. He was cool and nice and good at everything, and Percy wanted to prove he’d made him proud. 

“—And I thought I didn’t stand a chance, but she taunted me and told me to jump into the water if I was really Poseidon’s kid. So I did, and it worked, and somehow I lived.” Percy shook his head with a slight laugh. “It ended up all over the news. I was a nationally wanted criminal for a couple days. We also blew a bus up, and rode with a zebra and a lion to Vegas, and went to the Underworld— gods, we did so much. It was crazy, honestly.” 

Luke chuckled. “I’m sure.” 

Percy glanced over at him, his brows creasing when he saw his distant gaze. He didn’t think Luke heard a single word. “You good, man?” 

He blinked and focused back on Percy, and though he smiled it was strained. “Yeah. Sorry—spaced out for a second. You were talking about your quest?” 

Percy nodded slowly. “Yeah. The whole criminal thing.” 

His smile turned a little more genuine. “You made front page news, too. I think you became the idol of a lotta kids here.”

“Oh, god,” he said with a frown. “You guys get news here?” 

“Couple New York papers,” he nodded. “You’re camp-famous.” 

Percy huffed a laugh and shook his head. “It feels crazy. I just got here a month ago, and everything’s already changed so much.” He looked over at Luke. “What did you do after you got home from your quest?” 

“...It takes some getting used to,” he admitted with a shrug. “I mean, getting to camp after so many years on the road was rough—coming back to camp after getting this—” he tapped his scar— “didn’t help.” 

“How did you get that?” he asked. 

“You’re always trying to get the saddest stories out of me,” Luke said wryly. “You know you can read books, right?” 

“I can’t, actually,” Percy said. "Not well."

Luke laughed and shook his head, his gaze falling back to the fire. Percy took it as him moving on. 

“I— I know I’m kind of proving your point, but… I wanted to ask you if I could have a couple more pictures” Percy cleared his throat, brushing a few dark strands of hair out of his face. “Of my sister, I mean. Obviously, you have way more of a right to them than I do, but— but Cabin Three’s a little bare. I thought adding a couple current things to the old stuff she put up would be nice.” 

His throat bobbed, and it took him a second, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah— sure.”

“Tomorrow after breakfast?” he asked. “I’ve got some free time before I have to go down to the forge.”

Luke nodded again. “Sure. You still have that picture I gave you?”

“Of course,” he said. “I already put it up on the wall. Do you want it back?”

His smile was bittersweet as he shook his head. “Nah. Like I said, you deserve to have a piece of her with you. And I’m sure she’d say the same.”

“I asked my dad about her, y’know,” Percy said. Luke’s eyes widened a bit as he looked back at him. “I went to Olympus on my own to return Zeus’s bolt, and the two of them were there. My dad and I got some alone time, and…” he shrugged. “I already annoyed two gods that day. Figured a third wouldn’t be that crazy.”

“What did he say?” 

“That it was one of his greatest regrets,” Percy said. “And he’d never forgive himself for letting her die, and for what it did to her mom.” He glanced at Luke. “And to you.”

Luke’s chest stilled, his gaze going out of focus for a moment as a muscle worked in his jaw. He hid it well, but Percy knew. He’d spent enough time at home with his mom and step-dad, overheard enough one-sided arguments. 

“You’re braver than me,” he finally said, and he stood up. “I’m gonna turn in—it’s been a long day.”

“I’m sorry, Luke,” he said. “And Poseidon is too, for whatever it’s worth.” 

Luke didn’t look back at him as he started towards the path. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Percy.” 

-

“Are you sure you’re allowed to put lights up?” Luke asked. 

“Okay, Chiron,” you said cloyingly. “I didn’t know you were such a stickler for the rules.” 

“I’m just worried about fire safety!” he exclaimed. “The Hephaestus kids nearly burn down their cabin at least five times a week.” 

“They’re working with actual fire. These are just Christmas lights.” You glanced down at him and he handed you the next strand. “Besides, this is the safest cabin for possible fire hazards. And they look pretty—that’s all that matters.” 

Luke chuckled as you hung them up, and he took a step back as you jumped off the chair and moved it to the other side of the room. You usually hung fairy lights, but with the holidays just around the corner, you wanted to make the place more festive. You asked Luke if he wanted to hang out with you while you decorated, and he obviously accepted. He took all the time he could get with you. 

“It’s so quiet in here,” Luke said as you got back up, taking the next strand with you. “I’m not used to an empty cabin.” 

“That’s what happens when you’re not supposed to be alive,” you mused. 

“You of all people can’t say that.” He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Do you ever get lonely in here?” 

“‘Course not,” you said. “I’ve always got you following me around.” 

“Can you blame me?” he asked. “Your company’s the best.” 

You grinned and looked back down at him, and Luke gave you the next string of lights. “Or maybe you’re just a little crazy. You’ve gotta be to spend three years on the road with me.” 

“Being around you is what’s kept me sane,” he corrected. “Especially in the Hermes cabin of chaos.” 

You got up on your toes and lifted a leg up so you could lean to reach the last hook. “Oh, come on. Your siblings are so fun to be around!” 

“Maybe in small doses,” he said wryly. “And be careful, gods—” 

You looked down at him, your grin only growing. “Are you saying you’re worried about me?” 

“Always,” he said, still watching you, “but the last thing you need is to break your leg.” 

“It’s a five foot fall, Luke,” you said, amused as you got back on even footing. You hopped back down and tilted your head. “I’ve survived much higher falls.” 

Luke frowned. “You don’t get to joke about that.” 

“I thought you were dead too,” you defended. “That means it’s fair game.” 

His chest twisted. He’d played that day over in his head thousands of times since he first lost you, wondering if he could have done something different or if he should have searched more—he stayed in those woods for a week and a half searching for you before another monster attack forced him out of the area. It was the whole reason he came up with a designated meeting area with Thalia and Annabeth if they got separated—he never wanted to lose someone again the way he lost you. 

He shook his head with a sigh. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it, y’know? 

“Thank my dad,” you said. “I would have died if I didn’t fall into water. And he’s the reason I got to camp.” 

He’s also the reason you ended up on the streets in the first place, Luke wanted to say, but he held his tongue. You’d never shared his disdain for the gods, and he didn’t want to spoil your mood with his bitterness. 

So he doesn’t. He tilted his head and focused back on you. “Do I ever tell you how thankful I am that you're still alive?”

You smiled as you pushed the chair in front of your desk. “I could always stand to hear it more.” 

“Well, I’m thankful that you’re alive,” Luke said. He could have stared at your smile forever. “Mourning you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” 

“With any luck, you won’t have to do it again,” you joked. “I get it, though. Sometimes it feels like a dream. I thought I was hallucinating when you came over that hill.”  

The best and the worst day of his life—he found you again and lost Thalia in the same five-minute span. It wasn’t fair—Luke had told Thalia so many stories about you, and she was the one that brought him back from the edge your supposed death sent him to. On his worst days, Luke blamed himself for both. 

“Luke,” you said, jarring him out of his thoughts. “What do you think of the lights? Tacky, or festive, or both?” 

He blinked, then took a step back with you so you could get the full view. He nodded. “Festive, definitely. Where’d you even get them?” 

“The Big House attic,” you said. “It’s not just full of Oracles and spoils of war.” 

He chuckled. “And how did you convince Chiron to give you those?” 

You shrugged. “You know I’m persuasive.” 

Luke shook his head. “I’m jealous. No one else really gets to decorate their place like this.” 

“No siblings means full creative control,” you mused. “And Big Three dad means a big cabin all for me.” 

“And yet you still get a twin bed,” he said with a smile. “We’re all equal, really.” 

“Like you wouldn’t prefer a full.” You fluffed your pillow then set it back down. “You spend as much time in here as I do.” 

“Can you blame me?” Luke shrugged. “There’s no privacy there. We can get away with basically anything in here.” 

“And because you love me,” you said cloyingly as you rustled your hair with his hand. 

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I really do.” 

Your smile widened and you gestured at your box of decorations. “Wanna prove it, loverboy? Help me get the rest of this up before sword lessons.”

“Y’know, I’m leading them today,” Luke said, picking up a stack of snowflake cutouts. He was pretty sure you just took all the rejects after you were in charge of the crafts for a week. “Technically, that means we’ve got as long as we want.” 

“Oh, Luke Castellan,” you said airily, pressing a hand to your chest. “You know the way to my heart.” 

-

“Oh,” Percy said. “Wow.” 

“Yeah. And this is only one of them.” Luke set a cardboard box full of things on an empty bed and sighed. “She made this place her own while she was here.”

Percy took out a stack of baseball cards on top—Red Sox, of course, the only bad thing about you—and shuffled through them. “Everything’s a little dusty.” 

“No one really wanted to come in here after she died,” Luke said. He had a tangled mess of Christmas lights in his hands. “All this stuff stayed up for a year or two before I took it all down.” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “You’re probably the only one apart from me to be in here since she left.” 

Percy set the cards down. “Do you mind if I put some of it back up?” 

Luke glanced at him. “Why do you always ask me? This is your place.” 

“It’s not just my place,” he said. “I… I want to make sure I’m honoring her well. And I don’t wanna make it harder for you. Especially if you took it down for a reason.” 

Luke was silent for a moment as he stared at the lights. He brushed off some dust with his thumb. 

Percy felt bad for pushing the matter every time he was around Luke, but there was a tug inside of him—an innate need to know more about her, a desperation to honor her life despite never meeting her. 

“I appreciate it,” he finally said. “But go for it, man. You don’t have to get my permission.” 

Percy nodded, and he took a poster out, wedged in the side of the box. A Blondie poster, based off the huge block letters above a blonde singer stylized in pop art. It had a torn corner, and bits of tape had been folded over some parts of the edges. 

Luke chuckled. “She was a huge Blondie fan. She brought her Walkman when she ran away—I lost count of how many times we listened to Parallel Lines. Definitely put that one back up.” 

Percy nodded and set it on his bed. He looked at the lights in Luke’s hand. “Why’d she have those?” 

“She loved to light the cabin up,” he explained. “Said it made it feel more homey, and she liked to change it with the seasons. And when she enlisted the Aphrodite kids, it was like a— a HomeGoods warzone.” Luke shook his head with the most genuine smile he’d seen all day. “She really was something special.”  

Again, Percy’s heart clenched. It wasn’t fair he only got to learn about you through stories, only through the past tense. If he could get his mom back, why the hell couldn’t he get you back? Why couldn’t his dad have stepped in? 

What good was regret when you have all the power in the world to stop it? What good was being a god if you couldn’t save your family when it mattered most? 

“Y’know, I decorated this place a million times with her,” he said, and Percy was thankful for the interruption with his thoughts. “She wanted it to be a welcoming cabin, open to the whole camp if they ever got homesick.” 

“So the opposite of what it used to be,” Percy said wryly. 

“Yeah,” Luke nodded. “You two are the first Poseidon kids in a long time because of the oath—it was just here for respect. She didn’t just make it into her home, she made it into a home for anyone that needed some extra warmth.” 

Percy looked around, trying to imagine you and a younger, unscarred Luke putting all this stuff on the walls, him helping you hang Christmas lights. You sitting on a bed, maybe what he’d chosen as his bed, talking a younger camper through their fears or their homesickness. You forcing the innate coldness of Cabin Three out and replacing it with warmth of your own. 

“Did you bring any pictures?” he asked. 

Luke nodded again and took a few out of his pockets, offering them to Percy. He took the one sticking out the most and smiled a bit. 

“Very Poseidon of her,” he commented. 

“She loved the beach,” Luke said, smiling wistfully. “No matter what state we were in, she would always try to find one. We could’ve walked twenty miles that day, and the moment she stepped into the water she would be good as new. I should’ve known who her dad was a lot sooner.”

Percy’s hand lingered on the picture he’d just put up. You stood on a sandy shore with your arms spread and head tilted back, and you looked wholly in your element. 

He wondered what you would think of Montauk. 

“This was one of those times?” he asked. 

Luke nodded. “North Carolina. A year and a half in, I think. We missed the East Coast after being in the Midwest for so long, and naturally, she found a beach immediately.” His eyes softened. “She was always so happy around the water, even after she knew what it meant.”

Percy frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Finding out the thing you’ve always loved is the domain of the father who abandoned you is a little rough.” 

Luke always spoke with more nerve towards the gods than any other camper he knew. Funny, considering he was one of the first ones to tell him that names had power.

And he’d been acting weird since Percy got back from the quest. He thought maybe he was jealous, but Luke didn’t really seem like the jealous type—especially when he was already so cool. 

Then again, they did just come back from the brink of a possible world war. Percy should’ve been surprised more people weren’t acting weird. 

His attention drifted to the clock on the wall in the midst of his thoughts—Chiron’s last ditch effort in a camp full of time-blind kids—and his eyes widened. 

Percy muttered under his breath—Annabeth had taught him some Ancient Greek curse words on the road, and he was sure his mom would love them—and looked up at Luke. “Sorry, man. I’ve gotta go. Time really got away from me.” 

“I get it,” he nodded. “Have you gotten any better?” 

He glanced away bashfully. “Not really. But Beckendorf has the patience of a saint. Maybe someday I’ll make an actually functional sword.” 

Luke chuckled, though it was wistful. “Good luck. You mind if I stay here for a bit? I can put up some of her things.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “of course. Stay as long as you want.” 

Percy stopped once he got out of the door. Luke’s gaze was glued to a picture of you on the wall, his expression softer than he’d ever seen before at odds with something indistinguishable in his eyes. Again, Percy felt that all-encompassing dread, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. 

He left before it could consume him, but the haunted look in Luke’s eyes didn’t leave his head for the rest of the day. 

-

You took in a deep breath of salty air. The sea breeze blew over you as waves gently rolled into shore, and you smiled. You never felt more like yourself than when you were at the beach, and when you and Luke were constantly on the run fighting for your lives, sometimes you desperately needed to feel like yourself. 

You exhaled long and slow. It had been a particularly rough week—Luke did his best patching up your shoulder, but it would definitely scar—and this was just what you needed to wind down before you started moving again. 

You and your mom went to Cape Cod a lot when you were growing up, and though this wasn’t anywhere close to the same, it made for an alright stand-in.

The click of a polaroid camera interrupted your peace, and you opened your eyes and turned your head to see the culprit. 

“And you made fun of me for constantly taking pictures,” you said wryly. 

Luke smiled. “I made fun of you for taking up valuable space in your bag to bring your camera with you. I can’t not take pictures of you—especially when you’re so photogenic.” 

“Flatterer.” 

“Not if it’s true,” he remarked. He held out the camera to you. “Wanna get any pictures of the sea? You’ve got a better eye than me.” 

“Well, the sea’s a better subject than me,” you said. “Hold onto it.” 

He chuckled and took it back, drying out the newly printed picture. “How’re you feeling, by the way? I know it’s been a hard few days.”  

“Never better,” you said. “I needed a break from the road.”

“I get why you wanted to stop here,” he said. “It’s… calming.”

“Isn’t it?” You spread your arms out, breathing in deep once more. “I always feel better out here. More free.”

Another camera click, and your smile grew. “How do you feel?” 

“Better too, surprisingly. But that might just be because we’re walking instead of running.” You heard his footsteps and he came up next to you. You took the picture he offered and chuckled. You had your head back and your arms spread, soaking up every bit of sun and sea air you could. 

“I look like a stock photo.” 

“Does that mean I can get a job as a photographer?” he asked. “We could use some extra cash.” 

“Half of the pictures are either random parts of nature or me,” you said. “Who’d buy those?” 

“Me,” Luke said. “But I don’t think that would help with our money problems.” 

“All this flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you said. 

“It got me here,” he said. “I think it’s worked out pretty well.” 

You smiled as you looped arms with Luke, and after you gestured with your head, you started walking down the sand together. Whereas you always felt like you were blurting out the first thing that came to mind when you were around him, Luke always knew exactly what to say to make you feel better. “Do you like it here?” 

Luke nodded. “It’s nice. I get why you like the water so much.” 

“At least one beach a week going forward now that we’re on the coast again, then,” you said. “Deal?” 

“Deal,” he agreed. 

“Good,” you said with a smile. “I’ve been wanting to go back to Virginia Beach. Last time, those giant ant things ruined it for us.” 

“Gods,” Luke grumbled, and you felt him shiver. “Don’t remind me of those things. I’ll never forget what their poison smelled like—and I’ll never forgive them for ruining my favorite shirt.” 

“Don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll get you a Red Sox one someday, and it’ll become your new favorite shirt.” 

Luke shook his head. “Your Boston baseball propaganda isn’t gonna work. I was raised as a Yankee.” 

“And I’m here to undo that awful brainwashing,” you said sagely. “Next time we go through Massachusetts, I’ll have to get you one. And we can stop by Cape Cod—I think being close to the water is good for my health.” 

“And I like seeing you happy,” he mused. “So I guess it works out for both of us.” 

You laughed. “We’ll have to stop at a music store before the day ends, too. I’ve nearly worn out my Cyndi Lauper tape, and I need to get some new ones. You should pick out an album you like too.h” 

“‘Course,” he said. “I think we’ve got some extra cash saved up. And if we have to—” 

“We shouldn’t steal anything yet,” you interrupted. “I don’t wanna get the cops on our backs so soon.” 

“You say that like I would get caught,” Luke remarked. “It’s literally in my genes. I’m making my father proud, and I’m helping you. I see no reason not to do it.” 

“Cool it,” you said. “We’re not becoming Bonnie and Clyde at the ripe old age of eleven.” 

“Fine.” You couldn’t see it, but you could sense his smile. “I’ll hold off. For now.” 

That got another laugh out of you as you leaned your head against his shoulder. It felt like you’d been on the run for a week straight—this was the best break you could have asked for. Maybe the sea was good for your health, you thought. Or maybe it was just Luke. 

Either worked for you. 

-

Percy could hardly breathe as he stared down at the scorpion, slowly inching its way up his pants leg. It wasn’t every day one of your friends betrayed and tried to kill you in the woods, but this seemed like the year he started checking things off his bucket list. 

“So this was your plan all along,” he said, attention split between the pit scorpion and the traitor. “Gain my trust, send me to Tartarus, start a war for Kronos.” 

The air got colder, and Luke tilted his head. “You should be careful with names.”

“And you should do the job yourself,” he challenged. “You want to kill me? Fight me like a man.” 

“I’m not Ares,” he said tartly. “You can’t bait me.” 

“So you’re a coward too?” Red hot anger rose within him, and the words left him before he could really think about them. “Did you also lie about my sister? Got a hobby of killing Poseidon kids?”

“Zeus got her killed, Percy!” Luke yelled. There was something wild in his eyes as he gestured with his sword. “I loved her more than anything—I held her as she died, and your dad let it happen. If it weren’t for the gods, both her and Thalia would be alive!” 

Maybe it was a good thing Percy didn’t know that until now. If he knew the king of gods was responsible for his sister’s death, he would’ve gotten himself burnt to a crisp on Olympus. 

“This isn’t what my sister would have wanted,” he said. “She—”

“Don’t you dare talk about her!” His voice continued to rise. “You don’t know her— you don’t know what she would have wanted!” 

“She couldn’t have wanted this!” he exclaimed. Percy’s breath caught momentarily as the scorpion inched closer and he forced his muscles to remain as still as possible as his gaze flicked back over to Luke. “This isn’t the way to fix things, Luke. I promise.” 

He shook his head, and he could have been a son of Ares the way fire seemed to blaze in his eyes. “She died because of Zeus, Percy. She was so close to sixteen, and that meant she was a threat to his power. He sent monsters to kill her, and your dad could have saved her, but he didn’t do a damn thing about it. And y’know,” Luke huffed a laugh, cold and mirthless, “the same thing’s gonna happen to you.” 

His blood had turned to ice. “He knows the pain of losing a daughter. Why would he—” 

“Because they don’t care, Percy!” he yelled, his sword cutting through the air again. “All they care about is keeping their power and their position. Your dad would rather send you on a death quest than stop stroking his ego for one measly second. Hades sent monsters to kill Thalia, and Zeus sent monsters to kill your sister—they can’t punish each other, so they punish us, and the cycle will never stop until we make it stop.”

“And you think that this is the way to do it?” he asked desperately. “By betraying camp and all your friends? We’re in the same position as you are!” 

“And anyone that’s smart will join our cause,” Luke said. “Do you really think I’m the only one that’s upset with the gods? I’ve been here for five years—I’ve seen kids leave for the school year and never come back. I’ve seen kids die without ever being claimed. My own dad turned me away at every opportunity. Our numbers are bigger than you know, Percy.” 

“You say I don’t know my sister,” Percy said, “but I know her enough to know she wouldn’t want this. Not in her name. Not against our father.” 

“You don’t know her at all,” Luke said, voice trembling. “If she knew that Zeus killed her for nothing but paranoia over a bullshit prophecy, she would be fighting against the gods right beside me.” 

“I lost her once,” he continued, shaky but full of anger, “and then I got her back, just to lose her all over again. The gods will never know that kind of pain—if they did, they wouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.” 

The scorpion was at his knee now. Percy was running out of time, and his mind was working in overdrive on how to get more, but he found himself rendered speechless. What could he say to a boy who’d lost everything? 

Luke was the lightning thief, he’d fully intended to kill Percy with those shoes, he meant to turn the gods against each other and raise Kronos, and now he was really trying to kill him.  

And yet, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy.

Percy thought he’d lost his mother, but now she was back. He’d met his father in person. He had a sister he’d never meet, that he would never be able to fully grieve. Luke loved her and grew up with her and grieved her twice.

Percy didn’t care—anyone who his sister loved couldn’t be a bad person. Not fully.  

“Please, Luke,” he said, voice low. “I don’t know how to solve it, but this isn’t the way. You think the gods are using you? Kronos is doing the exact same thing.” 

“You’re twelve, Percy, and you’re already the chosen one,” Luke said. “Hades and Ares would have both killed you if they got their way, and it was your job to stop a war between the gods because they couldn’t see beyond their egos. How is that fair to you?”  

“There was no other choice,” Percy insisted. “If either of them backed down, they would look weak. We’re the only ones that can do quests like this.” 

“Exactly,” he said. “They start petty fights that they can’t finish and it gets taken out on us. We have to be their heroes, and we have to praise them as we die.”

Percy remembered their bus exploding. Medusa, an innocent woman favored by Poseidon and punished by Athena for it. The endless souls in the Asphodel Fields, and even more waiting in line for their chance to be judged. Luke’s quest given to him by his father permanently scarring him, Thalia Grace sacrificing herself for her friends, his sister never getting the chance to see sixteen—Percy himself being used as a pawn to enact Kronos’s plan. 

“You don’t have to be a hero,” Luke continued, almost begging at this point. “You can join our cause—you can prove you’re so much more than the prophecies want you to be. Say the word and I’ll call it off.”

Percy wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of godly respect. He tricked Hades, insulted Zeus, and actually fought Ares. But his dad loved him—or loved his mom, at least. Annabeth’s determination and Grover’s steadfastness and all the friends he’d made at camp—all innocent children like himself. He couldn’t turn his back on that. 

Percy clenched his jaw. “I will never serve Kronos.”

Pain flashed in Luke’s dark eyes, but he shut it down just as soon. “So be it.”

He slashed his sword through the air and a ripple of darkness appeared, the void bleeding into the forest. 

“I really am sorry it came to this, Percy,” Luke said quietly. “But it’ll be quick. And that’s a bigger mercy than Zeus gave your sister.”

Luke disappeared into the darkness and it vanished soon after. Percy didn’t have time to think about his words—the scorpion had reached his thigh. Sixty seconds, Luke had said, then it was over. 

Percy had about five seconds to think of a plan before it lunged at him. He batted it away with one hand and uncapped his sword with the other, cutting the scorpion in half before it could reach the ground. 

He thought he did it. Then he looked at his hand, a red welt already sweltering on his palm, oozing sticky yellow liquid. 

Percy stumbled to the creek and submerged his hand, but nothing happened. He muttered a delusional prayer to his dad, then to his mother, then to you as he stumbled his way towards camp. Nymphs emerged from their trees, and he croaked a plea for help. 

As Percy collapsed, barely caught by nymphs on either side, he swore that he saw you. Did that mean he was dying? You had kind eyes like his mother, an aura of warmth unlike the feverish heat in his body, and it made the idea of it a lot less scary. 

He wondered if he’d meet you in Elysium. 

Percy reached a leaden arm out to you, mumbling your name despite his cottonmouth, and then his vision went black.