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ma1dita · 29 days ago

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asking for trouble

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

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

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

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

Almost lights out.

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

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

“Are you really not coming with us tomorrow?”

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

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

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

You know that too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow, they’ll wake up soldiers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

It all boils down to him or Luke.

“Wipe your face, Seaweed Brain!”

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

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

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

“We’re getting old, man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was too…good to be true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For good luck, you think.

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

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

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

Oh, he wonders.

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

“Maybe. Good night, honey.”

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

Normal might be quite nice.

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

“I do. Me too. Good night.”

It’s the truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Better late than never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“HEY 12! You coming, or what?”

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

“And if you’re not? Then what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ugh!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not gonna…leave you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, what do you even say?

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

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

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

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

Loving you was the only thing that never changed.

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

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

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

Is there a word stronger than love?

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

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

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

This part is just about letting him go.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re my whole life, Trouble.”

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

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

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

It was always yours, anyway.

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

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

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

You’ve never seen him so still before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he remembers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I dare you.”

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

“What’s one last hurrah?”

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

“I double-dog dare you, Castellan.”

He jumps in.

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

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

“Hey wait up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’ll keep Castellan in line.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke blinks.

You’re in your college apartment.

He blinks again.

His childhood bedroom.

Again, please.

In Cabin 12.

Please, just one last time.

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

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

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

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

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comfortscripts · 5 months ago

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A Glimpse Of What I'd Do For You l Coriolanus Snow

Plot - As the First Lady of Panem, it is your duty to protect your husband. Even if it means dirtying your hands. But what is a little blood when the reward is so sweet? Pairing - Young!President!Coriolanus Snow x Wife!Female!Reader Warnings - Heavy plot + light porn. They are both mad, but sweet for each other. Murder/execution with guns, blood, body worship (??), nipple play, toxic language (??), light aspects of oral (fem receiving), softdom!corio. I fully believe he would be a total simp for someone on his wavelength Word Count - 1,288

Check out the rest of my kinktober fics

“Darling, could I trouble you for a moment?”

Words breaking through the tense atmosphere that Coriolanus has cultivated in his private office. Harsh oak furniture, meticulously organised bookcases, swirls of browns and reds with faint hints of a cool gold. The help liked to say the cold of the room matched Mr. Snow’s frozen heart, but even the ruthless President of Panem couldn’t help the way his shoulders relaxed at his wife’s delicate words.

“You are never a trouble,” he spoke with the push of his sturdy throne-like chair against the floor, punctuating his words. “Come in, my snowdrop.”.

The First Lady of Panem was nothing if not obedient. Perhaps that’s why Coriolanus allowed you into his kingdom after six months of marriage.

Wordlessly, you rounded the desk to perch yourself upon his navy-blue-clad leg and perfectly placed a light kiss against his lips. The kind of kiss that tempted him to become entangled in your sweet web regardless of duties. Piercing blues too busy consuming his prize, thinking of all the ways to corrupt his pretty petal. Not even noticing you slide a sleek silver tablet onto the desk.

“I have a gift for you, Corio.”

A glossy black screen stared back at him with a barely visible play button. Those pale digits broke from your waist to start the show before returning to their previous position. He could feel the shift of your body and took close note of how you were biting back a smile.

Suddenly a face that has haunted his dreams appeared: Lucy Gray Baird. Coriolanus could feel the bile rising in his throat at the sight of that traitor. Despite the fact she was strapped to a chair with thick masking tape covering her sickening mouth, he felt uneasy.

“What is this?”

“Freedom. Keep watching, my love.”

The tense grasp on your waist must have been aching, almost as if he was punishing you for showing him this she-devil. But it was soon alleviated as he saw your graceful figure walk into the cell of Lucy Gray. Stark white gown, as pure as snow, standing there inches away from her. Stoic guards either side of your regal stance, part of Coriolanus compared your image to the Queen being flanked by knights on his chessboard staring down a lowly pawn.

“Firstly, I'd like to say thank you, Lucy Gray. If you hadn’t betrayed the only good thing in your life, I wouldn’t have my darling husband. Truly, I appreciate it.”

This wasn’t his snowdrop. Never had he heard your voice that dominant and cold. Part of him preened at the words being spoken, yet he feared what was to come. Who had he married?

“You were very difficult to track down. See, originally, I wanted you gone because I knew he loved you, and I don’t like sharing. But then I found out that you wanted to destroy him. Drive him insane with your silly little tweety songs. And, well, no one can drive him crazy except me.”

Just as his mind caught up with the intentions of your words, a glistening of his father’s legendary pistol came into focus. Pointed between the eyes of the witch who once trapped his heart.

“Goodbye Lucy Gray. No one will remember you, and the Snow family will live forever.”

The bang of the bullet felt like an earthquake, but the image of you, his innocent little petal, with blood seeping into your porcelain dress was enough to silence all thoughts. Screen fading to black as the guards moved to remove the body.

“Did you like my gift?”

It was so small, as if you had made him a cake and were afraid that you’d added too little sugar. This was the wife he knew, and the wife he was growing to love. He always knew you were perfect; that is why he agreed to his marriage, but this was more than he could ask for.

He craved loyalty, obsession, ruthlessness, and compliance. You were everything he would ever need, wrapped in a pink bow. Finally, an equal, someone to love him the way he wished to be loved. Coriolanus would get rid of anyone you wished, and to know he has your devotion makes him feel invincible.

“It may be the best present anyone has ever given me. Let me thank you for it properly.”

Spider-like touches tingled down your spine before feeling the cool air prick your skin as Corio relieved the zip of its job, allowing your dress to pool in your lap. Three abrupt taps on the desk said everything, and within moments, you settled your bare body against the chill of the wood. There was nothing better than feeling his eyes map your body with such hunger. Swirls of lust flush through his eyes as he lightly runs his long digits over the exposed skin.

“Who knew my sweetheart could be so fierce? Those hands weren’t made for killing; they are far too pretty. And who would have expected those callous words to come from such beautiful lips? But you did it for me. Everything you do is for me.”

Standing to attention, he traced the expanse of your collarbone with featherlight touches. Eyes wide watching him in anticipation, every touch made your arousal swell. Never would you rush him; he ruled Panem and your heart. He was your purpose. He was yours. Coriolanus intoxicated you. Faint scents of leather and brandy washed over your senses; the heat of his body against your as he placed calculated kisses against your skin made you dizzy. With so little, he made you feel so much.

A gentle moan fell from your lips as the young president found his mouth on your taunt nipple, carefully flicking the tip with his talented tongue. Oh, how you wish that scandalous mouth was somewhere else right now. His appreciation was felt full force. Those large hands groped at your skin as if he were trying to consume you. Leaving a litter of marks and nips across your chest, as if he were an artist and you, his canvas.

“I would do anything for you, my dear. You gave me freedom from that whore, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have your love. You are my only obsession. So tell me. Name it, and it is yours.”

A sense of shock washes over you; he has never once asked what you wanted in the bedroom. As with many things in his life, Coriolanus was not open to advice or direction. Images flashed of what you wanted but your tongue tangled as you went to voice it. So caught in the moment, it felt impossible to string a coherent sentence.

“I want- I want you.”

“Be specific, my snowdrop.”

He knew what you wanted. Sinking to the floor as one arm curls around the thickness of your thigh, pulling you closer to his body. That smile told you that he knew, he always knows. Coriolanus wanted to see whether your boldness extended past the video.

“Tell me, Mrs. Snow, how can I please you? You have pleased me so, and I want to show my appreciation, so tell me. Now.”

The feeling of his breath against the wet patch growing on your panties sent a shiver down your spine, feeding the need for his mouth on you. You needed him carnally. Hands wrapped in those icy locks, pale fingers curling inside, and him acting as if he were a man starved.

“I need your mouth- your fingers. Please Corio. Thank me with your mouth. Worship my pussy with those fingers, please, my love.”

Fingers hooking the corners of your underwear, gently discarding the elegant lace. Stormy blues and a haunting smirk told you that he'd be thanking you for hours to come.

“As you wish, my love. I am yours to use, as you are mine.”

A King is only as good as his Queen.

#kinktober 2024 #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth smut #corio snow #kinktober

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imaginespazzi · 15 days ago

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GUYS GUYS GUYS I FINALLY GET TO GIVE Y'ALL THOUGHTS AND HAVE THE YELLING BE OUT OF LOVE AND HYPE AND EXCITEMENT (should tell you in advance that a lot of this might be in cap because I'm so fucking happy)

AZZI FUDD

OH MY GOODNESS AZZI FUDD

LIKE BABYGIRL YOU HAD ME WORRIED A LITTLE BIT IN THE FIRST I CANNOT LIE LIKE I WAS GONNA HAVE TO MUTE YOU ON TWITTER AND SHIT

BUT THAT'S MY BAD CAUSE AZZI FUDD 3RD QUARTERS??? INSANE SHIT

Like honestly she was just....wow. Brilliant, spectacular, amazing. And I have to just point out what a testament this is to the growth in her mentality because there's a version of Azzi who would've gone 2-10 and then just stopped shooting. But not this one and man oh man was it freaking awesome. Also the 5 rebounds? Means the world to me actually. And what's being talked about less is that she played hella good defense today and kept Pao Pao from ever getting into a rhythm.

POINT GUARD PAIGE BUECKERS

WELCOME HOME SWEEHEART WE HAVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH

MY GOAT FINALLY GOT HER DOUBLE DOUBLE ALMOST A TRUPLE

You know what it didn't matter that, that basket coulda been the size of an ocean and Paige still might not able to get a ball through it because Paige was the heart of the offense. THAT'S MY LEADER. MY PG. MY OFFENSE MOVER. And she did it beautifully, all while occasionally having to defensively play PF.

SARAH MF-ING STRONG AMAZING AS PER ALWAYS. Like truly what is there to say about Sarah because she's just always so consistently good and that one half-court steal? OH I STOOD UP AND EVERYTHING

OH AND OF COURSE ANOTHER DOUBLE DOUBLE FOR MY NFOY

JANA EL ALFY BEST GAME OF THE SEASON AND OH MY GOD THAT HUSTLE??? Y'ALL SEE THAT HUSTLE? IT'S BEEN THERE ALL SEASON TBH BUT IT REALLY SHONE THROUGH TODAY AND THAT FIRST MOVE WHEN SHE CROSSED THAT GIRL OVER? OH THAT'S WHEN I REALLY STARTED TO BELIEVED. Just amazing work from MY center and miss girl didn't even miss a layup today I think (even if she did we didn't see it okay?)

ASHLYNN YEEHAW SHADE GIRL I HAVE YELLED AT YOU (and I still side-eye the hell out of you off the court for that follow) BUT M'AM YOU SHOWED UP! Those 3 threes really set the tone for the whole game and like she has all season, Ash hustled on the glass constantly and she saved some really important posessions.

KK GIRL THAT ENERGY BEEN CONSISTENT EVERY BIG MATCHUP AND YOUR TEAM FINALLY MATCHED IT! And those two fouls on Milaysia that she drew? Crucial shit forreal. Defense was great, made the right moves offensively AND DIDN'T GET BLOCKED ON A DRIVE!!

KC HAD A SOLID GAME!! Quiet 10 tbh I barely realized she'd gotten double digits but I did notice every basket and you could see her being aggressive about it and that's so important.

AUBREY BBG GOT SOME GOOD MINUTES TOO!!! Hard to say if she should've gotten more after such a dominant performance by but her presence is always great and I think really deflated SC, seeing her come off the bench in the 2nd half when we were already demolishing.

REBOUNDING REBOUNDING REBOUNDING. I been yelling all season and then we play the best rebounding team in the country an out-rebound them? SHUT ME UP UCONN

DEFENSE IN GENERAL? SO FUCKING GOOD. They couldn't get nothing going and we didn't do any of that overhelping shit (again mayhaps that's the adrenaline but even if we did, I didn't see it) and it was just lockdown at all time JUST AMAZING

And finally, no one I have yelled at more than Geno fucking Auriemma. AND THIS IS WHY. BECAUSE GRANDPA IS THE BEST COACH IN THE WORLD AND HAS BEEN FOR YEARS. AND WHEN HE REMEMBERS THAT AND COACHES LIKE IT, LOOK AT WHAT WE CAN DO. Like this man did everything right today. He gave the ball to Paige, he called the right timeouts, he ran the right plays at the right time, subbed the right people in and out the same time AND LIKE THIS IS MY FUCKING HALL OF FAME CAOCH. DO THIS EVERY GAME GODDAMN ION LIKE YELLING AT YOU EITHER GRANDPA.

MAN OH MAN I AM SO FREAKING PROUD OF THIS TEAM LIKE I CANNOT EVEN EXPLAIN TO Y'ALL JUST HOW PROUD I AM. THIS IS THE POTENTIAL THAT HAS BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME AND THEY JUST HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO SHOW AND LOOK AT THAT THEY FINALLY DID. AND MORE THAN ANYTHING ALL I WANTED FROM THIS TEAM IS TO JUST COME OUT AND LOOK LIKE THEY FUCKING WANTED IT AND THEY DID AND THEY GOT WHAT THEY WANTED JUST LIKE I KNEW THEY WOULD IF THEY JUST PLAYED TO WIN!!

#uconn wbb #uconn women's basketball #uconn huskies #wcbb #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #sarah strong #kaitlyn chen #jana al elfy #ashlynn shade #kk arnold #aubrey griffin #SO FUCKING HYPE #(before y'all ask tho this does not mean new gh chapter tonight)

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psychopomp-namine · 2 months ago

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this post is about qiao ling. but first, I want to talk about the power rangers of this show.

so. I'm really glad YE2 is putting the triple star warrior mirroring in a more interesting context

because that's clearly the intent and it's not like it doesn't make sense back in S1, but the actual execution of that mirroring seemed shallow at best with just S1 knowledge

(look! qiao ling even bought cake of them in the S2 finale)

I think it's because I couldn't quite place qiao ling's role in this until now. she's the star of wisdom, but she's the one who is the most out of the loop and lacking in knowledge... or so we thought. but with the S2 ending giving her tianxi's ability, and YE2 showing that it's a pattern for her to keep relevant information, then yeah, it's starting to make sense. the triple star warriors really are their character arcs.

star of justice, bringing hope (cheng xiaoshi's kindness being both a strength and a weakness that can either uplift or endanger other people; "even if you don't see hope, it doesn't mean it's not there")

star of courage, conquering fear (lu guang timelooping himself is the most extreme response to fear he has over cheng xiaoshi's death)

star of wisdom, serving knowledge (qiao ling and the burden of knowledge that she keeps from people out of guilt or protection)

and they really do need to overcome all of that to get the good ending.

anyway, I just think it's neat. I thought the triple star warriors mirroring was cute back in S1, but now I love it even more knowing qiao ling's place in all of this. I actually love this trait about her. she is always taking care of other people and has "big sister" vibes. she's the one who actually goes out of her way to find clients for shiguang to help and hearing their clients' troubles, even when she had no idea how their abilities worked. she's the one who truly connected with tianxi and knew how to communicate with her — even better than cheng xiaoshi could, and cheng xiaoshi was the one who actually got to live as tianxi.

it's in her nature to care for others, but it's also her biggest flaw. much like lu guang, in her desire to keep cheng xiaoshi safe in her own way, she hides relevant information from him. and the act of secret keeping causes her to keep doing it out of guilt too — as we've seen in the doudou case. it's a very human trait to have.

it puts the earthquake arc in a new context. a young cheng xiaoshi went to qiao ling, distraught over the possibility that maybe his parents died in the earthquake. young qiao ling, wanting to comfort cheng xiaoshi but also knowing that her parents were advised that it's safer for cheng xiaoshi to not go to bridon, tells him that his parents are probably somewhere "far away" and wasn't caught in the earthquake. this isn't just words for the sake of comfort. she has reason to believe this is actually true.

she's in a tough spot when S3 rolls around, because she should, by then, know about cheng xiaoshi's death, if not possibly everything that happened in bridon (through tianxi's power/memory transfer). unlike lu guang, who is dead set on timelooping himself as a way to fix things, qiao ling is in a precarious spot.

should she honor aunt shao's wish and keep cheng xiaoshi safe, which she also wants? or should she tell cheng xiaoshi information he rightfully should know, thereby allowing him to exercise full agency over his own future, even if that future has the risk of death? and whatever she chooses will affect lu guang too. what is the wise thing to do here?

on that note, others have pointed out how this recontextualizes S1E1 cheng xiaoshi talking about his parents. looking back, it's insane to me that S1E1's opening scene (not the dive rules, the one after the op plays) has cheng xiaoshi saying, "I won't go anywhere until my parents come back. if you drive me away, I'll hang myself here! then your father will never get a new tenant."

(it's looking like whatever he learns in bridon won't carry over to the cheng xiaoshi of S1, but I digress)

he says this, and both lu guang and qiao ling are sitting there calling him a childish idiot, all the while harboring knowledge about his parents that cheng xiaoshi doesn't have. (lu guang also has the extra knowledge of cheng xiaoshi's death and what happened in bridon at this point probably, but this post is not about lu guang)

like... in S1 this could just be seen as a little "haha okay so this is exposition and this is their dynamic" scene but now... man. qiao ling knew all this time, in this scene, where his parents might be. she knew during the earthquake. she knew while they were renovating the shop.

I understand the reasons behind it, and in her eyes it probably was the wise thing to do. but when S3 comes around, should she still keep hiding it, like she did with the doudou case? when she confronts lu guang about his memories, what will she do?

I have hope that she'll bridge the two boys together. we saw how her strength has always been communication and delivering words. she is the person the clients look to. she is the person that gained tianxi's trust and knew how to meet her where she's at. she is the person who knows cheng xiaoshi and lu guang best.

here's hoping that she can overcome her guilt and desire to protect cheng xiaoshi from himself, and become the star of wisdom the show wants her to be

#mine musings #liveblogging link click #link click spoilers #link click #obviously i'm team “tell cheng xiaoshi everything” but like i get it #i do sympathize with the reasons #a part of me wants ql to not tell cxs for the sake of messy drama lmao but i do want her to tell him though #aughh but idk if she will bc if she hid it from him before then what will make her not keep hiding it?#there needs to be a new element to this. bc i feel like #if ql and lg keep it a secret. cxs will find out eventually from someone else (maybe lx?)#or on his own. idk idk #i'm talking about S3 btw. not bridon #link click meta

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mountainsandmayhem · 11 months ago

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Shhh...Just A Little Bit More

Part Three (Soft Version)

DBF!Joel x Female!Reader - 18+

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 (Spicy Version)

Summary: Joel Miller caught you working where you shouldn't be after you promised to quit. Now he's taking matters into his own hands. Word Count 4.7k

CW: DBF!, Dom!, SoftDom!, use of nicknames (baby, sweet pea, baby girl etc.), Sub/Dom, DD/LG, use of a collar, use of toys. no use of y/n. no description of reader except for piercings. Praise, degradation. After care.

AN: THANK YOU for all your love on parts 1 and 2. I was in my feels when I wrote this, so this is the sweeter version of the two. I'd love to hear which version you preferred!

“Hey, buddy. It’s Joel.”

“Joel?” You can hear your dad’s muffled and panicked voice through the receiver. “Where’s my daughter? Why do you have her phone? It’s 5 am!”

“Remember that time Sarah ran away to your house and you told me that one day I might be doing the same for you?”

Your dad is silent for a while, a distorted higher pitched voice filters through before you hear your dad again, “It’s alright honey. She’s with Joel.” He lets out a deep sigh before adding, “I thought we skipped the rebellious phase with her.”

“She’s a good girl. I think she just needs some time to cool off.” Joel says, his voice is friendly and light.

You squeeze your thighs together and nuzzle deeper into Joel’s throat. You know what you need, and it isn’t to cool off. He and your dad have been friends since the day he moved in down the street. You were seven and Sarah was eleven, you thought she was the coolest person on the planet. Wonder what she’d think of you now, cuddled up against her dad after he just edged the fuck out of you after spanking you in an alleyway. You’re lost in your thoughts as Joel talks with your parents for a while.

A sane person would stop being so turned on right now. Fuck, I need Joel. So badly. Maybe I should rile him up some more.

“I’ll come by this afternoon,” Joel hugs you tighter, bringing you back to the conversation. “Ya, if she wants to, I’ll bring her. She’s ok, just never seen her more - frustrated.”

You squeeze his side, knowing he’s smirking about how frustrated and needy you truly are right now. He hangs up the phone and brings his lips to yours, kissing you harder this time. You moan into his mouth, hands roaming up his body to tangle in his hair.

Holy shit, Joel Miller is kissing me.

As you run your nails along his scalp he lets out a pleasurable sounding gasp. Oh, he likes that, he likes that very much.

Got ya, you think to yourself.

He pulls away to see you smiling at him. “This is why I usually tie naughty girls down,” his voice is completely different from how it was just moments ago. Deeper, more commanding, and it reverberates through you, right to your pussy. “Because they think they’ve found spots that will get them what they want. Let’s go home now, darlin’.”

Joel’s front door has barely closed before he’s pushing you up against the wall, caged in by his arms and strong chest.

Every bump on the drive home had you twitching, you tried your hardest not to gasp and moan but the combination of the gravel road, your insane state of heightened arousal, and the lack of underwear in your stiff denim shorts were all working against you.

“Did you come on the drive home?” He says coldly, lips pressing against your neck, hitting that sweet soft spot just below your ear.

“No, Joel,” you whine.

His teeth graze your throat and you cry out, “It’s Mr Miller, don’t make me remind you again.”

Your hands scramble for purchase as your knees start to give out, wrapping around the open flannel shirt he’s wearing over a fitted black t-shirt.

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller. I don’t…” you trail off, you aren’t sure if you should say you’ve never been a sub before, at least not to someone this experienced. You don’t want him to stop, you love what happened tonight and you want him to show you and teach you what this all means. But even more so, you trust him to teach you.

Joel stops kissing you, hands coming to your waist and lifting you so your eye level. When you wrap your legs around his trim waist you gasp out in a mix of pleasure and pain. Your poor cunt is begging for relief but you can’t barely stand your clit to be touched. His eyes look at you with concern.

I deserve to go to hell if she tells me she’s a virgin. Fuck, you were so stupid when it comes to her.

“I need you to finish that sentence, babygirl. You don’t what?”

Your cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, so shy compared to that bratty girl who told him to kiss his ass. Joel has the gut sinking feeling that you might have him wrapped around your little finger already.

Dangerous.

Very very dangerous.

Not to mention stupid.

“I’ve just..” you start, he brings his hands to cup your face, moving a few strands of stray hairs that are stuck to your lips. “I haven’t had a Dom before. I don’t know what to do or what to call you.”

Cute, Joel thinks to himself, she’s so fucking cute right now.

“Well babygirl, when we are playing like this you do what I tell you, and if you don’t like what I tell you, you use the safe word. Do you remember it?”

You nod, biting your lip as you whisper, “Cowboy.”

His face lights up with pride and in that moment you realize you’ll do anything to have him look at you like that again. And when he throws in a gravelly, ‘good girl’, any inhibitions you had go out the window. You are a good girl, you want to be his good girl…forever.

He continues, “And when we are playing you call me Mr Miller. Otherwise, you can call me whatever you’d like.” He places a light kiss on the tip of your nose and you melt a little more into him and the wall behind you. “Do you have any other questions, baby?”

Do you know what it does to me when you call me baby?

Or kiss my nose or forehead like you have?

Can you spank me again?

Can you make me come?

Can I suck your dick?

How do you feel about anal?

“Umm,” you press your lips together, eyes taking in every little bit of his face, trying to memorize this moment. “How will I know when we are playing and when we aren’t?”

Fuck, if this girl lets me put a collar on her I’m going to come in my pants and then propose.

“There’s my smart girl,” he praises, his coffee and caramel coloured eyes washing over you. “We can have a symbol, something I give you when we play. And when you’re wearing it you’re mine.” His voice sounds full of passion all of a sudden, each work almost sears itself onto your heart.

Your heart is pounding at what he’s implied and you’re almost sure he can hear it. “What kind of symbol?”

He puts you down and then gets on one knee to untie your shoes and help you slip them off. His warm fingertips trail up your legs as he stands before taking your hand in his. With his large palm encasing yours, suddenly you feel safe and loved, your pussy flutters at the promise of him taking care of you in a way that only he can. You know you’re going to be ruined for all other men.

He leads you to his bedroom and it’s nothing like you remember when you’d play hide and seek while Sarah babysat you. Gone is the old wooden furniture and mismatched bedding. Replaced with a black metal bed frame, along with matching bedside tables and dresser, and the fluffiest white sheets you’ve ever seen. You so badly want to just sink in and get naked with Joel. It looks like it would be like getting fucked on a cloud or cotton candy and those thoughts are only solidified when he tells you to sit before he heads to the closet doors.

He slides the barn door of his large walk-in closet open. The room seems to wrap you up in Joel’s scent, warm and spicy with a hint of vanilla. As he walks into the closet he toes off his boots and then slides his flannel off, placing it on a hanger. It might be your very neglected pussy talking, but you swear you can see every muscle in his body underneath that shirt and you unconsciously spread your legs a little bit. He reaches up above the clothing and pulls out a black box with a lock on it and then looks at you mischievously as he pads back over to you.

“Sometimes,” he says gently, “A dom will give their sub a collar. When it’s on, we’re playing. You belongs to me. When it’s off, we can just act how we normally would.”

A collar, definitely not sure how you feel about that. You don’t want to be like a dog with a black leather collar around your neck. He slides the numbers to enter the combination and then flicks the clasp open.

To your surprise, he pulls out a dainty golden chain. It almost looks like a bunch of yellow paper clips strung together, and there’s a tiny lock pendant on the end. He runs the thin links through his fingers before looking over at you.

“You don’t have to do this, I can just take you home and we can go back to how things were. Ultimately, you always have the choice.” If a stranger could see the way he was looking at you right now, they’d never be able to tell he was capable of the spanking he gave you earlier.

“You’ll stop if I say ‘cowboy’?” You say, voice cracking, nervous and excited energy fighting for first place.

“Always, babygirl. I’m here to dominate you, but I’m also here to take care of you. A good dom will always take of their sub.”

“Then I want to. Please, Mr Miller. Make me yours.”

He almost growls as he pulls you to your feet. You squeal as he hoists you over his shoulder, his hands strong on the back of your thighs as he carries you to the floor-length mirror at the end of his closet. He stands behind you as he works the clasp, placing the thin gold collar around your neck and then doing it up. He’s so close that you can feel his cock harden at the sight of you as he officially makes you as his for the first time. Joel's thick fingers trace along the rings, he thumbs the little lock pendant before he grips your throat just below your jawline. He applies pressure to your pulse point as his now black eyes come to meet yours in the reflection and brings his lips to your ear.

With a growling, rough whisper he says, “You have five seconds to get naked and lay in my bed with your legs spread as wide as you can.”

The instant his hand releases, you sprint to his bed, stripping your clothes as you go. He counts to five with authority and after what happened his truck, and now this, you’re sure you’re never going to be able to count without getting turned on ever again.

“Such an eager little thing, aren’t you?”

Desperate to hear him praise you, you lay on your back, planting your feet on the bed before letting your knees fall open.

“Straighten your legs and put your hands above your head.” You position your body how he says, even though you’re completely exposed to him his eyes stay locked on yours. “This is how I want you when we start playing. Exactly how you are now.”

He grabs another box from his closet and places it on the foot of the bed, eyes travelling up your toned legs, “I’m going to show you what you’ll be going to work with inside of you tomorrow if you decide to stay there. I haven’t forgotten that you were a brat tonight.”

He opens the box and pulls out a black U-shaped piece of silicone and lays it on your belly. “Do you know what this….”

He stops mid-sentence, eyes lighting up as they rake over your tits. They dance from each nipple, taking in the tiny barbell and the thin hearts that encompass each one. “You are a naughty little thing, aren’t you?”

“I like pain,” you whisper, throat going dry at the admission.

“My little masochist,” he hums. “As I was saying, do you know that is?” He nods his head towards the little toy.

You shake your head, “No, Mr Miller.”

“That goes inside your gorgeous pussy. One part pushes on your g spot, the other on your clit. I have the remote.” He holds up a small plastic remote with a few shiny buttons.

“Oh,” you moan, your lips forming in the shape of the word, nipples getting harder at the thought.

“I will keep it turned on low enough that you will not come. In fact, it might be more like torture than pleasure.” His eyes are sparkling at the thought of you squirming for hours.

“But I don’t want to quit,” you whine. You’re a glutton for punishment and you know Joel will dish it out.

“How long is your shift?” He says, picking up the toy, the graze of his fingers along your belly sends an electric current through your body.

“Four hours,” your voice is husky with need.

“I’m going to get some lube and then put this toy inside of you now, babygirl. We’ll see how long you can last. Is that okay?”

“Of course, Mr Miller.” You try to sound confident but in the bright lights of his room, you can see how dark and serious he looks.

He lubes up the toy and then swipes some lube through your folds. Your back arches off the bed and you let out a loud high pitched moan when he hits your clit.

Fuck. I’m gonna come with the tiniest vibration and it’s probably going to hurt.

“So wet. So swollen. My poor girl,” he says mockingly, he’s loving that you’ve been suffering and on edge since the minute you saw him in that alleyway.

The toy slides in and the pressure just from the silicone alone sends the air whooshing out of your lungs. You’re gasping for breath, your clit feels like it’s being zapped with electricity and you immediately slam your thighs together and start to whimper.

A small, almost evil sounding chuckle comes from Joel as he holds up the remote. “Ready?”

“No,” you gasp, rolling onto your belly. “I can’t. Please don’t.”

“Are you going to quit?”

You cry out in frustration into one of his fluffy pillows and then whisper a sad, “no.”

The vibrator comes to life and the most intense mix of pain and pleasure floods your body. He’s right, the sensation isn’t enough to make you come, just enough so that you know it’s there. You bury your face deeper in the pillows, curling yourself into the fetal position, back towards Joel, as you try to breathe normally.

Joel strips down to his boxers before shutting off the lights. He slips into the sheets, covering you up along the way. “Good night, baby girl.”

“What?” You gasp. “Mr Miller. I….oh god…I c-can’t. It’s on.”

“You may as well get used to it. You’re going to work with it in tomorrow. No more talking. Go to sleep.”

Joel lays on his back, one arm behind his head, the other palm spread out on his chest. You flip around to face him, the early morning sun lighting his profile. There’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep, you shift your legs around.

Maybe if they’re spread I won’t feel the vibration as much.

That doesn’t seem to work so instead you squeeze them together. More pressure might make you come and then you can finally get some rest. Joel looks over at you as you jerk around silently.

“Come here,” he says, patting his chest. You cuddle into him, one leg draping over his warm body. The arm behind his head wraps around your naked body. He feels so soft but hard against you. You can’t help but hump against his hip bone. You’re right on the edge. So close to tipping over it and coming. So very close.

“Baby, it hasn’t even been four minutes, how are you going to last four hours?” He’s taunting you, trying to get you to beg. “You’re pathetic.”

You can feel sweat breaking out across your body. This is torture, was right. You hate that he was right, but you hate even more how much he’s loving it.

“Please,” you whisper.

He pulls back to be able to look into your eyes. “What are you going to do for me if I make you come?”

“Anything. Just. Please, Mr Miller.” You grind yourself into him harder, you’re so close that it’s almost unbearable.

“Quit your job, baby girl.” He demands again. “I’ll tell your parents you’re going to work for me.”

You start to pant as the pressure in your lower belly increases, you can feel wetness pooling inside of you, begging to be released. “I can’t take your money. Oh god - please - I ca-can’t. Hnnnnng. P-please.”

A tear runs down your cheek and you’re not even sure why you’re crying, probably out of frustration.

“You can. I’ll pay you to help around the house,” he holds up a hand, almost like he knows exactly what you’re doing today. “Not for the sex you’re guaranteed to get if you quit and come here.” He wipes the tear away and hikes his leg up to increase the pressure that’s already on the verge of making you pass out.

Stars start to blur your vision as you whisper, “ok. I’ll quit.”

Joel has you flipped onto your back, trapped under his weight before you can even register what’s happening. He’s kissing you deeply, tongue taking what it wants as your legs kick and shake under him.

“Please!” You cry between kisses.

His thick fingers slide between your puffy folds and the toy, you scream out as he pulls the toy from you.

“Shhh…just a little bit more. I’m going to make it better,” he says gently, kissing down your neck, swirling his tongue around each nipple piercing.

“Please. Please. Please, Mr Miller. Please. It hurts. I need, please.” You’re a mumbling mess and the words leaving your lips are practically incomprehensible.

“I know. Relax baby. Breathe.” He says between kisses down your sternum, his tongue tracing your curves. When he finally settles in between your thighs he swallows hard, he wants to dive right in, make you drench his face as you come. “Look at me, darlin’.”

His warm breath hits your pussy and you fight your hips from bucking up to his face as prop yourself up on an elbow and try to focus your eyesight on him. You didn’t know it was possible to be so turned on that you practically had tequila vision.

His voice is serious yet calm as he says, “I’m going to make you come using my fingers and my tongue. Is that ok?”

You nod your head and a faint ‘yes’, leaves your lips.

“Can I lick and touch both the outside and inside of this beautiful, weeping, pussy?”

His words from earlier echo through you. Ultimately, you always have the choice.

Joel Miller would never do something you didn’t want and that sets your soul on fire. He cares. About you. Only you. Wants to do things for you. You are not a burden here. You are not a burden to him.

“Yes, Mr Miller. Please. Touch me.” The room suddenly feels twenty degrees hotter, you can feel sweat beading on your skin.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Cowboy,” you hum, never taking your eyes away from his blown out obsidian gaze.

“That’s my girl,” he says, sliding his ring and middle finger around your desperate entrance. You cry out, dropping your body to the bed. Pleasure. Overwhelming pleasure. “No no baby girl, eyes on me.”

You somehow muster the strength to raise yourself onto shaky arms. His two strong fingers slide deep into your heat with minimal resistance and you immediately start gasping. Pleasure. Life altering, heart stopping pleasure.

“Fuuuuck. Baby. So tight. Have you ever squirted before?” His cheeks are flushed with need. He might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Your breasts rise and fall with your ragged breaths. You shake your head and moan out a ‘no’.

He smiles down at your dripping cunt, “I can feel it. Gotta relax for me. Just breathe and let it happen.”

Nerves flutter in your stomach and then he curls his fingers forward, putting so much pressure on a soft spongy spot that you didn’t know existed. On instinct, your knees try to close but his wide frame keeps you open. You yell his name to the ceiling, he knows he should punish you for not calling him Mr Miller but you look so goddamn beautiful as you start to fall apart.

“Breathe baby,” he says as he curls his fingers once, twice, three more times. You can hear how wet you are and the pressure becomes unbearable. Stars blur your vision again, the walls of your pussy squeeze tightly around his fingers and then it’s just a blur. A blur of all consuming pleasure.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Come for me. Soak me. Good girl,” Joel’s free hand pressed down on your mound as a wet heat leaks all over you. “Good fuckin’ girl. Let go for me.”

You’re not sure if you’re screaming or not, all you hear and feel is Joel. Everything is Joel. Strong hands, deep gravel voice, warm vanilla smell. He’s everywhere and you never want it to stop.

“Keep going. That’s it. You look so beautiful,” he says, licking a long stripe up your fluttering pussy, drinking up your juices. “Oooh yeah - gooood giiirrll”

Almost immediately after your orgasm crests it becomes too much. You’re so overstimulated that it hurts and your moans of pleasure become cries of pain. You forget your name, where you are, you even forget your safe word. But Joel knows, he always knows.

He stops pumping his fingers and says your name, “look at me sweet pea.”

You blink slowly, you’re wrecked, barely able to keep your eyelids open, almost convinced they’ve been replaced with steel. You’re sucking in air, did you not breathe that entire time?

“Breathe baby, you’re ok.” He says, stilling his fingers until you’re ready.

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller. I know I called you Joel. I won’t do it again.”

There she goes again, being so fucking cute. “It’s ok, darlin’ girl. I want you to let loose when you come.” He places a few light kisses along your thighs. The sheets and his t-shirt a soaked, he’ll need to change things before you both get some sleep. “I’m gonna pull my fingers out.”

You fall back to the bed and fist the sheets to ground yourself as he slides his fingers out. “You did such a good job. Made a huge mess. I’m so proud of you, babygirl.”

Every bone and muscle in your body seems to have dissolved and all you can muster is a weak smile and a little whimper of thanks. “I need to get you cleaned up. Stay here.”

Stay here? I have no bones. Where else will go?

The sound of running water coaxes your eyes to close. The mattress shifts under Joel’s weight as he sits beside you, lightly trailing his finger down the bridge of your nose. “I’m going to carry you to the shower. Ok?”

You let out an agreeable hum as he scoops you into his arms. His warm naked chest pressed against you. He walks into the shower with you, the steam warming your skin. He places you on your feet and guides you under the water with him. Water is hitting you from all angles. You open your eyes to see 3 showerheads in his large, modern glass shower. A large rainfall one above the two of you, then two down the wall. The bundle of fresh eucalyptus hanging from one head fills the shower with a fresh scent.

His fingers fumble with the clasp of your collar behind you, “how are you feeling after what happened tonight?”

You smile at the white and black tiled wall as the collar slides off your neck and into Joel’s hands. “Mmm - like I’m not gonna quit my job so we can do it again.”

“Don’t think I won’t put this on again right now and make you regret that.”

You giggle and press your body back into Joel’s. He’s completely naked behind you and you have the sudden urge to taste him. As you spin around and get to your knees he stops you, “don’t interrupt my aftercare, please.”

“Your what?”

He grabs the soap and a fresh wash cloth and starts to work it to lather. “I told you, it’s my job to take care of you.” It’s too early to admit it to you, but aftercare is Joel’s favourite part. He’s grumpy and rough on the outside, but he loves the tender moments after playing with his subs. Especially you, and that’s something he won’t even admit to himself yet.

He runs the soft cloth over your arms and chest, using extra caution not to catch on your nipple piercings. I like these,” he says, eyes memorizing every inch of the skin he’s washing.

“Thanks, you’re actually the first person to see them.”

“That right?” He moves the cloth down your stomach before kneeling in front of you and washing your legs. “You know what I think you should pierce next?”

“I have an appointment next week for something,” you tease. It’s not a lie, you have an appointment to get a second hole in each earlobe, but may as well play with him a little.

“Oh? Don’t tease an old man like that, baby girl. What new surprise am I gonna find?” He brings the cloth up and down your other leg.

“What do you want to find?”

His hands grip your hips and he spins you around. You have a small bruise forming on your one ass cheek and his cock jumps at the sight. “Belly button,” he says.

“Oh?” You say with surprise as he stands behind you and scrubs your back. You turn to look at him over your shoulder and add, “I was thinking of doing my clit.”

Joel’s hands come to his heart as he moans. “Fuck me, baby girl. I’d have to leave the god damn continent until it healed.”

You laugh as he brings his lips to yours. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you aren’t wearing a collar. But he’s kissing you and washing your body. Does this mean that Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, might have the same sort of feelings that you have? Or is this just what he does with his subs after dehydrating them with his fingers and tongue.

“Stay in the warm water while I change the sheets. I’ll be back,” you look over your shoulder to finally take in his naked body. His back is lined with corded muscle, water droplets filling the dips and grooves of his sculpted body. It looks like you could bounce your whole fucking bank account off his round ass.

Am I salivating. I feel like I’m salivating.

He wraps a white bath sheet around his waist before you get to see his front - as much as you loved being taken care of earlier you should have looked down. You run some shampoo and conditioner through your hair, rinsing it out just as Joel comes back, now in a pair of fitted boxer briefs. He holds up a towel for you, and after turning off the water you pad over to him for him to wrap you up and gently dry you off.

“Thank you, Mr Miller,” you say instinctively.

He smiles softly at you as he dries every inch of your skin. “Go lay down, babygirl. I’ll get some lotion and then you need to get some sleep.”

When you walk out to his bed there’s a t-shirt and a bottle of water on the pillow for you.

Fuck. I’m in love.

Taglist:

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juniperhillpatient · 6 months ago

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I have talked about this a lot before but it’s on my mind & also it’s something that really should be discussed more in Buffy fandom -

People are constantly talking about how Spike defies all the rules Buffy was taught about demons & vampires & rightfully so. A vampire falling in love with a slayer & fighting for his soul for her is such a romantic notion & I do love it but the nuance of Spike’s arc is even more interesting than that! He does love Buffy but not only that he befriends the Scoobies too. He brings flowers for Joyce after she dies. He helps prove that Tara is not a demon when her family tries to gaslight her & isolate her. He becomes a pseudo big brother to Dawn.

And yet none of that is even what I’m here to talk about! Spike IS a hero & he does have a long spanning redemption arc before the soul (& we’re NOT here to talk about Seeing Red right now, as usual that topic is too expansive & requires its own post) that should be acknowledged & his character is rightfully praised but he is NOT the only exception to vampires having nuance & it drives me crazy that we act like he is. The Judge isn’t just talking to Spike when he says this:

“You TWO.” He’s talking about Drusilla too! He says that they share affection & jealousy. That Angelus in his total sociopathic lack of human emotion is the odd one here.

Then you have things like this -

Conversations with Dead People has Buffy sharing a very long & deep conversation with an old acquaintance turned vampire. And it’s far from the only example in universe of a vampire retaining some sense of camaraderie with people from their life!

That’s right this entire rant has been a lead up to talk about my best girly Harmony Kendall. You’ve fallen for my ruse if you’ve read this far muahaha! Admittedly Harmony’s strongest moments are mostly unfortunately on Angel but even in season four of Buffy when she dates Spike she is clearly intended at times to be sympathetic. Season 4 is also interesting because we see a lot interactions between various gangs of vampires like Harmony’s so-called minions & even Sundays gang where they’re very much evil but also sharing in living (existing?) space & acting like bickering roommates or siblings. Like creatures with bonds & personalities & intricacies.

The point I’m trying to make is that the show never truly wants to grapple with the existence of Spike in all his nuance but it’s also not just about him! In general there is so much to grapple with in the idea that vampires can change & be redeemed & I’m not saying I’m anti scary evil vampires I’m just saying the universe gave us these hints of nuance & then the characters never grappled with it & that’s lame. For Buffy killing things that have a shot at redemption however small would be a major emotional blow if she ever addressed it! Especially in her season 5 “am I just a killer 🥺” arc. Let’s deal with the implications!

Let’s deal with Xander’s trauma about killing Jessie & just how much it would/should hurt for him to see Spike increasingly choose good & work with the Scoobies. I would LOVE to know Xander’s reaction to Harmony’s arc on Angel or Cordelia befriending her & letting her go ina world where the writing acknowledges that he drove a stake through his best friends heart!

It’s just that the writers accidentally complicated their own lore & then totally refused to ever let their characters address what the cracks in the stories they tell themselves mean. Giles says that a vampire is no longer the person but instead the thing that killed them. What’s scarier: the idea that your loved one was killed & something wears their face like a mask OR much more insane (to me) the idea that your loved one came back very wrong but it’s still them? Your brother eats people now but he still remembers how you like your eggs & can quote every episode of the cartoon you watched as kids. Your mom murdered that woman from the PTA who always talked too much in cold blood but she still remembers the recipe for your favorite pancakes. The show wanted scary vampires but it got so caught up in never addressing the infinitely more complex & scarier vampires it accidentally created & sticking to the more simplistic initial idea that it did both the characters & lore very dirty. And I’ll never shut up about it!!!

#buffy the vampire slayer #spike btvs #harmony kendall #btvs meta #spike #btvs spike #drusilla #angelus #Angel #ats #angel the series #I get so crazy thinking about Harmony she’s so underrated 🥺😭

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butterfly-ribbon · 3 months ago

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thinking about the kamikou festival event again and how it conveys the tone and atmosphere of the school while showing the constant transmisogyny microaggressions mizuki lives with every day so well, and this phone call with an drives me insane bc even though an is genuinely well-meaning and is trying to ensure that mizuki knows that today is a safe day for her to come to school due to the circumstances of the festival, the way she words this is very discomforting bc she's basically saying "nobody is going to notice that you're dressed as a girl today bc everyone is wearing wacky outfits!" which carries the unfortunate implication that the way mizuki presents herself is equally wacky in a way that reinforces everything ppl say about her, but this isn't easy for her to push back against bc she doesn't have a good enough 'excuse' to do so when this is one of the few ppl who go out of their way to accommodate her even if they don't fully get it? it's thoughtful of an to want to reassure her but also it's another little thing that others fail to understand. she's trying to be kind but even then mizuki feels somewhat pushed into a corner. she's very bad at actively saying No. and an has removed her ability to misdirect here bc an is speaking with ambiguity.

mizuki also being too anxious about the idea of changing her clothes in school bc she's terrified of the possibility of being caught and thus having her body perceived by others... that's also another reason she'd hate being at school. gym and changing for it … i'd wager mizuki skips almost every gym class bc she can't stand the idea of being forced to change amidst boys, but she's also not allowed into the girls' locker room… literally only has the option to go to the roof if she wants to change. she's so hyper cognizant of her body and being seen … and the worst part is, she likes to be seen under her own circumstances and control (which is one of the many reasons she's very passionate abt fashion, and a lot of trans ppl in fiction tend to have an attachment to fashion and styling which makes a lot of sense bc of the element of control over one's appearance and making a self one can love). she really does. it just … happens that she knows she has so little control.

i've read the vbs main story (and a bit of their events but i need to continue whoops) and this makes me appreciate mizuki's brief interaction with kohane and an here more, bc it's obvious in this moment that kohane is just being her usual self—anxious around other ppl she's not familiar with and this is something she wants to improve upon (which as far as i can tell is the conceit of her character arc as an underdog of sorts compared to the others in her group). but mizuki assumes that she has to be uncomfortable with her specifically (presumably due to her transness) bc of her experiences, so she immediately feels bad about 'taking up space' and decides to make up an excuse to get away from the situation to give kohane the chance to comfortably hang out with her friend. and the fact that mizuki goes out of her way to say that she's going to find a place to hide alone is interesting bc the way it's framed it doesn't sound like it means much, but it feels deliberate on her part, like she wants an to know... mizuki's internal world and where we see she has internal bias and how she blames herself or assumes she herself is the problem if she can't make others comfortable, and she takes so much upon herself all the time bc she's used to constant microaggressions and either can't say how she truly feels or has to divest what she feels from its context to make it palatable. but of course kohane is not transphobic, she is someone who has trouble socializing with strangers bc of her own anxiety that has nothing to do with mizuki herself, but mizuki doesn't have access to this perspective like the reader so it's easy for her to assume that she's the problem. it's paranoia but it's understandable considering how she's treated by almost everyone...

#project sekai #gamo.txt

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kingofpopmj · 6 months ago

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I Don't Know Whether To Live Or Die

Summary: Michael struggles to appreciate his life in the present after receiving a surprise visit from a ghost from his past.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader!

Warning: SAD, READING MAY RESULT IN SOBBING, SCREAMING AND THROWING UP, DON’T HATE ME!

Requested: yes

Loud pounding came from the front door, Michael ran over, laughing at how impatient she sounded.

“You forgot something didn’t you babe?” He shouted before opening the door, revealing a face he was sure he’d never have to see again.

“Michael.” She smiled, her hand sending a shy wave his way. “Hi, how are you?”

“Lisa, what are you doing here?” His ex-wife, a woman who he thought he loved, but all she did was use him. She never truly cared for him which is why she didn’t put up much of a fight when she received the divorce papers.

“I’m sorry to show up like this. I needed to speak with you.”

“What’s going on?”

“May I come in?”

“Uh, let’s— we can talk out here.” He said, stepping out and firmly shutting the door behind him. This visit was going to be problematic enough without him inviting her into his home— their home.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, I don’t have all day, so—”

“Michael, I still love you.” She blurted out, her eyes widened when she realized she didn’t ease into like she’d planned.

“Excuse me?” He stepped away from her, looking at her like she was insane.

“I’m still in love with you.” She reiterated, trying to reach out for his hand.

“I— What?” He rejected her advances.

“I know you’ve moved on and it’s so wrong for me to say this to you. I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It was eating me alive.”

“Yes, I have moved on and I’m very happy.”

“I know and that’s great. I’m happy for you. This was wrong. I’m so sorry. Can we just forget I said anything?” She bit her lip nervously, unsure of what to say next.

“It is wrong. Jesus, it’s been years Lisa. I finally moved on and I feel like myself again. I found someone. I found my someone. Y/N, she’s my person.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about us and it started to feel like maybe we could work now. We’re older, wiser. We’d be better this time around. It feels like the whole idea of right person, wrong time, you know? We were always right for each other, but back then, was the wrong time, but maybe now is the right time.”

“Is this a joke? You come here, to the home I share with Y/N and say this to me?” His voice growing louder. “Do you even understand how disrespectful that is? Lisa, we were never right for each other. We just weren’t. We don’t work together that way. The way I work with Y/N— she’s my right person, right time, all the time, every time. She’s it. She’s who I belong with.”

“It’s not a joke, I wish it was, but it’s how I feel. Yes. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve kept this to myself. You’ve obviously made your decision. I’m sorry. She’s a very lucky woman. I hope she knows that.”

“I’m the lucky one.” Michael corrected.

He watched as she walked away, climbing into her car and leaving him utterly stunned. It wasn’t until she’d already driven off that he was able to snap out of it. He made it back inside, slamming the door in frustration.

What the hell is wrong with her?

Eight hours. Eight hours had passed since she pulled out of his drive way and he found himself unable to wipe it from his memory. He was sat on the floor of his dance studio, desperately trying to distract himself but nothing worked.

He couldn’t understand why her visit had him so twisted up.

“Babe! I’m home!” Y/N’s voice rang from downstairs, he could tell just from the sound of it that you were smiling. Shit. He’d really lost track of time. He stood up and made his way to you. He was determined to clear his mind during the time it took to get downstairs, but once again, he had failed.

“Hi, my love.” He smiled, kissing her temple as she stood in front of the sink, washing her hands.

“I missed you today. How was your day?”

“Mhm, I missed you. Alright. Yours?”

“Are you feeling okay?” She dried her hands with a dish towel and turned to him, a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Stressful rehearsals?” She asked, cupping his face lovingly.

“Oh, yeah.” Michael was a no show to rehearsals, he’d completely forgotten. Now, he’s lying to Y/N because of his uncertainty. Whether it was to protect Lisa or himself, he wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t worry too much. I’m sure you were incredible, you always are.”

“That’s when you’re there. I’m always better when I have you to impress.”

“Invitation accepted. How about I make your favorite for dinner?” She was completely unaware of what had transpired today. She had no idea what Michael was truly thinking and it made him feel guilty.

“I’d love that. Thank you, my love.”

Michael spent the night chasing after sleep. He’d gone back and forth, staring up at the ceiling and watching you sleep peacefully beside him. You were lying close, your arm draped around his torso.

He loved you so damn much.

He had to forget about Lisa and everything she said. She needed to be left in the past where she belonged.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

He was so lost in his thoughts, thinking of every possible scenario and outcome, that he almost didn’t notice the sun rising. He glanced over at the clock, your alarm would be going off any moment. If you saw him awake you’d get worried, so when he heard the alarm sound, he closed his eyes.

He pretended to be asleep, silently making note of how considerate you were. You had woken up immediately, turning off your alarm so it wouldn’t disturb him. You got out of bed carefully, tip toeing over to his side of the bed, pulling the blanket up to cover him and leaving a sweet kiss on his cheek.

You were so damn sweet.

When he heard the bathroom door shut softly, his eyes shot open and he felt a wave of disgust wash over him. He has everything.

You are everything.

He couldn’t lay in bed any longer, so he dragged himself away and his feet carried him to you.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Y/N asked as he took the place behind her, pulling her back into his chest.

“No, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” She offered, buttoning up her fitted blouse. “I’m a great listener.”

“We probably should.” He said, his shoulders were slumped over as he feared what was coming. He couldn’t keep anything from you. He couldn’t lie to you. He felt like he was betraying you and he hated it.

“I’m here.” Y/N leaned against the counter, her smile bringing him some comfort.

“I saw Lisa yesterday.” He avoided her eyes, afraid of the impending reaction.

“Lisa?” Her head tilted to the side as she tried to put the pieces together.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Lisa-Marie, your ex-wife?”

“Yes.”

“My love, that’s why you were so stressed.”

“She said some stuff.”

“What? I don’t understand what her problem is. Are you okay? Did she storm into your rehearsals and yell at you in front of everyone like last time?” She was becoming increasingly protective as she questioned him. Usually, it made him smile, but right now all he could think was how he didn’t deserve it.

“No, she came here.”

“She was here?”

“Yes, she showed up unannounced. We spoke outside on the deck. It threw me off and I ended up missing rehearsals.” He felt the weight being lifted off his shoulders as he told her the truth.

“Oh, well, are you okay?” She knew how vindictive his ex could be, her main concern was making sure Michael was okay.

“Not exactly. I haven’t been able to get the things she said out of my head.” He sounded ashamed as he explained the effect his ex had on him. Y/N felt angry, but more than anything, she ached at the thought of Michael feeling less than.

“Michael, you’re a good man. The best, most beautiful man. Inside and out— you’re perfect. You’re kind, caring, funny and so damn talented. Please, don’t listen to her. Don’t let her get in your head. She says things only to bring you down.”

“She confessed that she still has feelings— she’s still in love with me and it— I don’t know— I— It freaked me out.” He spoke, feeling full of shame.

“That’s a surprising revelation. It makes sense that it would throw you off. I’m sure it was difficult enough to see her again.” Y/N did her best to stay calm even though she wanted to find Lisa and drag her up and down Main Street for even daring to come near Michael.

“I can’t stop thinking about her— about it— about what she said.”

“What?” She wasn’t expecting that. She was sure she heard him wrong until he went on.

“I keep thinking about it. I don’t know— I keep thinking about all the mistakes we made back then and what we could’ve done differently. I just I needed to be honest with you.”

“What?” She repeated. He said ‘we’, but he was referring to Lisa and him. Y/N felt she was being pushed out of the picture right before her eyes.

“She told me she loved me and—”

“It shouldn’t matter. We’re together. You’re with me. It shouldn’t matter what she was to say.”

“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time forgetting about it. I never thought she would show up and say that to me. I haven’t thought about her in years. I don’t understand what it’s triggered in me.”

“What you could’ve done differently.” She repeated his words with heartbreak written all over her face.

“Seeing her and hearing her confession twisted me up for some reason.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. I never thought she actually loved me.”

“Did you love— Do you still love her?” She rephrased her question because she realized how silly it would’ve been. Michael had married Lisa, so he obviously loved her at some point, but loving her still— that’s something she needed to know.

“Y/N…” He shook his head, struggling to look into her eyes and give a definite answer.

“You do, don’t you?” Her voice grew softer, it was the first time he’d ever heard her sound unsure of herself.

“I— I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Y/N—”

“How could you even say that? You should know. Michael, it’s a simple question. Oh my god. Do you even love me?” She dragged her fingers through her hair, hoping this was a nightmare, it had to be. She wanted so badly to wake up.

“Yes. Yes, I love you. Of course I love you. I just feel a little confused.” His words spewed out as he attempted to answer the question as quickly as possible, so she’d feel no doubt. However, it was too late. If he really loved her like he said he did, then nothing and no one would cause him to feel so confused.

“Confused? Lisa showing up and telling you she still loves you confuses you, why? You lied to me about attending rehearsals because instead you were fantasizing about life with her, what could’ve been…” She looked away from him for the first time and he took that moment to steal a glimpse of her.

“I wasn’t expecting it. No, no, it wasn’t like that, I thought about the things I could’ve done better.” The way Y/N’s face fell, made him want to punch himself. “No, I mean more along the lines of the things I’ve done better with you and it felt so natural. That mess of a relationship with her, how awful she is, it prepared me, made me better to find you, to deserve you. Because you’re perfect for me, you’re everything she isn’t.” He had to admit it sounded better in his head. Basically, he was putting Lisa down to lift Y/N up, but it only made her feel more inferior.

“Do you want to get back with her?”

“I— Y/N…” Once again, no real answer.

“Oh my god. Michael, what does that make me? What even am I to you? A place holder?”

“No, Y/N. God, no. No.”

“You can’t stop thinking about her?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, but it didn’t feel right to keep it from you. I wanted to be honest.”

“You can’t stop thinking about her.” She reaffirmed his statement and hoped that this time he told her otherwise.

“I’m sorry.” That’s when she truly broke, hearing him say sorry meant there was something to apologize for. There was something real, a place in his heart that wasn’t for her.

“What am I— am I not enough?”

Her words shocked him, but what shocked him even more was how throughout this whole conversation she remained composed. She was angry, but she never raised her voice at him. She was hurt, but she continued to empathize and try to understand his feelings. She’d still looked after him when she shouldn’t have and somehow that made him feel worse.

“Y/N, you are enough. You’re more than enough. You’re so out of my league. I’m the one— I’m not enough. Please—” She practically flew backwards to avoid his touch.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.” She forced herself to smile even though she couldn’t feel anything but pain. The man standing in front of her feeling more like a stranger the longer he spoke.

“Y/N…” Michael struggled to find the words yet again. She put her hands up, silently begging him to stop.

“I’m fine. Everything is fine. I have to go or I’ll be late for work.”

“We can finish talking about this tonight? I know there’s more you’d like to say, rightfully so.”

“There’s nothing left to say.”

She took small steps, backing away from him and eventually disappearing into the bedroom. He stood there dumbfounded. He wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He didn’t care for Lisa. He didn’t love her, not anymore and not the way he loves you. It was a surprise to hear from Lisa, nothing more. He didn’t care to ever see or speak to her again.

“Would you like to go out for dinner?” His voice desperate, carrying through the entire house.

“Sure.” Her short response made him smile. Although, they definitely weren’t fine, he knew that he still had a fighting chance. He could make this up to her. He could fix this.

“You look beautiful. As always.” He smiled nervously, following her out of the bedroom and into the hall.

“Thank you.” She walked fast in front of him not sparring him a second glance.

“Um... can I give you a ride to work?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got a few errands to run during lunch, so I’ll need my car.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll see you tonight.” She shifted uncomfortably, nodding as she descended the first few steps. The sight of her back made his stomach turn. He felt like a complete idiot.

“Wait!” His hand grabbed her arm, stopping her abruptly. She spun around on her heels, giving him a frightened look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’ll see you later?” He leaned into her, but she flinched, straining her neck in the opposite direction, causing his lips to land on her jawline. “I love you. I love you so much.”

She looked at him through sorrow filled eyes. All he wanted to do was absorb the pain he’d inflicted upon her. He’d gladly welcome pain if it meant she’d never feel it again.

“Sorry. I guess— I wasn’t expecting that. You took me by surprise.” He wanted to ask why. He wanted to ask what was so surprising about him giving you a goodbye kiss— something they’d done every morning, but he decided against it.

“It’s okay.” He whispered.

She moved back up the steps, standing directly in front of him for a moment. Slowly, her arms wrapped around his torso and she rested her head against his chest. He didn’t waste a moment pulling her closer. He was thankful she’d let him.

Y/N pulled away, looking into his eyes as she closed the space between them.

She moved so slowly he was able to take in the small details of her face. The crease in the middle of her eyebrows, the way her lips were pointed down in a subtle frown and the tears that were puddled against her eyelashes just waiting to fall. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to explain his stupidity further. He wanted to apologize again, but he didn’t want to interrupt this moment, not yet.

Her closeness igniting warmth throughout his body as she reached up, her lips finding his.

She threw her arms around his neck and he pulled her closer, losing his balance in the process. They stumbled until his back slammed into the wall, they were chasing each other’s touch while trying to regain their footing.

The kiss grew needy, sloppy and desperate as it felt like a temporary escape for both of them. Y/N tugged at his clothes as his hands roamed her body, caressing every curve. She pulled back gasping for air, she shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against his.

“I’m going to be late.”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Michael.”

“I love you.”

“I— I love you too.” Her voice cracked as she stepped out of his embrace, turning away and walking down the stairs. She was out the door when he felt himself breathe again. They were going to be okay he said to himself.

Michael got ready for the day, when he left the house he found himself eager to return at the end of the day.

He missed her already.

The sun had just set when Michael arrived home. He parked the car in the garage and basically ran to the front door. He wanted to see her, hug her, kiss her and tell her how much he adored her.

He only wanted to come home to her.

Michael darted up the stairs, looking for his love, but when he made it to your shared room, he felt his heart drop.

Everything was gone.

The drawers once filled with her clothes— empty. The closet half occupied by her coats and dresses— empty. The shelves in the shower that held her shampoo and conditioner— empty. The house without her in it— empty.

He stood there in disbelief, squeezing his eyes shut as if everything would reappear when he opened them again, but it didn’t. That’s when it all came flooding back, the weight of it all making him feel like he was being buried alive.

This morning, she was barely holding it together and he didn’t pay attention.

“There’s nothing left to say.”

How could he miss it? She’d made it clear. That was clue number one and he overlooked it. The way she moved away from him when she said it, that was just the beginning of his new reality. She’d said there was nothing left for her to say, then walked backwards giving him ample time to speak up. She wasn’t the one who had explaining to do, it was him. That was his chance. She’d thrown out a lifeline and he didn’t take it.

“Goodbye, Michael.”

She never said that, she always said “See you soon, babe.” And, she paired it with that beautiful smile.

He couldn’t believe he didn’t notice it sooner.

He realized it all too late.

It was right in front of him, she sent him every clue, every hint and he should’ve picked up on it, but he didn’t.

She’d essentially handed him every puzzle piece, hoping he’d solve it and stop her from walking out, but he didn’t.

He saw the tears in her eyes and didn’t question them. He didn’t fight to hold her tighter— to hold her longer. He didn’t insist on kissing her cheeks until eventually she’d stop crying, forgetting what brought them on in the first place.

He didn’t fight for her.

He let her slip through his fingers, leading her to believe it was what he’d wanted. He’d made her feel like she wasn’t the one— the only one in his heart, but she was.

She is. She’s the one.

She’d left believing she was doing him a favor. She’d left because even though she loved him, she wanted him to be happy— with or without her. She left him despite the pain it brought her because she’d rather be broken than see him suffer.

This can’t be real. He prayed that this was a dream, but as he felt hot tears hit his chest, he knew it wasn’t. It was a nightmare, but it was real. It was his life.

“I— I love you too.”

She never said that either. He’d say “I love you.” She’d respond, “I love you more.” To which he’d argue, “Not possible.” Then, they’d kiss, damn would they kiss. She’d show up a few minutes late to work everyday because of their ‘kiss’, but today she was on time.

It was corny, yes, but it was their thing. Their routine and when she went off script he hadn’t even given it a second thought. He’d just dropped a bomb on her— one that she didn’t deserve. And, he didn’t press to fix it. He didn’t beg her to hear him out.

He was so focused on apologizing— later. Fixing everything— later. Reminding her what she meant to him— later. Telling her how much he needed her— later. He was so immersed in the idea of later that he didn’t see what was happening in the present. There wouldn’t be another time. They wouldn’t have another later— at least not together. It was like a punch to the gut and he could feel all the air dissipating from his lungs painfully slow.

He wouldn’t get another chance.

You’d said goodbye this morning and it took him until nightfall to realize that he’d lost you.

You’d uttered the final I love you.

You’d held him for the last time.

You’d kissed him goodbye. And, he missed it.

#michael jackson #michael joseph jackson #king of pop #michael jackson imagine #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson fanfic #michael jackson imagines

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