#Who's car is that Dex? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ma1dita · 5 months ago

Text

as above, so below

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words: 10.4k. wow. prev -> asking for trouble summary: (post-TLT) The one where you plead your case with the gods of Olympus. (The one thing the fates didn't expect was how much you'd both be like your fathers; in a way, you and Luke didn't see it coming either) a/n: depictions of overdose/suicidal ideation, grief and then a bittersweet ending. this is the final chapter of partners in crime, and a love letter to everyone who’s made it this far—for all the wonderful comments and rbs! i hope this ending and this story serves as a reminder to all to support writers and their work!!! also a love letter to myself?? and the immense growth i’ve experienced creatively and in my life in the past year and some change of writing this story, it was truly a transformative time. thank you. to end, i hope you all get the love that you deserve.

—

—KATABASIS—

Is love in this world a gift or a curse?

Watching your campers file into the Hall of Gods felt like being stuck in a perpetual state of unease. Or maybe how you imagine it would feel to drive in the wrong direction on the Long Island Expressway during rush hour. It felt like staring into an oncoming car crash with your shoulders stiff, bracing for impact as you waited for something to just hit and hurt.

What else is there to do after a war is won but revel in how it hurts?

The campers look at you as they pass you on the stairs—a ghost of yourself after the deed was done, and it was almost as if Luke took whatever little life there was in you with him to the underworld. Like moths hovering toward light, the crowd starts to grow, waiting for someone to have the answers on what to do next as the Olympian Council prepares to convene.

Instead, you mentally do a headcount each time another one of the kids makes an appearance through the marble foyer; you wonder about a lot of things now that you find yourself with the time to think. You haven’t spoken in the hours since Luke died and your heart falls further with every covered stretcher the satyrs carry in.

“Hey.”

Flinching, you soften slightly when you realize it’s Annabeth grabbing you by the crook of your arm, “Let’s go wash up.” It’s not a suggestion. She leads you to a secluded part of the hall and there’s a basin filled with warm water and soap waiting for the both of you. There’s no use in tidying up the mess, you think—we just won a war! But the daughter of Athena tuts and sits you down how you imagine your mother used to when you’d come in from the backyard covered in mud. The pearlescent pool in front of you is instantly sullied as your fingers descend into the bowl—scarlet running down from your elbows, stuck to your skin, and coming off in plumes that drop into the water like miniature explosions. You hadn’t realized there was so much blood—so much of him still left on you.

“Where’s…” You say hoarsely, jerking your hands upward so that the dirty water splashes onto your knees, and Annie clasps your forearms firmly until you stop twitching—sitting still like this suddenly feels like burning coals under your feet.

“Your phone’s in your pocket. We can get it after.” “It’s dead. Uh…I need to charge it, before the Mist lifts.” The thought of calling your boyfriend comes and goes quickly like a balloon in the wind—your mind is filling up the spaces of grief with other things to worry about like Dex, who’ll be driving home soon with breakfast and waiting patiently for your return to the apartment you share. Thinking about what you’ll say to him is better than having to sit with the truth.

The younger girl is now watching you with half-lidded eyes, scrubbing at your arms delicately with a sponge and trying to not think about how all of the crust and blood that covers you used to be her brother’s. This was blood that pumped through his arteries and through his lungs that produced oxygen, straight back into his stubborn heart that beats no more. Annabeth glances through her lashes at the stoic look on your face—she’s not sure yours is working either, and well, there is nothing more that Annabeth Chase hates than not knowing what to do next.

“Help me help you. Where do we go from here?” she mumbles, but it barely reaches your ears. Any thought you might’ve had is washed away with what was left of him; blankly, you’re staring at your red-hued reflection within the porcelain bowl.

“I don’t know.”

There is nothing left but time now that the war is over—and it buries you, so far into the earth that maybe if you try to sink far enough you’d see where they’ll put his body to rest. A sickening realization hits you like a freight train: your relationship—all of it—exists only in dreams now, memories, the spaces between thoughts, the seconds before someone remembers the reality of how the world almost ended because of a love that you’ll now have to live without.

How, after everything, is this the end?

You knew this was coming, you try to remind yourself. Losing him was years in the making—you’ve been mourning Luke Castellan for almost as long as he let you love him. No one knows when the end is until it’s happened. Or for you—for as long as it takes for you to admit it. It was the end when he left you to wake up alone on his last day of camp.

Maybe even earlier than that—but now you’ll never know.

Looking back, all the time spent with and without him was just you trying to keep going as if he hadn’t already signed a death sentence. The lines have always been a bit blurred for you when Luke was part of the conversation. Endlessly toeing the line between your love for your home and your love for him, you couldn’t help but indulge in the hitch in your breath that filled with Luke’s name whenever he would pop into your life. Even when the rest of the world found reasons to hate him, you could not bear to.

Would it have made a difference if you fought back against him? Not Kronos, him—the boy that didn’t include you in the decisions he made for you, now sauntering towards Elysium leaving you to deal with the rest. Does doing nothing make you worse than his father? Would the results of the war changed if you turned him in? If you found a way to resist the hold he’s always had on you, would Luke still be alive?

Everything after feels like it’s going in a blur—endless questions swirling through your head that make your knees buckle from the vertigo. The gods can’t just expect you to go back to your nine-to-five and pretend that walking away from the wreck will mean it never happened.

“Right?” you exhale, answering your inner thoughts. Annabeth is drying your arms with a pinkened terry cloth and hums in response, before meeting your gaze over the horizon that peeks out to say hello.

The sky seems endless when you’re standing on Mount Olympus watching the gods rebuild the damage that was left behind. Everything moves in reverse—buildings rising from rubble with every floating brick, pathways smoothing with the gentle touch of time, and plants rebirthed from ash. The city will always wake up to move towards tomorrow, but for you, there’ll be no proof that your world ended while everyone else gets to keep theirs.

Time is being undone before your own eyes, and you suppose you have the rest of your life to fix it—whatever that means now.

“Was any of it real?”

The Olympians will be summoning you any minute now. Percy shuffles over from his spot against the wall where he is watching you both, stoic as a statue—everyone’s made their way inside and the three of you are the last to enter.

“Doesn’t really feel real,” the son of Poseidon mutters, mindlessly playing with a tendril of Annie’s hair—she lets him with no complaints. The weight of the world hasn’t been lifted from their shoulders like they were once promised. No one wants to celebrate when you’ve lost your friends—your family in the process.

Apollo stretches his arms and pulls a blanket of dawn overhead as if a final countdown before you have to walk in as glimmers of gold spread across the sky.

“I wonder if Luke always knew this is how it was gonna end,” Percy says simply, your eyes meeting his and the boy almost sounds apologetic. Annabeth scoffs, “The jerk always was the type to pull strings.” A crescendo of trumpets and fanfare begins to shake the halls—your cue to enter. Walking slowly behind the pair, you wrestle with the tug deep within you that silently agrees with her.

Grover joins them and all together, the trio make their way to the stage. You find a spot next to your brother who notably has his arm in a misshapen cast decked out in smiley faces—Will’s doing. Your lip quivers at the sight of him.

“The hell happened to you?” you murmur. Pollux kisses your temple and slings his good arm around your shoulders, voice hushed to not distract from Zeus thanking the half-bloods for their efforts of saving humankind, which is a rare occurrence as it is. You couldn’t be bothered by the grandiose display, focusing instead on the big baby next to you.

“Just a scratch,” he says cooly, and you pinch his side in annoyance—”He-OW!” Pollux shrieks, swallowing the sound when the satyrs shush him.

“What happened to you coming straight to me?”

“I’m the least of your worries,” the blond boy mutters, purple eyes meeting your own. Even if so, you disagree.

“Not true! You know that.”

Pollux takes a good look at you from the peripherals of his vision as you huff and try to pay attention to whatever’s going on up front. He wishes you could see yourself how he sees you—completely worthy of love in every capacity, even if life makes you work for it tirelessly like Sisyphus pushing a rock atop a hill. You’ve always been so close to getting what you want…but never quite reached it. He doesn’t know how you do it, but both of you being your father’s children makes him understand why you do.

Understanding doesn’t make you hurt any less though.

“You know, no one would blame you.”

The longer you stand here feels like someone’s shoved cotton through every open crevice of your body. It scratches at your throat and dampens your ears as you turn your head to face him, eyes dragging up his face in question.

“In fact, no one would bat an eye if you left and never looked back.”

Scoffing, you turn to look at the floor and his hand feels heavier on your shoulder now like you’re carrying the weight of him too, “It sounds like you just wanna get rid of me.” Feeling like you’re constantly at a loss can radicalize anyone—you’ve never felt so close but so far from Luke than at this moment. People turn away from everything they’ve ever known for less.

And still, you’re here.

Still.

Pollux shrugs, wincing when his bad shoulder jerks, “Maybe. Do you still want this? Any of this?”

He thinks of you spending the rest of your days sitting in that tiny apartment burning cookies in that cramped excuse for a kitchen, and how when he visits, he’ll have to say hello to that boring man who’ll greet him with a megawatt smile, so unknowing of the world you come from. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Your brother thinks you might be happy, if you just let yourself be.

There’s a silence that stretches between you as Grover tumbles to the ground in search of food up on stage, conveniently being caught and attended to by the prettiest naiads you’ve ever seen. You snort at the sight, but your brother’s dedicated to knowing what’s on your mind, continuing to whisper like an angel (or a devil) on your shoulder.

The rest of this ceremonial shit doesn’t matter to him.

“Dex is not Luke.”

“He doesn’t have to be,” you say through an exhaled breath—he can tell you’re troubled by the idea of choosing to leave everything behind and start over, without them and without Luke, so he says just that—trying to feel out your brain and where it’s at.

Your heart, however, is evading the matter.

“Now that it’s all over, you can start over again. Without us weighing you down.”

Pollux watches you furrow your eyebrows, scrunching up your face in the way you do when you want to say no. But your expression is impassive in the next moment like a trick of the light, “I’d have to think about it. It just happened, after all.”

Once again, Luke Castellan seems to have left you without a choice. What an asshole.

But what do you want, anyway?

“There’s no time like now. You could if you wanted to.”

Why has every difficult decision you’ve had to make meant giving up something good?

Shifting your weight onto your other hip, you grit, “Shit. I mean, what good is it to not have what I want?”

“Shit,” Pollux smirks with a knowing glance, “You tell me.” You grab his hand and squeeze it tightly, intertwining your fingers. No god can take away what you share with your brother. You both live this reality, after all—one where you have to go on because your other half cannot. The purpose of Pollux’s message might’ve gotten lost in translation, but the intention hit home.

“Guess I’ve never thought of it that way.”

Chuckling under your breath, you take a good look at everyone in this room—the roles they take, and the purpose they serve. There’s not much of a place for you here, not anymore, and Pollux thinks you know that too. You’ve done the best you could offer to the gods despite yourself and the children you’ve cared for. But he wants you to understand that you don’t need to worry about them anymore. All your dad and him do is worry about you anyway.

“What if I never looked back?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking of the right thing to say but the truth is much simpler, “I love you. That’s a good enough reason to, right?” You’re not sure if he means him or you—but still Pollux’s figure blurs in a vignette of moisture that overcomes your vision.

Amid your hushed conversation, the room around you has gone silent and everyone’s eyes are suddenly focused on you, making you realize you’re the last demigod to be awarded. A crowd of cheers and war-hardened hands push you onto the central platform, out of the furnace, and into the fire. The spotlight overhead shines so brightly it makes you squint, amplifying the pulsing in your temples; it makes you sick.

This was finally it—the honor, no, the glory of being recognized by the gods for doing your part and being a great example for all demigods. For fulfilling your duty to Camp Half-Blood. For choosing to protect your home, and keeping your promises. The Olympians look down at you with carefully crafted smiles and what you hope isn’t pity.

“Your gift is a permanent job with Camp Half-Blood. Full benefits, PTO, 401k, whatever you want, I can make it happen,” Zeus says with a grin as if he’s told you that continuing on the way you have would make your greatest dreams come true—like you’d wish for nothing more.

Swallowing as he continues to prattle on, your figure retreats in itself, hunching over as if you’re hiding something from all of them. You are—the idea that Pollux put in your head festers like an open wound the more it ruminates.

“You’d have a spot here on Olympus too if you wish—our official liaison for demigod communications, actually—goddess of demigods! If Jackson doesn’t want it, it’s yours…” he grins dryly, a beat passing as if…

And like the speed of light, your head jerks up to meet Zeus’ eye to eye, a damning thing as you register that the king of the gods does not remember your name. Almost ten whole years of running around in the same circles and keeping his world upright, and he doesn’t know who you are—just your job, and the consequences you bring.

Something cracks within your resolve then and the pressure shatters like glass into tiny, shiny fractals until what you really want reveals itself to everyone in the room—the Council, the nymphs and naiads, and all of your friends who are staring at you with bated breath, sparkling under the lights. Your chest tightens like a Titan’s fist is wrapped around it; this is what Luke wanted, not nearly anything you’d ever imagined for yourself. He wanted this so-called glory, and the longer you listen to Zeus fumble over his words, only one thing becomes apparent—you just want Luke. What you want is to be with the love of your life again, no matter what it takes. What you really want is a gift not even the gods can provide…

Unless…

Hera clears her throat, shaking her head in disappointment and simultaneously catching the fire ignited within your eyes—Hestia sees it too, standing up from the flames of her hearth in front of the platform. The former corrects her husband with a stern brow, “...that’s her name. You should ask the woman what she wants, dear.” Zeus repeats it, throwing your name around by the syllable like it’s foreign. Percy Jackson already denied godhood in exchange for a simple promise to be kept for the unclaimed. Anything left for you to choose can’t be that bad, right?

What’s the worst thing a daughter of Dionysus can ask the Olympians for, anyway?

The king of the gods taps his finger on the armrest of his baroque throne, repeating your name this time with a stroke of seriousness.

“Well then, out with it. What do you want as your gift?”

You look down at your feet, feeling Annabeth sneak up behind you to intertwine her fingers with yours—always six steps ahead. Her support is what you need to spit the words out without it feeling like a slur, to have the audacity to want something, someone so bad that the gravity of it weighs you down and makes your knees buckle—but not a single person in that room that really knows you is surprised by what you want.

You want him, still.

It is so human of you to still want Luke Castellan, to want your love in physical form even after he’s gone. Maybe they should’ve waited to ask you this question or maybe they shouldn’t have asked you at all—but the time it would take to get over the man who’d thrown his destiny away to save you is immeasurable.

Growing up, so much of the time you shared with him was spent picturing what the rest of your lives together would look like, and that idea sticks to the forefront of your mind even now—a hole that pierces through the foundation of the walls you built up to try and forget him. Maybe life with Luke and what you’d had before was the real dream instead of something you’d have the opportunity to experience—it feels so far away from the life you live with Dex, who you’ll go home to once you scrape yourself off these marble floors. Somehow, time has passed and everyone in this room—including Luke, wherever the hell is now, has gotten exactly what they wanted except for you.

What about what you want?

“What I want…” you mutter under your breath, before raising your eyes to meet Zeus’. There is not a single ounce of doubt or fear he can detect as he stares back into your pools of amethyst, hardened by equal parts stubbornness and determination.

“To be completely honest with you, Divine Zeus—all I want is the opportunity to die.”

—

Chaos breaks like the eye of a storm as your statement echoes in the open air of the Hall of Gods. Somewhere, Percy starts to laugh at your flair for the dramatics and Chris joins him until Clarisse jabs him in the gut despite the twisted look that overcomes her face. You hear your father yell his disagreement from his throne, grapes rolling off the gilded vines that adorn it and they bounce towards your feet. The hilarity of all of it makes you smile.

It shouldn’t, of course—your dad looks like he’s about to wreak havoc on Earth itself, but he chooses his words carefully, so quietly under his breath that you almost don’t hear.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Dionysus walks toward you with outstretched hands, beckoning you to him. The strain he puts in keeping his composure reopens the cut on his forehead. Golden droplets drip down past his eye like a stroke of lightning, and your eyes glaze over, lost in a memory. All of your surroundings seem to move slowly then, everyone losing their shit and he just takes a moment to appraise his little girl who in the blink of an eye, is not so little anymore.

“Dionysus, your daughter better have a good explanation for this!” his father yells, but Mr. D pays him no mind. Hermes is the first and fastest to put your plan together, looking at you with a reverence no would expect a god to have for a mortal. Grover’s picking up the grapes to munch on while Percy pulls at his arm to back away from the center platform. Aphrodite’s swooning over the thought of your devotion, and Athena looks at you holding her daughter’s hand—the both of you strengthened by ambition instead of deterred, making her scoff in amusement. Hera is laughing at the frustration on her husband’s face as he sputters, attempting to regain control of the room.

The sheer audacity you present yourself with is laughable even to you until you realize that this is the most yourself you've felt in a long time—here in front of the Olympian Council, with the bold request of choosing death over immortality. You were brave once—gutsy even, when you were fourteen. And this feels like that—like coming home.

A hand clasps your other shoulder.

Pollux.

For a moment, you look around the room wildly until you remember Luke’s not here to see this. You hope he’d be proud.

“SILENCE!”

Your father’s voice booms overhead, calming the chaos with a snap of his fingers as everyone has the words choked out of them like a water spout gone dry. Zeus rises to the challenge then, regarding you with an odd curiosity, “You know we can’t bring that boy back. The atrocities he’s committed, the choices he made—”

“I’m not denying any of that. I guess all I’m asking for is a chance. I’ll take any consequences that come with it.”

No matter how bloodied the path was to get there Luke has always made sure that he gets what he wants, in one way or another—at the cost of sparing no one, not even himself.

“Child, do you think this makes you a hero? Do you think you can go down in history as someone who chooses to die instead of live? Don’t you want to be something more?” His voice booms so loudly that you wince.

“I never needed to be a hero, Divine. I am loved. That is better than any glory I care to receive—I mean look around you,” you exclaim, gesturing around the room, “Your kids don’t want glory. They want love.” Breathing shakily, you look pointedly at all of the gods, emboldened by the momentum of getting it all out once and for all.

“I’m 23 years old. I’ve spent almost ten years of knowing Luke by loving him, even if five of those years were also spent missing him,” you say and your voice shakes with emotion, “To you that’s nothing, but I want that time back, even if I have to go and get it myself… That’s what I want.”

Hades speaks to you for the first time that morning, a simple question falling from his lips.

“Why would you go through all of that trouble?”

You can’t help it— you laugh in the face of the most powerful beings in the universe. For a moment it was like hearing your name in the distance but in reality... it was always the answer; your father knows from the crooked smile that grows on your face that your decision was made up from the second they walked in to watch Luke Castellan take his last breath. Then and there, you decided you would give up yours—and he hates that he understands it so deeply. He was the one who told you so long ago that love is insanity. He himself has done unimaginable things for love. So he’d be a fool to hold you back from someone you truly want.

“The only thing I am sure about myself is that I have nothing left in me but love. And that love gives me what it will take to die.”

“You followed him to Hesperides, all those years ago,” Hermes interrupts with a wistful look on his face, “Do you know what this means—you think you can cheat death?” He is, after all, the guide of all souls. It isn’t rare for someone to try to venture into the Underworld, but it is rare to come back in one piece.

“No. But I can’t not try.”

Zeus bristles once more—insulted by this tirade of human emotion.

“Dionysus, say something! You cannot allow this!”

Ares butts in, “Your ambition’s gonna be the death of you kid. I vote yes!” Zeus slams his fists against the armrests, cracking them in the process, but then Hades raises a hand, “Hold on, my domain, my rules.”

“Brother, you cannot be serious! You’re just gonna let this girl walk in there with no—”

“We promised to grant the demigods their wishes, and if this is what she wants—well it’s her funeral,” he chuckles at the irony, “Luke Castellan is waiting for his trial at the judgment pavilion as we speak. If you make it before he crosses the threshold for rebirth—he’s yours.”

You swallow, “And the catch?”

The god of the dead quirks his lip into something that resembles a smile. He’s always liked how sharp you were, never letting anything get by you, “You must both drink from the River Lethe and the pool of Mnemosyne. No outside help, only your spirit will go down for the journey. Do that and you earn a consultation at the palace—and I’ll grant you both a single wish. Anything you want.”

“What if they don’t make it back?” Annabeth says sternly, though you know she’s looking at this from every angle—it’s better than the instinctive yes that almost escapes your mouth.

“If you fail to convince him to drink, or if you don’t fulfill our deal, you will find Asphodel to be a lovely resting place. Forever.”

Taking a deep breath, you nod. You know the odds of what you’re signing up for—but your dad’s still looking at you like you’re the last drop of whiskey. He wants to savor this for as long as he can before he has to let you go.

“I can’t… you’re my daughter. I-I can’t allow this…Hestia, is this my debt? My retribution for taking your seat?”

The aforementioned goddess chuckles softly, like sparks of cinders as she drifts over to him, unafraid of breaking any remaining protocol—all of it is thrown to the wind as she pats her nephew’s back, “Dionysus, you are still young compared to the rest of us, and yet you’ve raised her to be the woman she is today. My darling, she is your reward.”

“And you want this, princess?”

“He’s my Ariadne, dad,” you say through a shaky breath, “Let this be my quest,” you beg—you’d get on your knees if he wanted to, shovel all the pegasi shit for the next 100 years if only you had the time, “please.”

Your father nods solemnly. Fate has a way of fooling even the greatest of the gods.

“I do enjoy a good love story. I think you deserve to write your own ending, my sweet,” the goddess of love smiles lazily as she rests upon her palm. The rest of the council murmurs in approval despite Zeus’ insistence that this is not a group decision.

But this story has been told thousands of times before, spanning different millennia, different lifetimes, and different lovers. Everyone in this room has seen how it ends. You were, however, never someone who could resist a good story.

To be or not to be, right? —that is the question.

Guess you were about to find out.

—

There are a lot of ways that a person can die—but when someone makes the choice, it usually means you have the time to think about it.

Completely serious matter, yes—irreversible?

Questionable. Of course, you don’t have either the time or liberty to mull these things over. Luke could be a toe into the gates of Elysium by now, and the thought of missing him makes your stomach into a pit you could compare to Tartarus.

It’s weird to say goodbye and not want to mean it. Even weirder that all of your friends couldn’t say anything other than good luck as you were ushered through Olympus and put into a room to die. Words don’t come easy when you’re unsure of the outcome and death looks different when you’re the daughter of the divine form of insanity. The flame within your soul is lit by what defines him and so it is agreed upon that it should also be the reason for your end.

This is just a journey—Dionysus tells himself. Death is just a journey of millions of souls returning to dust, star stuff finding their way home. A journey he’s taken before, not once, but twice, and would again if you asked him. How bittersweet is it that you are exactly made in his image, and how blind was he to not realize that when you first came to camp almost a decade ago? If only he could’ve cherished that more in the early years—the stupid pranks, the incessant laughter, and the sound of your voice at nightly sing-a-longs. Your dad knows that he’d face death a million times if it meant that you didn’t have to.

You used to hate it—the similarities that stuck you two like a reflection in a mirror. The feeling of feeding off of other people’s turmoil, or how drink flows through your fingertips as soon as the thought of thirst is formed. It wasn’t comparable to wisdom or war—conjuring mayhem wasn’t cool like Percy breathing underwater, or how Lee used to pull sunlight through the clouds.

It didn’t come easy, being your father’s daughter.

But as you lay your head onto his lap, you realize that there is no one else you’d want to be. He’s since changed back into his trademark patterned shirt—visions of palm trees and hibiscus dancing in your vision as you get comfortable in his arms, breathing steadily as he strokes your head.

“I wish we had the time to make it home,” you whisper, “It would’ve been nice to be on the docks, listening to the water.” There’s a tentative quality to your statement, feeling out the silence that’s been enveloping the both of you since you walked out of the main hall. You’re not used to seeing your dad so serious; it’s almost jarring that he’s not being a menace or calling you batshit for your latest—and last crazy idea.

He bites though, murmuring, “That your favorite spot at Camp? Would’ve thought you’d be buried under the covers at the cabin.” Dionysus swallows hoarsely, voice faltering as he comes to think of you being buried under anything.

“Nuh-uh,” you say through a bitten lip, “I’ve always liked Canoe Lake. Lots of good memories there.”

“What’s your favorite one? Billie Holiday at the cost of Luke’s pocket change?” your dad gruffs, “Or what about falling into the lake after that time you fought over the flag?”

Dionysus hates this—feeling powerless at the hands of mortals. Gods aren’t meant to feel this way, but out of all of them, he understands best because he knows this story.

He was this story: a demigod boy scorned by his father who wanted nothing but to rescue his mother from hell and who willingly gave up his life for the woman he loved. If there’s one thing he still admires Luke Castellan for—it’s letting him keep you safe while he went off to wreak havoc on the world. Sure, it’s selfish, but the kid has a good heart if all it was made up of was you. The courage of stars and souls is that even time cannot stop them from finding where they are meant to be. To love someone so much that it transcends timelines and angers the gods—your father finds himself ruminating over the fact that Luke’s someone was you.

Of course, it’s you.

He looks down at your position as if you’ll crumble into a pillar of salt in the mere seconds it takes to blink. There’s so much hope in your eyes that it batters into his resolve as if you’ve swung into his ribcage with a sledgehammer— it tears down any doubt he might have that you will not come back safely. At least Castor would have company, he thinks morosely—Pollux is somewhere running around the compound trying to find an iPhone charger. Dionysus just wants to sit with his baby and be.

The goblet is heavy in your hands as you look at the golden liquid within. Nectar heals the body and soul, but in excessive quantities—it burns. So much so that demigods that overdose feel their sanity melt away from their brains and separate their souls from the body until there is nothing left but the memory of who they once were.

What a way to go, right?

“Is it gonna hurt?” you say suddenly, cracking your knuckles and tugging at your sweater and he knows what you mean to say is that you’re scared. This is the first time you’ll do something for yourself, by yourself, without your support system.

“Not if I can help it,” your dad sniffs, “Hermes is gonna meet you once you cross over since it’s not my job to be down there anymore. I’m gonna be with you for as long as I can… Where the fuck is your brother?”

Laughter spills from your lips as you start to drink anyway like it’s a glass of wine after dinner—thick syrupy sweetness slides down your throat. It tastes like crisp apples and the carbonated tang of Redbull, making your eyes water from the punch that hits every one of your pores, “Don’t want him to see. I don’t…” In through your nose, out through your mouth.

“He saw Castor when he…I don’t want him to see.”

Clutching at your father’s shirt sleeve, his hand gently tilts the goblet further toward your mouth as you take the nectar in painstaking gulps. You’re shaking now, skin hot to the touch under his fingertips as you start to gasp heavily. He models how to breathe slowly, waving away the brushfire that spreads through your veins as best as he can, “It’s gonna be okay, princess. Just breathe.” If your senses weren’t overflooded with flashing red lights, maybe you would notice that he was crying.

“Say it, dad.”

“I love you,” he chokes out then, holding onto you as your body seizes in his grasp. You’re shaking your head, exasperated that you can’t get the right words out when you need them most, “I know that. Say you…I need,” you dry heave, sweat dripping down your face and turning molten to the touch. He still doesn’t let go.

“D-Dad, d… I need…”

It comes out in a whimper, and he shushes you, hugging you close, “Anything for you, my heart.”

“Need you to…believe in me.” Nectar gurgles in your throat as you’re white-knuckled around the goblet, forcing yourself to get the rest of the drink down. This won’t work if your dad doesn’t believe it will. You need him out of anyone to believe in you—to believe that you can do this.

With your eyelashes fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings he laughs through the tears; of course, he believes in you, he always has. The sound of his laughter hits your system like the whistle of a freight train, breaking through your ribcage and releasing the pressure as you let it all go in one deep breath.

Despite the discomfort, you find that death does not hurt—it feels like holding your father’s hand.

You squeeze him three times for a silent I love you because you won’t let yourself die without saying it back. Dionysus, your father in this lifetime, and hopefully all the ones that come after, leans closely toward your ear to tell you what you need to hear to get to your life’s quest that can only begin after he has to let you go.

“You are my heart’s joy—the most stubborn person I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I know you can love that boy back to life.”

Death feels like an endless summer in your mind, of pine trees in the North Woods, toasty smores over a crackling fire, and sand between your toes as you run along the shoreline. As your thoughts fade to nothingness and your body is erased from the mortal realm, you think that your favorite memory of camp is floating in the bubble bath you made of Canoe Lake on a summer day nine years ago.

—ANABASIS—

When you open your eyes, all you see is bright yellow and all you can smell is leather disinfectant. You’re in the passenger seat of a taxicab, and behind the gaudy blue dice pendant that dangles on the rearview mirror is Hermes. He pulls his lips into a tired smile, scratching at his goatee as the vehicle speeds down the side of the River Styx. The windows are rolled down and the wind is blowing back against your face.

“I thought you couldn’t meddle,” you croak, dry mouth from sleeping with it open catching up to you. You snap a finger…and nothing happens. Any trace of your father stayed up in the mortal realm with him; his best friend hands you a chilled water bottle to quench your thirst.

“Your dad said you’d be thirsty.”

Twisting the cap open, you gulp the cool liquid down with ease as you watch the Underworld pass you through side windows. Cerberus is almost galloping playfully along the side of the car a ways back, all three heads getting smacked by its lolling tongues as he barks in greeting.

What a cutie.

Something’s under your butt—when you dig a hand into your pocket, you find a bright red ball. You smile at the thought of Annabeth Chase placing a squeaky toy on your shroud, just in case. You don't get to bring anything in death other than what's in your heart, and pure Greek tradition, what’s placed underneath your shroud. As you toss it out the window for Cerberus to chase it into the Fields of Mourning, he barks happily, an echo of booms that follow him into the distance. Hermes takes the chance to speak, his eyes flickering to the acceptance on your face. You’re in the Underworld now, and like the EZ-Death line of souls the car passes, you take this news in stride.

“He’s already dead. You— you’re a special case. Had to do something, even if it’s too late.”

“It’s not. It can’t be,” you insist, bravely at first, until you lose your nerve by the end of it, “I…” Drumming your fingers against your lap, Hermes can’t help but snicker, “You know, you’ve always had such an innate sense of how to take care of other people, but never yourself—it reminds me of your dad.”

“How is he?”

Hermes purses his lips. That’s as much an answer as you’ll get from his best friend, so you nod, “Luke’s the opposite, I think. He always knew how to take care of himself, just…he tried his hardest with me.”

Down in the underworld, the sky takes on a tawny hue with grey clouds overhead, and there are no signs of whether it’s day or night. You wonder if you still have enough time—if he’s there at the pavilion, waiting for you. The car jets past Asphodel, and you slink back down in your seat to avoid the view when you remember Hades’ conditions.

If Luke’s already moved on, that’s where you’ll be.

Hermes is skipping through every song that comes onto the radio—the incessant noises make you want to grind your teeth but you remind yourself he's doing you a favor, in his own way.

“He never fooled you, that kid. You knew exactly what he was and you still loved him anyway. Me and my kids aren’t exactly easy to love, aren’t we?”

You shrug. Small talk is weird—now’s not exactly the time to be close with Luke’s father, and you’re not trying to impress him or anything anymore.

“I don’t think love is easy or hard. Sometimes it just is.”

The car rolls to a stop and you push yourself up on your palms. The judgment pavilion is in the near distance and you realize you’ll have to run the rest of the way. But you don’t move, even when the taxicab is put in park.

“This is your stop,” he says slowly, flicking the button that unlocks the car doors, “I really do mean it when I say that I wish you good luck.” Your eyes soften at that, and when you swallow, you recognize the weight of your two necklaces resting against your collarbone. He can tell you’re scared, but there’s no time to feel anything if you want to catch him.

Take that quite literally—there’s no time here in the underworld. Hermes says your name gently, and you look at him. If Luke were here, you think he’d be braver than you—running out to fight the unknown if it meant he could take you home. But your hand is frozen on the handle and your legs feel like they’re cemented to the ground.

“After he… He was worried about you.”

“What? Really?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face the god, hesitation making way for shock. Hermes blinks. He technically shouldn’t say more, but there’s nothing left to lose.

”He was worried about what you’d do if he wasn’t there when you woke up. Luke asked if I was sure you’d be able to find him.”

“And what did you say?”

With a subtle move of his fingers, your car door pushes open, and you step out onto the dusty gravel. His father salutes you with two fingers, “Told him you were coming for him.”

“I am,” you chuckle, slamming the door shut and beginning to run. Worry wracks your entire essence—if it’s even possible for a spirit to feel this intensely it might not be normal, but nothing about you is, even here.

“Hey!” Hermes calls out, his upper half hanging out the car window, “If…When you find him, do you think I’d get another chance?”

You turn unsteadily on your feet, looking at him with the roguishness he knew his son fell for, throwing your hands up in the air, “If this somehow works out, I think anything’s possible don’t you?”

Clouds of dust prickle at your ankles as you race back toward everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

Stuck somewhere in the in-between, you trudge toward the entrance of the judgment pavilion—a large titanium structure that stretches towards the heavens quite ominously. The closer you get to it the more your feet feel like sinking into quicksand, your paces getting slower and your legs moving like molasses, but you aren’t lost. It seems to somehow be getting farther the more you run, but maybe your stepmother’s blessing still reaches you down here in the dim wasteland she was doomed to—until Dionysus himself, your father, came down to search every corner of the Underworld and brought her back to life. He’s in there. He has to be.

You can do it, you mumble to yourself.

You can do this too.

Or maybe the gods are laughing at the mortal woman who was too much like her father, laughing at how stubborn you are trying to save a paradox of a man who almost brought down Olympus. Unlike your father though, there is less bloodshed in your quest to find him, less anger at the gods for having to forsake glory for love.

But you were never a fighter anyway, not in the traditional sense. The Battle of Manhattan was one you fought in and despite the winning outcome, it felt like anything but. The biggest battle you’d won was hoping he’d still be yours until the very end. Until his very last breath, and then some—if you’re as lucky as his father tells you.

You almost trip over the stoop, flailing underneath the archway as if someone pushed you straight in front of the lone spirit who’s working on fixing the bulletin board. Catching your breath, you wheeze, “Excuse me, sir—have you seen a boy….uh, or a man? Not sure how time works here…I’m under direct orders from Hades hi—”

“It doesn’t.”

“Hm,” you attempt to sound thoughtful, but the non-answer of the wispy shade that peels letters off the bulletin board painstakingly slowly does not help ease your stress.

“Well, whatever he looks like now, he should have a scar running down the right side of his face…Um…he should at least,” you hesitate. And it hits you just now that you gave your life up not knowing what comes next. Without a semblance of a plan you ran to the underworld fueled by pure spite. Your eyes travel to the board the figure in front of you is still working tirelessly on, letter by letter. The metal clinks as it falls into the bucket.

NOW SERVING:

LUKE CASTE–

Wait a fucking second. Maybe the gods had the right to laugh at you. You push forward, almost ramming the specter into the wall behind him, for a moment you thought you’d run straight through but then your fists are grabbing his shirt, “Where is he?” The bucket falls to the floor with a heavy clang as his eyes widen.

“WHERE IS HE?”

The translucent man shrugs under your rough grasp with no sense of urgency, “He’s on a journey. Aren’t we all?”

Gods have mercy, you’ve never wanted to beat a stranger’s face in so badly—you drop him in exasperation and he crumbles to the floor, “Tell me his sentence. Now.”

“Boy said he was taking the long way home. Skipped the trial completely. Didn’t want Elysium, but he had to go through it to find rebirth. Northeast from h—”

You don’t need to hear anything else. You’re running away, hands and feet almost flying the faster you go around the perimeter of the building in hopes that you’ll still catch a glimpse of this stupid, stubborn man who does anything for you but never with you.

Maybe he’s still yours, even here, even now.

There’s a river you have to cross that intersects the courtyard behind the judgment pavilion. It flows towards Elysium with clear crystalline water going upstream and as your eyes follow it, you think you see him in the distance.

You know it’s him. You could recognize that back anywhere—having spent so many years staring at it as he continued to walk away. As your mouth falls agape, you’re at a loss for words. It can’t be that easy to defy the gods and get what you want, finally, finally—-but the longer you watch him walk towards Elysium with a skip in his step, you falter.

What makes dragging him out of here any different than what he did to you?

You’re rooted to the ground then, taking deep breaths as you think of what to do next. Back then, Luke was always the blind devotee, hands and knees bruised from prayer, until the truth was the only sound that echoes back. You never understood it—another wayward child forced to bend under the gods’ will. No one should make a religion out of someone, but as you watch him smile in the fields of death itself…he is your answered prayer.

Seeing that he’s okay is enough—that he hadn’t been damned to Tartarus sets you at ease, worry leaving your body on the exhale of breath that you let go. If you turn around now, well, maybe an eternity in Asphodel would be alright too. You could pick a good spot on the outskirts. Forever might be nice if it means you’d get to look at the gates of Elysium itself for all of it, branches reaching for him until the end of time.

But Luke hasn’t seen you yet. Does he feel you reaching for him? The twisted coil of fate that yearns for him, the sting in the back of your throat in the form of his name, wanting to bridge the gap from the short distance that separates you. Between life and death, somehow the short traverse of barren land feels to stretch much further than that.

You turn slowly and walk away, muddied boots grating against the dust with every atom of your spirit resistant as if it fights the magnetic pull it was meant for. He doesn’t even have to know. Meeting him again means you run the risk of losing him again. You’re not quite sure you have it in you; so you walk away this time. This time, you won’t have to watch.

But then you hear him call out to you.

“Hey! It’s you!”

Faster now, faster.

Your legs move unsteady and your clenched fists propel you forward. Maybe they’ll let you skip the EZ line and get this all over with—Asphodel is the only place you can be with all of this regret.

But fuck, he’s persistent, even in death. Before you know it—he’s caught up to you, the sound of splashing water making you jerk back towards him in alarm, “Luke! You can’t do that!” He’s grabbed onto your shoulders and the simple touch makes you gasp. Bone-chilling fear wracks through your body as your eyes drink him in, watching the moisture darken his Converse, all the way up to the knees of his cargo pants. He blinks as if his mind is a rewinding cassette and you wonder if the River Lethe has a stronger hold on him now than you ever had.

“Who?”

And out of everything he’s told you in your lifetime to hurt you—that one word is what breaks you the most.

His eyes swiftly move over your face, dark brown and soft like that of a lifetime ago; one of bruised knees, hushed lullabies, and kisses that taste like strawberries. But there’s not a single ounce of recognition in his stare and you wonder if you’re close enough to launch yourself into Tartarus. Maybe you’re already there— he’s standing here in front of you a little lighter, and a lot unknowing.

“Am I Luke?” he whispers with a playful tone like it’s a secret you share even if there’s no one else around you for miles. He looks at you again, slowly this time—eyes pouring over you, in case your figure is an illusion or a great temptation such as sweet pomegranate seeds before spring. Luke’s eyebrows furrow like he’s trying hard to remember something; it stabs at your heart like he did his.

“Forget it.”

‘Wait, don’t go,” he starts, sounding bashful as one of his hands tugs at the sleeve of your sweater, the other curled around the nape of his neck, “I uh…the judges made me drink before I left the pavilion. I didn’t even stand a chance. Sorry to disappoint.” He chuckles, and it's a wispy sound that tickles your insides; you find your lips turning up at the sound. Luke, or whoever he is now, finds himself in awe at the sight, muttering under his breath, “I think I’ve dreamt of you before.”

For someone whose mind was washed by the River Lethe, Luke Castellan stares into your soul as he tries to get a glimpse of why you’re so familiar. Looking at you feels like the moments of a dream before he wakes up—a sliver of memory just as Morpheus pulls the rug out from under him. He’s seen your face before and he knows this, somehow.

“I just… I don’t even know why I ran over here, probably looked stupid jumping into the riverbed.. but uh…” he chuckles, biting his lip before blowing a raspberry. His mind is working faster than his mouth, “I just…wow. You’re beautiful.”

Luke’s still holding onto the threads of your sweater even as you try to put distance between you. He holds onto you like a kid catches fireflies, gentle and secure with no space between his fingertips, in case you fly away.

“I’m no one. Just forget this happened, will you?” Recoiling in what he hopes is not disgust, you turn your cheek, “Have a good life.” Wherever he is on his journey, Luke finds that there are things he knows and things he does not. He knows that he’s a human who died pretty young, someone with a jagged scar that runs down his face, and that his socks are uncomfortably wet inside of his Converse right now. What he doesn’t know is why his plans have suddenly changed, and why every wisp of his incorporeal being does not want to leave you alone. There is something he still has to do.

“Hold on, pretty girl!” Luke says incredulously, “You want me to just…look away now that I’ve seen you? I’m sorry, but no can do.” He holds onto your arm how two people share a lifeline —-it almost makes you want to sock him in the face if you weren’t on the brink of tears.

“And why the fuck not? I’ve got things to do.”

The foul language doesn’t deter him one bit; in fact, it makes him like you even more, “Things to do? Here? Maybe there is no rest for the dead.” You’ve ripped yourself out of his grasp and he dramatically puts a hand over his heart like you’ve wounded him, but by now, you’re stomping away, “You’re funny.”

And he follows you.

“Am I?”

“No,” you scoff, stopping in your tracks and not turning around. For a reason unbeknownst to him, Luke wants you to, badly. Kicking at a rock, you sniff, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

You’re walking along the river in the same direction you came from and he’s stuck to you like a shadow. You move right, and so does he. You stop walking, and so does he.

“Where are you headed?”

Spinning frustratedly with your whole body, you look up at him like he’s stupid. Maybe he is—was. He has a feeling you’ll tell him anyway.

“You’re being stupid. Go away.”

There we are—he’s grinning at you now, a spark of satisfaction running through him like a match to gasoline, “Can I at least know your name?”

“Not important. Do you think if I pick a spot in Asphodel and stand long enough, I’ll grow roots?”

Luke frowns at the sentiment, “After everything you’ve lived for, you want Asphodel?” He sounds so disappointed in you that you do punch him this time. Your fist is clenched, landing against his abdomen with an oomph that pushes out of his chest.

“What I want is none of your business.”

“Well I got what I wanted,” he shrugs, like nothing of the sort, tricking you to look into his eyes for the first time in his new existence. His smile softens, almost as if his breath was taken away by the sight of them. Luminous, even in a place with no life or real light. Like a twinkling dusk that he wants to sink into.

They dart away too soon for his liking, pulling back to him only when he speaks again, “This is gonna sound crazy but…”

“I know crazy, trust me. You’d never believe what I have to tell you,” you mutter with a ghost of a smile—the high he gets from chasing it would be unhealthy if he already weren’t dead.

“Try me.”

“Fine. I knew you. Before. It’s all I’m allowed to say. And I need you to trust me, or I’ll be stuck here forever,” you say under your breath, “But that’s okay.”

“Okay,” Luke says passively, a nod of his head—does he not know what to make of what you just told him? Or does he think the idea of forever in a place like this is alright for a person he barely knows okay?

The element of surprise isn’t lost on him even here, “So what do we have to do?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose then, breathing slowly through your mouth, “Did you not just hear what I said?”

“I did, and I think even in our past life, you must have severely underestimated me,” Luke chortles, grabbing your hand instinctively until he realizes what he’s doing. Even if he’s a little lost, he watches closely as his fingers clasp around yours almost in greeting, like it’s muscle memory, not a handshake but something sacred and secure— it’s a relief to hold your hand and he doesn’t know why, but he also doesn’t let go.

Your mouth falls agape with a shuddering breath, “You always kept me on my toes, that’s for sure.” There’s a pinched quality to your voice and Luke decides to tell you the reason he ran across the River Lethe in the first place.

“I do,” he swallows, “trust you, I mean. I don’t know why, but I just do. I just really wanted to see the color of your eyes…” Luke trails off. Can you feel it? he wonders—a stretching, growing feeling that unearths itself from the pits of your existence, calling for you to stay together like this as if there is no other way to be.

“And what do you think now?” your voice wavers as your fingers subconsciously tighten around his, a rough, scarred palm feeling much more real in his grasp.

“Waking up to them must have been Elysium in itself.”

Falling to your knees, you busy yourself with cupping the water from the river instead of entertaining the overwhelming urge you have to kiss him. Out of the corner of your eyes, he watches you like how he used to hover at camp—wanting to help but also letting you do your thing, an outstretched hand in case you need it.

“I drink…and I’ll forget you,” you say to him, realizing your instructions also have to be your final act of letting go, “and then you take me to the pool of the Mnemosyne under the poplar tree, and we drink from it together.”

“And then?” he murmurs, sitting next to you to cup your hands to your lips. Your mouth begins to water as if the tastebuds on your tongue yearn to forget all of life’s transgressions too. And you watch him the whole while, letting him, trusting him.

“It’ll be me and you, and whatever comes next.”

Do you trust him? After everything?

“That sounds nice,” he hums, watching the faraway look in your eyes and wanting to join you where your mind is at, in knowing.

You love him—that in itself is trust.

Love is the strongest faith you’ve ever cared to know, and both of you are holding it to your lips with matching smiles on your faces. You don’t know what comes next, but this feeling frees you from the worry that’s been weighing you down with every step you took to find him again.

So, is love in this world a gift, or a curse?

Love can be found everywhere and made into everything if one tries hard enough.

Love is biting into the fruit,

Love is turning around,

Love is giving him the knife,

Love is a kiss on the cheek,

Love is reaching for the sun,

Love is making an impossible journey—neither of you is running from this, catching your breath until the air between your lips intermingles with familiarity, harmonious and in tandem. Two spirits share the secret of a life lived and the love that was shared as one wants to forget and the other wants to remember. There are no words that can explain the way your shrill laughter makes the recognition slightly glaze over his eyes like sweet honey, and he looks toward the poplar tree in the distance, itching to take you there afterward.

In case this is the last time in all of eternity that you’ll set your eyes upon Luke Castellan, you set your forehead against his ever so gently, a kiss of skin against skin as the water ripples from your shallow breaths.

“I’ll meet you at the poplar tree.”

He nods, and the liquid reaches your parched lips, all of your thoughts dissipating into the air around you. There are no names in this place, no status or glory and memories fade, like sprinkles of rain against your skin, sending shockwaves to your system as you’re fighting to hold on to every wave of nostalgia before it’s taken away. Luke’s smile is like sunlight as he watches the river wash over you completely, and then you settle into his arms as if falling asleep. Neither of you knows the answer to the question that’s tested by time, but here, time does not exist.

For once, it finally might even be on your side.

“I think I’ve been waiting for you,” Luke murmurs, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear as he waits for you to wake, for the hummingbird flutter of your eyelashes to reveal your eyes in all of their ethereal glory. This prophecy was laid out and this love was self-fulfilling damnation and he smiles as your breath shifts, hands reaching out to pat him softly as if checking if he was still there even unconsciously, even without knowing him.

Time stands still here with you in his arms, and Luke is at peace with not knowing all the answers to the universe’s questions if it means he has you to face whatever’s next. Perhaps the answer is clear for others, but until then—whenever that may be, you have all the time to figure it out.

Together.

—

“What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower,

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind.” - William Wordsworth

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

275 notes · View notes

fabricated-misslieness · 1 year ago

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x gn reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.39k | part 2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not communicating and not talking about your feelings (not miscommunication since you don't even communicate)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There's too many beds.

The one night where you guys don't manage to make it to a motel, there's too many damn beds.

The camper van can fit pretty much all of you at once, not that the seven of you will do that anyway. Dani and Dexter have claim on it, as the drivers, and will probably accept two more comfortably.

In Lilly's van there's the backseat and the floor, but if we're counting, for how many beds there are by technicality, the two front seats as well.

You always have tents and sleeping bags around too, just in case you guys can't drive everyone from any recently unfortunate communities to the nearest hotel (although you'd certainly try). To give a rough estimate, about a dozen tents?

Then there's Tyler's truck, the two front seats and the back seat, and the truck bed. It's a bit short, but it can fit plenty people curled up.

So what to choose?

You should probably stay in a car. Much more heat that way, but who's gonna take you in? The designated drivers obviously prefer their own cars, so... Dexter's campervan is pretty spacious? Then again, so's Lilly's, and to be honest she's more of a vibe than the other two, but also why would you need vibes if you're just sleeping?

Maybe you should start a fire, huddle around that? No, that's a hazard, nevermind the fact you only know how to start a fire in theory.

Let's stick to a car, then. Lilly or Dex & Dan for space... Lilly, sure, why not?

As you start heading over to Lilly's van, you hear a sharp whistle. You don't have time to wonder who it's from, as Tyler spins you around.

"You're coming with me." He proclaims, taking you by the shoulders, and you can only laugh.

"Why me?"

Tyler grins, walking you unceremoniously towards his truck bed. "Because you're you, dove." That alone sounds rather intimate, so he fixes his mistake quickly. You're just friends, after all. "And Boone kicks people in his sleep, Lilly's hair gets everywhere, Dani steals the blankets, Dexter snores, and Ben...it's pitiful how he squeezes himself into the corner whenever he's sleeping next to someone, so we always give him his own space."

Right, all good points you'd forgotten.

"So why exactly am I better?" You tease, stopping in your tracks so Tyler bumps into your back and stay close.

"You're warm." And at first it seems like that's the only thing he'll say, your only benefit, as he pauses; but then the rest comes spilling out like a toad strangler. "You're also soft, you don't steal the blanket, you don't complain when I suddenly start talking and you don't snore."

Tyler doesn't mention that the two of you cuddle when you bunk together, and that you bunk together often. He doesn't mention how tonight he'll let you cuddle up on his chest, or perhaps how he'll press his nose against yours and let you play with his hair, because simply mentioning it will mean you'll have to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about, you think; and neither does he. You don't want to talk about how there's something different with the way he slings his arm around your shoulder, or the way you knock your head against his, or how he always gives out your share of whatever (pizza, cookies, etc.) before anyone else, or how you always offer your help to him no matter what.

They're always easy things to ignore, his skinship is not conditional and neither is your kindness, but there's something about the way you look into his eyes when you say thank you, and something about the way his touch lingers.

You don't want to put your finger on it, at least not this season. You'll say it again the next season, and the next, but you ignore that.

"So then I'm your favorite person?" You turn around and bonk your fist against his chest.

He whistles again, drawn-out like he does in awkward moments, but you know it's only playful. "Don't push your luck, dove. You're like... top 5!"

"Top 5? Aww," You feign offense, plopping your hand over your own chest now, "I didn't make it to top 3?"

He splays out his hand and begins to count on his fingers. "There's my mom, then my dad, then the family dog, Liam from the rodeo, and then you."

"The family dog?" Your eyebrows furrow, and the acting seems a bit too real until the look on your face gives away to a memory of his dog giving you kisses. "Oh, yeah, okay. I get it."

"See? You get it." Tyler chuckles, spins you back around and keeps on walking.

The spot you guys picked today is drier than the last, which is something you're thankful for. It's quite far from any town, but the streetlights that adorn the far off road make you feel a bit safer that civilization is just around the corner. There's a light breeze, not too cold and not too fast, and the stars! Oh, the stars.

They're damn nice out here cause they're actually visible tonight, a little less light pollution, you think. It's certainly a lot brighter than, say, NYC or Washington.

"Ain't they pretty today?" Tyler comments, his hands on your shoulders squeezing.

"Yeah. Sparkly too. You know any constellations?"

"No," He hums, his voice holding a bit of lament. "I tried, once. I tried taking a class in college. Astrology."

"How'd that go?" You ask offhandedly, hopping onto the bed of the truck.

"Ended up being too stressed with my main curriculum and dropped the class before it got too far." He fixes a tarp over the top of the truck bed, over the exoskeleton, so not much light will shine over your eyes when you try to sleep.

"The smart Tyler Owens got too stressed?" You ask as you help him up.

"Being smart doesn't mean I have good time management." Tyler says as he sits next to you, and you shrug. Suppose he's right.

"Still pretty though." You hum, leaning your head against his shoulder as you look up.

"Yeah." He agrees. His arm comes to wrap around you naturally, running up and down your side. "Have you ever tried to come up with constellations with... I don't know, whoever you were looking at the sky with?"

"You know what? I don't think so." You raise a finger, tracing a path in the stars for a moment, trying to find something interesting.

He finds one before you, pointing at a group of stars in a weird glob shape. "There, a cloud!"

That alone gets you to let out an ugly, surprised laugh; despite how ugly you might've thought it to be, he thinks it's cute. "You trynna cloudgaze with stars, cowboy?"

"Shut up." He laughs, knocking his head against yours. "You try, genius."

After a couple seconds, you point out a distinct...cone shape in the sky. "Unicorn horn."

"Unicorn horn?"

"What am I supposed to say, cone?"

"You could've said ice cream cone, a little more age appropriate, you know?" He holds out his hand, holding out a small gap between his index and thumb fingers to accentuate little.

"Yeah, well it has no ice cream, dumbass."

"Woah," Tyler withdraws, raising his hands in surrender. "no need to get so defensive, dove."

You slap his hands only to draw them back around you. He has no complaints about that. "Clearly we both suck at this. Let's just admire the stars normally."

He huffs out a laugh but turns his gaze back to the night sky without complaint. It's rather peaceful, this moment, and so nice. Maybe it's not rare that you get comfortably quiet moments with him, nor is it ever rare for Tyler to hold you close like this, but it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Look!" Tyler breaks the silence suddenly, finger tracing a path in the stars. "A heart."

"You're kidding." You huff out. He's just playing with you, he has to be, especially after your miserable attempts at finding shapes in the sky.

Despite yourself, your eyes will the stars above you into the shape of a heart. Goddamnit, you think, because it's definitely a sign.

"I'm going to sleep." You tear yourself away from his grip and he laughs and tries to steal you back to him, but you fight briefly and end up winning. It's a nice victory, especially because you won over him, but it's not on par with actually finding something in the sky (and you're avoiding the sign).

Tyler chases after you, flopping down beside you. The tarp above casts darkness over the back of the truck bed, but a soft glow still shines through.

You sigh and tuck a hair of Tyler's behind his ear, to which he only laughs. "Jealous, much?"

"Oh, totally." You'd roll your eyes, but they're stuck on his.

"I won." He's triumphant, but you can only focus on how pretty his smile looks.

"You did." You reply, not fighting him on it, and slowly his amusement fades away with the deflation of his body.

"You're not making this fun." Tyler steals your hand, presses the back of it to his lips and notably does not pucker up and kiss. It might be payback, or it might be avoiding the obvious intimacy that kissing you is.

"It wasn't a competition, anyway." You remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

His attitude eventually exudes out of him with a sigh, and he lets go of your hand to push closer. His head rests below your chin, his nose against your neck, and it's not new, but it's not old either.

"I'm sick n' tired of you." He huffs against your neck as you take the opportunity to tuck the both of you in.

You hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah? Tell me why."

His voice is muffled against your neck, and maybe the vibrations tickle, but you don't dare move away. "I won! We should be celebrating that."

"Celebrate it in your dreams." Despite it being practically the same thing as in your dreams, it actually sounds quite genuine.

"Don't be like that," Tyler whines. "let me stay up for a little while."

You put your hand in his hair, then, twirling strands around your fingers and scratching his scalp, and Tyler hates you and also loves you, because it feels so good that it pulls a groan out of him, but it's lulling him to sleep.

"You're cheating." He whines again. He's being rather childish, huh?

"It's way past your bedtime." You say in a sing-songy way. Curiosity takes over, and you pull his head away from you gently to look into his eyes.

They open once you pull him off you, just barely. Half-lidded, not by lust, but by sleep. "I just wanna hold you for a little while longer." He says, and you don't know how he does it, but his eyes have turned pleading.

"That's on you to try, cowboy." You huddle close again, allowing him to take up the same position as before.

Despite himself, Tyler sighs contently, wrapping his arms around your midriff. One of your hands is on his back, rubbing slow circles, and the other is back on his hair.

He's definitely not going to last long now.

"When's the last time you've ridden a horse?" Tyler babbles on to try to keep awake, but you can hear the sleepy lilt in his voice. "I think my last time was when I last visited home, before the season started."

"One sheep over the fence, two sheep over the fence–"

"Shuddup."

You laugh, hands smoothing over his hair again. You're not sure how you're not very sleepy right now, tucked under the blankets, in his warm hold. Maybe it's the subconscious thought of not accidentally hitting your head on the spare wheel above you, or the faraway feel of the ridges of the truck bed below you.

Or maybe it's wanting to tease him.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

You've kissed before, little playful things: cheek kisses for the camera, neck kisses to either scare you or tickle you, forehead kisses after particularly dangerous scares, hand kisses when he's trying to act all gentlemanly, temple kisses after hugs. You've never kissed him on the lips before, and actually, neither of you have ever explicitly asked for a kiss. They've always been given without question.

"Please?" He asks again, pulling back so that his forehead is off your neck.

Oh, he only wanted a forehead kiss.

You oblige happily, press your lips against his forehead and let out and exaggerated muah!

"No, not there." He pulls away almost entirely, scooting up to be face to face.

You'd laugh, if what he was asking you for wasn't a kiss on the lips. You can't lie, you've thought about it before, when the sun shines a particular way over his face at sunset, or when he's considerably too hot to ignore.

...you're going to have to talk about this tomorrow.

Except tomorrow is not today yet, and so you cup his cheek. You debate it for a moment, a yes or a no, but there's one answer clear in your mind, a yes.

You press your lips against his, and it's more subtle than that forehead kiss, and it feels so much more tangible, in a way. His lips move against yours, a languid thing, a soft thing.

You wonder if he's going to remember this tomorrow, if being as sleepy as this is equivalent to being drunk.

"Thank you." Tyler says as you part, and he settles back where he was, head against your neck. He seems satisfied now, willing to nod off.

"Don't mention it." You say automatically.

Okay you're definitely going to have to talk about this tomorrow. For now, though, you'll just hold him. It's a strange thing to say, but he's always been rather nice to hold, a big man to fill your entire hug, even if he does make your heartbeat spike.

"Goodnight." He says.

"Sweet dreams." You reply.

There's nothing else to think about but the feeling of him in your arms and the warmth of his body as your eyes draw closed.

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x gn reader #twisters x reader #twisters x gn reader #🌸 // success!#💞 // darlings #🤬 // swearshirt #🎟 // twisters #🎫 // tyler owens #🎫 // tyler

548 notes · View notes

ohyoufool · 23 days ago

Text

Putting my Jack and Bitty wedding staff AU in a blender on high and walking away:

Jack Zimmermann, noted editorial wedding photographer who trained under Annie Leibovitz (gasp)

Eric bittle, founder and head chef at one of the most highly requested catering companies in New England

Lardo is jack's second shooter and usually captains a film camera while jack shoots digital

Shitty, local ordained minister, law school dropout, frequently viral on tiktok for his heartwarming ceremonies and iconic flow

dex, chowder, and nursey working under bitty to varying levels of chaos. and that means one time bitty got a call from them on the side of the road trying to hitchhike with a cake to boston bc they got a flat tire.

anyways jack and bitty ALWAYS end up at the same events. to bitty's incandescent rage, because when he was still new to the industry and overbooking himself like crazy, he was running late to a wedding one time and jack parked his stupid car in the catering spot. and bitty couldn't find him to move it so he had to carry EVERYTHING and dropped a tray of appetizers on the floor. he cried in a puddle of bruschetta and the olive oil stains never came out of that pair of jeans. jack walked by, stared at him, and then kept going. and EVER SINCE THEN bitty has been Mortal Enemies with Jack Zimmermann, photographer, hot guy, parking spot stealer.

Jack doesn't help this by being any less awkward. he doesn't really know what to do with bitty, who always has gorgeous food but is running around the kitchen at subtronic speeds and jack is always ABSOLUTELY LOCKED IN when he's at work. if it is not in his viewfinder, he does not see it.

(read: this feud is deeply one-sided)

however.

bitty's good friend lardo who has worked as jack's second shooter is GETTING MARRIED. SURPRISE! bitty is like "I will avoid actively lightly undersalting the food I make for staff at events just to piss him off. I can put this behind us."

he is Formally Introduced to Jack at a very fancy wedding in the Hamptons that they are all there for the full weekend of. jack is super #awk. turns out lardo is marrying his ex girlfriend camilla.

ENTER. SHITTY BYRON KNIGHT. officiant of the wedding who is there playing the role of camp counselor to 75 uber-rich wedding guests while a beautiful lesbian art mogul and a professional tennis player are getting married and oblivious to all the mayhem happening around them.

bitty runs out of mint for mint julips and doesn't have a car. doordash won't deliver. he's PANICKING. jack offers to take him to the grocery store. instead of the car (evil, bitty's mortal enemy for aforementioned reasons) jack hops on a MOTORCYCLE and tosses bitty on the back and they literally speedrun the corner store for herbs. dinner is saved and bitty's hair has never looked worse but. whatever. jack must not be that bad, after all.

and then bitty is struggling to get a good video of himself assembling breakfast the next morning, and jack comes in and wordlessly takes his phone and films a GREAT VIDEO. which shouldn't be surprising, but bitty is surprised anyway.

shitty gives half the wedding party edibles and everyone starts STARVING. shitty is too high to solve this problem. bitty and jack jump in all-hands on deck to make as many dinosaur nuggets and pizza rolls possible. horror story: grocery store is out of ranch. jack comes in clutch and hand whisks a gallon of the stuff with his big strong biceps that bitty does NOT stare at through his shirt.

so the feud is over. jack zimmermann, against all odds, seems to actually kind of be a nice guy, who is tall and sweet. they go swimming in the ocean with the rest of the folks working the wedding when everyone else has gone to bed. they get drunk on the roof. they discuss taboo topics including how bitty was once runner up on chopped and gets SO mad he lost in the dessert round that he crashes out every time it is brought up. jack laughs and is like "at least you aren't getting paid to shoot your ex girlfriends' wedding." and bitty is staring at him with moons in his eyes and then comes crashing back down to earth because RIGHT. jack zimmermann may be nice and take him to fancy grocery stores and help him polish water spots off glasses and taste test his lamb sauce, but he is still STRAIGHT.

bitty: *heart breaking live in front of everyone* so like um how is that

jack: "I think I only dated her to get over my ex boyfriend"

bitty: *to the tune of YMCA* THIISS MAN IS GAAAY

so he laughs it off and everyone ends up going inside eventually and bitty stays awake and stares at the ceiling in "jack zimmermann is bisexual" font for 8 hours.

and then. *alanis morissette voice* RAAAAAIN ON YOUR WEDDING DAY!

days of setup and bitty planning ways to keep liquid nitrogen bubbles on cocktails for nOTHING. wedding = moving inside. bitty is clearing the library shelves to create silverware rolling stations. jack is cursing about not bringing a rain shield and they fasten one out of piping bags and meat twine. the whole atlantic ocean is roiling outside while camilla and lardo giggle over tea and talk about how it looks like a Rembrandt Van Rijn outside.

spoiler: NO ONE ELSE IS AMUSED. EVERYONE IS FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

the rare mushrooms that bitty orders as the main dish GET THEIR CARDBOARD BOX RAINED ON and they are no longer safe to eat. he is freaking out. they go to a gas station and all they have left is hot dogs. bitty is like "buy them all" and gets back to the hotel and is like "lardo I am about to ruin your wedding" and lardo is like "are you kidding me WE LOVE HOT DOGS"

against ALL ODDS and everything going 500 shades of wrong again, everyone manages to crowd into the hotel atrium in a venue and bitty makes hot dogs and his grandmas coleslaw and baked beans and it ends up being the happiest he's ever seen his guests eating his food.

and after all of it is done and they're tipsy on a few glasses of champagne and misty eyed about lardo and leaning against the back of the room while everyone gets down to low by flo rida in this expensive ass hotel when Jack puts his camera down suddenly and turns to bitty and asks him to dance.

THERE THEY ARE. formerly venue #enemies now #bonded by their mutual love for their friends and two left-feeting their way across the dance floor to 2010 frat music and bitty looks up into Jack's big ol cow eyes and is like "I could kiss him right now."

It's like Jack can read minds. He leans in, wraps a hand around Bitty's jaw, and kisses him like he means it.

#tis the YEAR OF WEDDINGS for me!#bridesmaid and ring bearer #and I had a wedding romance #congrats jack and bitty! you get ALL my life experiences!#I will never write this so have this shitty outline instead #zimbits #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #omgcp #omg check please #check please

103 notes · View notes

the-oblivious-writer · 7 months ago

Text

Shatterpoint

Debra Morgan x Reader

Part One: Debra’s Perspective

Summary: You die doing what you always do, putting other lives before your own. It's what Debra Morgan both loved and despised about you.

Warning(s): Swearing, (major) death, graphic depictions of violence (blood/gore), gun violence, phycological trauma, depression, grief/loss, and vomiting

Notes: Someone requested Debra Morgan angst so......... here it is! I ended up writing a part two from Dexter's perspective (platonically), so that'll be out tomorrow. I've been wanting to write platonic fictional dude characters x reader for some time now

Dexter’s Perspective

The first time Debra breaks down, it's in the middle of the Miami Metro parking lot. You're three days dead, and she's just found one of your forensics reports tucked into a case file – your neat handwriting mapping out blood spatter analysis, methodical and precise. She vomits behind her car, heaving until there's nothing left but bile and grief.

The second time is at your funeral. She watches them lower your body into the ground and something inside her splinters. The sound that tears from her throat isn't human. Dexter has to physically restrain her from jumping into the grave after you. Later, she'll have no memory of this – just the dirt under her fingernails and bruises on her arms where her brother held her back.

The third time destroys her completely.

It's been two weeks since that convenience store security camera caught your last moments. Two weeks since a frightened kid with a shaky trigger finger turned your chest into a crime scene. She's standing in your shared apartment, trying to pack up your things because that's what people do, right? They pack up the dead's belongings and pretend it helps.

Your forensics kit is still by the door where you left it that last morning. She opens it, and your scent hits her – latex gloves and that shampoo you loved and something uniquely you. The organized compartments blur through her tears. Each tool precisely placed, because that's who you were – someone who brought order to chaos, who could look at blood patterns and tell stories of violence with scientific detachment.

She starts throwing things. Your carefully labeled evidence containers shatter against walls. Your case files scatter like dead leaves. She's screaming, but she can't hear herself over the roaring in her head. Over the echo of your voice from that last argument:

"You can't keep running forever, Deb. I love you, but I can't chase you anymore."

The neighbors call the police. Fucking ironic, isn't it? Angel finds her surrounded by the wreckage of your professional life, clutching your laminate to her chest. She's laughing now, a horrible broken sound, because isn't this exactly what you were afraid of? Her inability to handle emotional intimacy, to face her feelings instead of drowning them in rage and whiskey.

They take her to the hospital. Put her on leave. Make her talk to department shrinks who use words like "complicated grief" and "post-traumatic stress" and "survivor's guilt." As if labeling her breakdown makes it more manageable.

She dreams of you. Not the you from the security footage, bleeding out under fluorescent lights. But the you who used to wake her from nightmares about the Ice Truck Killer, who knew exactly how she took her coffee, who could make her laugh even at crime scenes. The you who saw her walls and loved her anyway.

"I'm sorry," she tells your ghost. "I'm so fucking sorry."

But you're not there to forgive her.

Dexter finds her one night, sitting in your office at Miami Metro, organizing blood slides with obsessive precision. Trying to find patterns like you taught her, as if understanding the science of death will somehow make losing you hurt less.

"You're starting to worry me," he says, in that awkward way of his.

She laughs, sharp and bitter. "Starting to? Fuck, Dex, I'm starting to worry myself."

The security footage plays on repeat in her mind. She's memorized every detail – how you raised your hands, trying to de-escalate. How you stepped in front of the teenage clerk, protecting her. Your body jerking back, a crimson flower blooming across your chest. The way you looked surprised, almost confused, as you fell.

She keeps working cases, because what else is there? But every crime scene becomes yours. Every victim wears your face. She gets reckless, aggressive with suspects. Takes stupid risks because maybe, just maybe, if she's fast enough, smart enough, brave enough, she can save someone else's you.

Angel takes her gun after she nearly beats a convenience store robber to death.

"This isn't what they would have wanted," he tells her gently.

"Yeah? Well, they're not fucking here to want anything, are they?"

She finds one of your hair ties under the bed and falls apart all over again. Remembers how you used to gather your hair back before leaning over evidence, that little furrow of concentration between your brows. How she used to tease you about being so serious, so focused. How you'd smile and say, "Someone has to be, with you charging around like a hurricane."

The hurricane is all that's left now.

Some days she can almost pretend she's healing. She goes to work, follows leads, eats when Dexter reminds her to. But then she'll catch a glimpse of the forensics lab, or smell latex gloves, or hear someone mention blood spatter analysis, and she's right back in that convenience store, watching you die on an endless loop.

The department shrink asks her what she thinks you would say if you could see her now.

She doesn't tell him about the letter she found in your forensics manual. The one that begs her not to let grief make her harder, not to let loss change how fiercely she loves. She's already failed you there.

Instead, she says, "They'd probably say I'm proving them right. About running away. About not being able to handle my feelings."

But that's not entirely true, is it? Because this time she's not running. She's standing perfectly still, letting grief consume her, letting the absence of you hollow her out until there's nothing left but echoes and regret.

The security footage plays on. You raise your hands. The gun fires. You fall.

And somewhere in Miami, Debra Morgan keeps breaking, keeps shattering, keeps failing to put herself back together.

Some things just break, and stay broken, and all we can do is learn to breathe around the shards.

-----------

A/N: Not me changing my format...

#debra morgan x gender neutral reader #debra morgan x reader #debra morgan x you #debra morgan #dexter morgan x reader #dexter fanfiction

177 notes · View notes

callsign-dexter · 6 months ago

Text

A Father's Nightmare

Request: Hi!!!!

OMG I am obsessed with Twisters!!!!!!

I was wondering if I could please request a Tyler Owens x daughter reader where Tyler and his daughter are at a rodeo and a tornado happens but they get separated so Tyler isn’t able to find the reader until after the storm.

maybe the reader is like 5 or so?

totally your choice and it is no pressure and feel free to change anything

thank you

Pairings: Tyler Owens x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, tornadoes, cursing

Masterlist

When Tyler found out he was having a child he was ecstatic and when you arrived, he was even more ecstatic. The team loved you and were surprised that Tyler actually had a child but took you in with open arms. Your mother was never in the picture since it was a one-night stand with your father and when she told him she was having you, he stayed with her and when you were born, she took off. Tyler was devastated but he had you and that was perfectly alright with him. If you ask him, he would say that you two were better off without her and that you're the most important thing to him and nothing was going to change that even if he dated other women besides your mom, then again you were too young to know who your mother was anyways.

When the team went chasing you usually stayed in the van with Dexter and Dani. Most of the time you were with your dad in his truck with Boone while not chasing. You loved the chasing of the storms always had and always will. You had been through so many states probably more than any kid your age and you loved it. Each time you got a souvenir from the state either from your dad, the team, or everyone. Your room back at your home was full and it just kept growing especially thanks to your dad that knew how to make more storage.

Currently you are heading to Oklahoma. You had a passenger with you, a reporter from London, Ben is his name and you liked him especially his accent. You loved listening to him talk. “Dad?” You asked from your booster seat.

“Yes, Sweetie?” He asked looking in the rear-view mirror.

“I'm hungry.” You said and he chuckled.

“Uncle Boone has some snacks for you.” He said and you lit up and Boone smiled as he pulled out Goldfish and turned around to give them to you.

“There you go my favorite Owens.” He said

“I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.” Tyler said and Boone chuckled and turned to him as you watched them as they bickered.

“I mean, Tyler. C'mon on man. You're handsome but you can't beat that cuteness back there.” Boone said and Tyler knew he couldn't argue with that.

“You're right. Nobody can compete with that.” He said looking at you through the rear-view mirror as you watched him and munched on your Goldfish and offered some to Ben who gladly and politely took what you were offering to him.

—

By the time you had arrived at a gas station in Oklahoma you were fast asleep. Tyler didn't want to move you or wake you but you needed to be transferred to the RV. So, after he met the crowd and got them hyped up, he went over to you and carefully and skillfully got you out of the truck and transferred to the RV and now it was time to go chasing. You only woke up when you started moving and noticed you were in the car with Dexter. “Dex?” You asked and he briefly turned to look at you.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” He said and turned back to the road.

“Daddy?” You asked

“He's in the truck in front of us.” He said and satisfied with that answer you went back to doing your own thing. Your own thing was looking around at the scenery and the tornado up ahead and you got really excited. Your eyes widened in excitement and you loved every second of it. When the chase was over everyone was parking and celebrating and your dad held you and paid attention to you.

Throughout the days you were there you hardly rode with your dad for safety reasons. Whenever you weren't chasing you were in your dad’s arms just being with him. You got stares but he ignored them and had his attention on you and only on you. One tornado tore through a town and instead of chasing like your dad had planned you were heading to town to help people out. As he was helping the town out, he stuck you with Dexter who was handing out food and dealing with merchandise by the RV. You had a clear view of your dad and some lady. You watched him intently and could tell they were arguing and that made you upset but didn't say anything. After you were done there, everyone was heading back to the motel. Once everyone was settled in and became dark out Tyler got word of a rodeo and decided to take you there along with the girl he was talking to “Come here, Sweetie.” He said picking up.

“Where are we going?” You asked as he walked towards his truck.

“We're going to a rodeo.” He said as he opened the truck.

“A rodeo?” You asked confused but excited.

“Yup, a rodeo.” He said starting to buckle you in.

“Are there going to be horses there?” You asked excitedly and he chuckled. Ever since you were little horses have always excited you.

“Yup there are going to be horses there.” He confirmed.

“Yay!” You said as he finished buckling you. He smiled and kissed your forehead and then got in the front seat.

“We need to make a stop first.” He said and you nodded at him as he took off driving. It wasn't that far until he was pulling into a spot and then quickly got you out. “Hold my hand.” He said and you nodded latching onto it. You didn't say anything as you walked up stairs to a door and he knocked. “Hi.” He said and the woman looked at him.

“Hi.” She said and then she noticed you.

“This is my daughter, Y/N.” He said “Y/N this is Kate.” He added and you looked at her and became insanely shy and zoned out on the conversation at hand. Next thing you knew you were being picked up and carried. You kept staring at Kate as you walked to the truck and he buckled you in. It wasn't a very far drive to the rodeo and you were silent. “Sorry she gets shy.” He said.

“You don't need to apologize. I get it.” Kate said as he parked the truck. He got out and then got you out.

“Hold my hand, remember.” He said and you nodded.

“Ok, Daddy.” You said quietly and grabbed his hand. The three of you walked into the grounds. “Daddy, I'm hungry.” You said as he looked down at you.

“Alright, we'll get you something. Anything you want?” He asked

“Surprise me.” You said giggling.

“Anything for my girl.” He said and Kate looked at the two of you smiling. Tyler got something for you and a drink and then you were heading to find seats. You found them and sat mainly on his lap but had moved over to his side. The rodeo started and you were in awe as you ate. Kate and Tyler talked and you tuned them and every now and then excitedly got your dad's attention.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look!” You said and he looked at a beautiful horse.

“I see, Sweetie. He's beautiful.” He said and you nodded as he watched your eyes light up. When the bull riding came up and a friend of your dad's signaled to him, he saw you and waved at you and you excitedly waved back. You snuggled into your dad still intently watching and food having been eaten. The barrel racing started and you were so excited it was your favorite. That was going on for a while and then the wind started to pick up, you knew what that meant and looked at your dad who looked at you and then Kate.

“Are you tracking anything out here?” She asked and when he didn't reply she knew her answer. Suddenly everyone's phones started to go off and the overhead speakers were going off. As the thunder and lightning lit up the sky you saw the tornado and got really scared.

“Daddy.” You whined and he could hear how scared you were in your voice.

“It's going to be ok. Stay close to us.” He said and you nodded and then chaos erupted and everyone was rushing to take cover. You were carried down the steps and set on the ground. You grabbed your dad's hand but your little legs couldn't keep up.

“Daddy!” You yelled out but didn't hear him over the chaos. You stood frozen and started to cry.

“Hey, you ok?” A couple asked and you recognized them as the ones that sat behind you on the bleachers.

“I lost my daddy.” You said as the woman picked you up.

“He was sitting in front of us, right?” Her husband asked and you nodded.

“Yea.” You said

“Ok, ok. We're going to keep calm and take shelter and we'll find him afterwards.” She said and you nodded and buried your head into her shoulder. The three of you took shelter and now it was time to ride the tornado out. You were shaking and freaking out. The woman and man comforted you but you really wanted your dad.

—

Tyler and Kate moved together. “Stay with me.” He said “Y/N?” He asked not feeling the weight of your hand in his and that made him look down and he froze. You weren't with him.

“Tyler!” Kate said as she felt him stop.

“Y/N! Y/N is not here!” He panicked and that made her go rigid.

“Oh shit!” She shouted over the commotion and she didn't know what to do. As he started to shout your name and look around.

“We need to find her!” He said and started to backtrack but she stopped him.

“I want to find her too but right now safety is the key right now. Let's get to safety. Maybe someone took her to safety.” She said as she was urging him to move.

“If she ends up being hurt or worse. I will never forgive you.” He said and started to move and it hurt Kate to hear that but she understood it. They got most of everyone to safety inside a pool including a mother and child and that just made Tyler 10x more anxious he needed and wanted to find you. For the first time since the first tornado, he witnessed he was terrified.

The tornado seemed to last forever but it was only a few minutes and it was over. He uncovered Kate and then stood up and the search for you began. He was quick to get out of the pool and started to look for you. He was calling out your name but got nothing back and that scared him. He was close to tears in fact he knew some slipped out. “Y/N!” He yelled out starting to lift debris and hoping you weren't under there but knew he had to check.

“Tyler!” Dani yelled and he turned to look at her.

“Y/N is missing. Please help me.” He pleaded and she nodded.

“Ok ok. Let's keep calm. I'll get the others to help. We'll find her.” She said and he nodded. She took off from him and he resumed his search. He started towards the fairgrounds.

“Y/N!” He yelled out looking under debris and people that were hurt. He asked people if they had seen you and showed a picture of you and they shook their heads. He sent a pain throughout his chest; he was close to giving up but knew he had to find you if he didn’t, he would never forgive himself or Kate since she made him leave you. As he was yelling out your name and looking through the wreckage, he was becoming pissed at Kate for making him leave you. Who knew where you were, you could be hurt and scared or wish dead, he wasn’t going to think about the second one though he would be lost without you. “Y/N!” He yelled in a desperate tone. He could faintly hear the others calling out your name too. He was about to look in another place when a voice, your voice caught his attention.

“Daddy!” You yelled out and he straightened up and looked around trying to find the source, if there was one.

“Y/N!” He yelled your name again and waited to hear you call back again hoping his ears weren’t playing tricks on him.

“Daddy!” You yelled out and again and he was rushing to the sound tripping over stuff along the way. “Daddy!” Your voice carried to him. He was close.

“Y/N if you can hear my voice, come to me Baby Girl!” He yelled out and sure enough you did and you were accompanied by two people, a husband and wife he assumed.

“Daddy!” You yelled and he kneeled down as you ran into his arms throwing your arms around his neck and he hugged you tightly. Tyler started to cry and he was never going to deny that. Almost losing you was the scariest part of his life.

“Oh, thank goodness. You're alive. I was so worried.” He said burying his head into your neck. You started to cry as well. “I should've just picked you up when we started evacuating.” He said as the couple came up to him. He looked up at them with tears in his eyes “Thank you. Thank you so much. How can I repay you?” He asked and they shook their heads.

“No need. We were able to get your little girl back to you. Seeing you happy is all you need to repay us with.” The man said and Tyler nodded as he stood up with you in his arms and you clung to him and buried your head into his neck.

“She's a really sweet girl.” The woman said and he smiled and nodded while sniffling.

“She really is.” He let out a watery laugh. “I would be lost without her.” He said.

“Well now you're both safe and reunited. We can rest easy knowing so.” The man said and all three of them smiled. Tyler shook their hands and you, him, and the couple took off. He started walking back towards the group.

“Y/N!” You heard Boone's voice and looked over his way but went back to hiding in your father's neck.

“Thank goodness you found her.” Dexter said as everyone came to the two of you.

“Yea a couple had her and made sure she was safe.” Tyler said, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I think after this we will take some time off. I need some time with my girl.” He said and everyone nodded.

“That sounds like a good plan.” Lily said of course they would feel sad about it but they understood it since Tyler was close to losing you.

“Let's go head in for the night.” He said and everyone agreed. Tyler took you to the truck that somehow managed to survive, and buckled you. Everyone else rode together; they knew he needed time with you. When the two of you arrived back to the motel, he was quickly shutting the engine off and scooping you up. Without a word he carried you to the room and opened the door and shut it and turned around getting ready to grab your pajamas.

“Daddy.” You said and he was quick to turn and face you.

“Yes, Baby Girl?” He asked, kneeling in front of you.

“I love you.” You said and he smiled as tears sprang to his eyes.

“I love you too, Baby.” He said hugging you and you hugged him back. After a minute he pulled away and the both of you got ready for bed. He laid down and you snuggled underneath him. Tonight was a scary night and he almost lost you but you were safe and unharmed with him now and that's all that matters. Once he knew you were sound asleep, he let himself fall asleep. As he was drifting off, he whispered “I'll always protect you as long as you let me.” and then laid a kiss to your forehead which caused you to snuggle into him more. Tyler finally fell asleep with you safe in his arms. He would deal with everything tomorrow but right now he just wanted to be with you and only.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

@angenu01-blog

@twistersmaverick

@callsign-revenge

@lauraseresin

134 notes · View notes

souliebird · 4 months ago

Text

Okay. So.

I keep trying to write this and it's not clicking so. Let's do this as a My brain literally rambling with minor grammar edits. Let's go. ((I'm 🍃))

Hero!Dex!drabble time bby

Dex lives across the hall. You run into each other some times. Small polite neighbor talk if it's relevant. You don't know each other names.

The idea is you are the daughter of an Irish gang boss, with your brother being a high ranking member. You've newly run away from the family and are hiding in Hell's Kitchen. Shady apartment building, cash rent, no names.

Until Bullseye comes back from a rough Daredevil fight at the same moment as you. And you know exactly who Bullseye is.

But instead of panicking, you just go, "Oh shit, hold on, I have field medic training. Do you have a kit?"

And he's just like "Huh? Yes. Okay".

And Dex let's you in. You patch him up without asking anything while Dex tries to not panic.

Then you just tell him to wait a moment and he is like "Okay." Because he knows you know. He should kill you, but you're being nice to him.

He wants to Trust.

And you come back really quick with some left overs being like "Look here, eat this. It's got lots of protein and carbs, you'll need it. Just pop it in the microwave for five minutes, it'll be good. That bowl is microwave safe."

And Dex is just like. "okay. Yes." He likes that you're not asking questions because questions means he'd have to kill you

You're just helping him. A good person.

You leave after that.

Then you pretend it's back to normal but Dex is Dex.

But he's sure to keep his distance this time.

Time passes.

Dex wakes up to banging from across the hall. Early morning. Your door is open. He goes inside. Two men are assaulting you - you're pinned with a knife in your hand, clearly mid-fight with one guy while the other watches.

Dex does not think.

You crawl towards him. He grabs you, takes you back to his apartment, you do not fight him. He starts demanding answers.

You tell him everything.

They were looking for your brother. You haven't seen him in years, even before you left. He's turned into a state's witness and your dad thinks you'd know where he'd hide.

He's right but you'd never tell him that.

Dex looks at you very clearly. Right in the eye and Bullseye asks.

"Does he know anything incriminating about you?"

"Yes."

"Would you go to jail?"

"Yes."

"Do you want your father dead for sending his men after you?"

Pause.

"Yes."

"Okay."

He takes you to a hotel four hours away. He lets you block the doors with furniture. You cried in the car and are just tired now. He waits until you fall asleep. He leaves a note.

You wake up and panic and bit, but the note helps. He tells you he'll be back and you want to Trust that.

He saved you. He wouldn't bring you all this way to kill you. He's Bullseye. You saw him in his weird little Villain costume. He kills people in public like all the time no problem.

He's going to kill your family. He's going to set you free.

He's going to cause So Much Fucking Chaos in the underbelly of the city. It might vibrate all the way back to Cork.

That makes you kind of giddy because they all deserve it. All of them, especially your brother.

But you kinda deserve it, too.

You never hurt anyone. You've never threatened. You don't want to. You were happy to play the naive one because it meant one less criminal. But you know everything. You couldn't stop it.

Your cousin's ex-wife was a mole in the FBI. You'd be dead before you could find a lawyer.

You could very easily pretend to be dead now, though.

It's something to think about when you aren't panicking.

You hate being alone. You are terrified of someone busting in. You sit and watch bad cable for hours bc it's the only way to stay sane.

You don't sleep and you chug bad motel coffee.

Dex comes back after ten hours.

"If I don't tell you anything, you can't use it against me later."

You get it.

"Are you hurt?"

You patch him up with what's in the bathroom.

He bought clothes and supplies on his way back. He insists you go shower first. He doesn't ask why you didn't shower before.

You once again panic at being alone.

He comes in and you end up in the shower together. You keep to yourselves, backs turned. You only talk when he asks if you are finished - he has to move around you to get out.

You are.

You dress . He brought cheap ready to eat food. You both eat that while watching bad cable. You both comment on it and joke.

You still don't know his name.

He lets you push the second bed against the door. You sleep in the same bed, with you closer to the wall. Your head is on his chest.

"Thank you for saving me."

He doesn't reply.

You sleep.

He watches you all night.

And scene.

#soulie writes #fanfiction #drabble #Benjamin poindexter x reader #bullseye x reader #dex x reader #morally gray reader #Daredevil #a look into how i build fics i guess lol #or my fucked up day dreams #i can't get them to kiss lol

91 notes · View notes

methylholicbm · 2 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 1 | FIXATION | BRIAN MOSER

Description: Crime scene cleanup isn’t glamorous, but it pays the bills—and it keeps you close to the mess. When you're called to a lifeless body in a pool, you're expecting a routine assignment. What you get is Dexter Morgan: unreadable, clinical, oddly magnetic. The scene is sterile. No blood. So why does it cling to you? Word Count: 1k (a little over)

༺♱༻

"You're all standing around debating the head wound, and no one thought to check the pulse?"

I dropped my bag with a dull thud beside the body, crouching low enough for my fingertips to press gently into the still-warm blood puddling on the tile. A broken mug lay nearby, soaked in wet shades of deep red.

"That's not your job, cleanup girl," Doakes snapped from somewhere behind me, his arms crossed like always, his voice heavy with whatever pent-up angst a cop like him would have.

I didn't look at him. Didn't need to.

"No," I muttered, brushing hair out of my face with the back of a glove. "I'd just rather not have a corpse lunge at me. That's normal, right?"

He huffed something under his breath about "goddamn weirdos" and stalked off, probably to go grunt at someone else who didn't deserve it.

I stayed there, crouched by the body, eyes half-lidded and dry, like I hadn't quite woken up yet. The man's face was still frozen mid-expression—shocked or scared, I couldn't tell.

I've seen worse.

Dexter passed me, staring down at his gloves, before someone's voice cut through the air. "Morgan L/N. There's a body at The Seven Seas Motel." Dexter pauses and looks down at me and back up at them before taking off. I shrug and catch up to him before he can fully leave the scene.

"Hey—Dexter, right? Mind if I catch a ride? Since we're going to the same place anyway." He looks at me for a moment. He's probably asking himself why I can't just drive there myself. I hope he doesn't ask. I can't tell what he's thinking, but something is turning his mental gears. "I won't talk, promise," I add jokingly.

He half smiles, I think, and leads me to his car. The car ride is eerily silent. I try to look around, but I'm afraid that he'll think I'm looking for something if I do, so instead I keep my eyes fixated on the road and rub my fingers against a small area of my throat.

Dexter glances over at me, but if he has something to tell me, he doesn't say it out loud. We whip past the slums of deep Miami, empty alleyways still managing to look haunting even during dawn, overweight older men flashing their gold teeth and rotten gums, slender sexy ladies flipping their hair or throwing themselves at the nearest Porsche, and finally, a big-ass crime scene at a tacky motel.

Dexter and I make our way out of the car and through the piling of cops outside, pulling black vinyl gloves on, until he's stopped by Vince, or as everyone else knows him, Masuka. "What are you doing here?" He says to Dexter, who looks at him pointedly, like he was waiting for Masuka to realize how dumb that sounded.

"It's a crime scene?" Dexter says.

"Yeah, but there's no blood."

For a second, I believe Dex zoned out, his facial muscles contorting ever so slightly before returning to normal, something unreadable beneath his calm exterior. "Are you okay?" I ask him, and he quickly looks at me and then back at Masuka, who leads both of us to the body. He and Angel lift the cover over the body, revealing pieces of flesh completely drained of all of its blood.

I look over the body parts that aren't fully wrapped for evidence yet.

"How does a killer get rid of all the blood..." Dexter says haphazardly out loud, like he meant to say it in his head.

"It's hard to say, especially since the body is in good shape." Angel retorts.

"No prints either," Masuka says, further adding to the confusion.

"It's very clean. Near surgical cuts... looks like he didn't have time to finish though." I say, pointing to the unfinished cut on the victim's upper left thigh.

"Right. Which means it's possible he was interrupted. LaGuerta's working on finding a witness." Angel says.

I look over my shoulder at LaGuerta fraternizing with other cops and some reporters just itching to find a way in. I walk away from the scene to go and look around the rest of the motel.

I peek into any window, seeing if it's possible that someone could've seen something from their bedroom, but all I'm met with are off-white, barely even white actually, blinds with untouched rings of dust on them. I get to a half-open door and push it open to see a taller woman that I recognize seeing once or twice but have never actually had a real conversation with. "Don't look at me like that. It's a disguise." She says. Officer Debra Morgan.

"I wasn't going to question you, Debra." I say, leaning on the doorframe. She's a little taller than me with her heels on and has this air of confidence wafting around her. She meets my eyes, at first with a snarky look, and then she laughs.

"Well, you never fucking know, you know?" She says, blowing an exhale of smoke out as she speaks. Her heels clack on the grimy, off-white linoleum as she switches her weight onto her other foot. "Who are you anyways? One of LaGuerta's?"

I crack a smile at her. "As if I'd be caught dead running orders for anyone at Miami Metro. I'm simply just a TCST. Y/N L/N. However, I've been working closely with you guys as of late; Miami is just more lively than my home office in Ft. Lauderdale." She ashes out her cigarette in an ashtray and comes to stand by me. I turn, and we both look out at the crime scene unfolding before us.

"I haven't seen you up until now." She says to me.

"I lurk. Quiet. I don't like drawing too much attention to myself, you know? It puts you in a position of vulnerability." I say coolly, not noticing how weird that sounds to just say out loud to someone. Instead of being thrown off, however, Debra just smiles at me and walks off to the rest of the officers.

"You're right." She says, not turning to look back at me, and then she disappears into the clutter of cops.

I catch Dexter before he manages to leave. "Could you drop me home?" I see his face; it says, 'Not really, I don't even know who you are.' But his mouth comes out with a different set of words.

"Sure," he says, but the hesitation in his voice sounds louder than the word itself.

༺♱༻

✦ ⛧ Masterlist ⛧ ✦

#brian moser brainrot #brian moser x female reader #brian moser x you #brian moser x reader #brian moser #guys please read this its gonna be epic #i love brian moser #hes babygirl #but daddy i love him #dexter #dexter tv #dexter morgan #fanfic #writing #please read omfg #methylholicfixation

62 notes · View notes

idrawweirdstuffnominors · 3 months ago

Text

(Another angst unrequited love fic

Title:"The Fender Bender

> "You blind or just stupid?"

Pete DiNunzio slams his car door shut, stalking toward your crumpled bumper with the grace of a pissed-off raccoon.

"Jesus, what the hell were you doing? Jerking off behind the wheel?"

You step out, heart already racing—not from the crash, but from him. Pete. That Pete.

> "Nice to see you too, DiNunzio."

"Wait... No way. Are you—?" He squints. His face softens just a little before jerking back into that familiar scowl. "You gotta be shitting me."

> "Hi."

"Holy crap. You got older."

"So did you."

"Yeah, well. Life’s a bitch." He waves at your cars. "So is your driving."

You both laugh, despite the dented metal between you.

---

Two Weeks Later

Your phone buzzes.

> [Pete D] “u owe me a drink. unless ur scared of me now”

You:

> “i’ve always been scared of you.”

> [Pete D] “good. meet me @ dex’s. 8. wear a helmet”

---

The Hangout

Dex’s Bar is a dive with flickering lights and one broken stool. Pete’s already there, beer half-gone, tapping his chipped lighter on the table.

> "Look who showed. I was this close to thinking you ghosted me."

"What, and miss the chance to see if you’re still a jerk?"

"You hope I’m still a jerk."

He’s quieter now. Rough around the edges in a way that doesn’t look deliberate. Not like high school. This isn’t some persona. It’s just who he became.

> "You ever think about high school?" he asks suddenly, staring at his glass.

"Not really. Why?"

"’Cause I do."

He flicks his lighter again. "Mostly about you."

> "Me?"

"Yeah." He snorts. "You were the hot girl who didn’t know she was hot. Or maybe you did and you were just nice to me outta pity."

You blink. "I wasn’t nice out of pity, Pete."

He stares at you, and for the first time all night, his voice cracks.

> "You were the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t just some f*up with a smart mouth and a porn addiction."

You hesitate. "What do you want me to say?"

> "Nothing," he mutters. "Just needed to say that out loud before it festered anymore."

---

Later That Night

You're outside his place. You weren’t planning to go in, but he invites you with a shrug and a:

> "Don’t worry, I cleaned the worst of the mold."

His apartment smells like burnt coffee and old socks. A broken mask from some horror movie hangs on the wall.

He pours you two shots of something warm and mean.

> "So, you seeing anyone?"

"No."

"Figures. You're always chasing guys too good to deserve you."

You sigh. "And you're still pretending like you never cared."

Pete doesn’t speak. Just leans back on the couch, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the stained ceiling.

> "I used to jerk off to the idea of you saying my name."

"Pete—"

"Don’t act shocked. I’m not romantic, babe. I’m real."

You sit in silence. He swallows hard.

> "I didn’t think anyone would ever love me. Not really. Not me me."

"Why not?"

"Because I’m gross. Loud. Got anger issues. I’m broke. I’ve never been with anyone sober who didn’t regret it afterward. Why the f** would anyone want this?*"

He gestures to himself, broken and bitter.

You want to say something. But nothing comes.

So he says it for you.

> "It’s okay. I know you don’t. Not like that."

"Pete—"

"Don't." He laughs, but it’s not a good laugh. "You're good. Too good. You still see the best in people, huh? Even when they're f*ing ruined?"

He leans forward, elbows on knees, voice shaking.

> "I just wish... I wish I’d been less of a coward. Maybe if I told you back then... maybe you’d be mine now."

> "You don’t know that."

"*I do. ‘Cause I knew you. And I knew me. And I was never gonna be the guy you picked."

You look at him. His eyes are glassy, cheeks red. Not drunk—just done.

> "You want me to stay?"

"Nah."

He smiles, but it’s all teeth and no warmth. "You should go. Before I say something that makes you hate me."

You leave.

He doesn’t watch you go.

But he listens for the sound of the door closing.

---

Later

You get one last text.

> [Pete D] “u made me feel like i wasn’t scum. no 1 else ever did that. thx”

You never reply.

Because you know he didn’t want a conversation. He just wanted to be heard—just once, by the girl he never stopped imagining.

Even if it never meant anything to you the same way it did to him.

---

A Week Later – You Invite Him Over

It’s late. You’re not sure why you texted Pete. Maybe part of you felt sorry for him. Maybe you were just curious. Whatever it was, he shows up looking exactly how you remember him: pissed off and pretending not to care.

He’s got a six-pack in one hand, hoodie sleeves pushed up, his hair messy, like he’d been fighting with himself the whole walk over.

> "This ain't a fuckin' date," he grunts as you open the door. "Don't get ideas."

> "You always this charming, or just with old friends?"

"Friends? Pfft. We weren’t friends. You were hot. I was horny. Let’s not rewrite history, sweetheart.*"

He pushes past you like it’s his place, drops the six-pack on your table but doesn’t crack one open.

> "So. This where you live now? Kinda sad."

> "Thanks, Pete."

"Just sayin’. You always seemed like one of those girls who’d end up with, like, a yoga studio and three dogs."

"Guess I disappointed you."

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

He doesn’t smile. Just stands there, chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to say something worse. You finally sit, and he follows, but he won’t relax. Just leans forward, elbows on his knees, twitching.

> "Y’know I used to jerk off to you? Back in high school."

> "Jesus, Pete."

"What? You invited me here. You knew who I was."

You don’t answer. He lets the silence stretch, then:

> "Can’t even talk to girls without thinkin’ about fuckin’ ‘em. Can’t remember the last time I looked at someone and thought somethin’ nice instead of somethin’ dirty or violent. Ain’t normal. I know that."

> "Where’s this comin’ from?"

"Nowhere." He sniffs. "Everywhere. You, probably."

He leans back, arms folded now, eyes on the ceiling.

> "My old man used to say there was somethin’ wrong with me. ‘You ain’t right in the head, Petey,’ he’d say. ‘All that gore bullshit. That horror crap. What kinda kid jerks off to zombie movies?’"

"Jesus."

"Yeah. Tell me about it. My brothers weren’t much better. I got tied to a fuckin’ chair once for drawin’ a flayed body in my sketchbook. Real funny, right?"

His voice cracks, just slightly, but he covers it with a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes.

> "So, yeah. I don’t get turned on by rom-coms and pillow talk. I get off to the shit you can’t say out loud. Ain’t never had a girl stay, ‘cause they see it in my face. That look. That thing that says, ‘This guy’s thinkin’ somethin’ fucked up.’ And they’re right. I am. I’m always thinkin’ about it."

> "You ever try to fix that?"

"Nah. What’s the fuckin’ point? I wasn’t built for the good stuff."

He finally looks at you—really looks—and his mouth goes tight.

> "You were the only one who was ever nice to me, y’know that? And I spent the whole damn time tellin’ myself you were just another tease. Some stuck-up broad pretendin’ to be into horror ‘cause she liked the attention."

> "Is that really what you thought?"

"Nah. I thought you were different. Which scared the shit outta me. So I told myself you weren’t."

He rubs at his face like he’s tryin’ to scrape his own skin off.

> "I can’t talk to people right. All I know is how to push, and joke, and fuck, and bail. But I keep thinkin’ about you. Keep dreamin’ about you. And I don’t know if it’s love or if I’m just obsessed with the one girl who didn’t run away screamin’. Maybe both."

> "Pete..."

"Nah, don’t gimme that look. That pity look. I’ll say somethin’ worse if you do."

He stands up fast like the floor’s on fire, starts pacing.

> "You don’t get it. I’m not some bad boy you fix with a bath and a hug. I’m not a ‘healing project.’ I’m the kinda guy who’ll fuck you, say somethin’ cruel, and then sit in the car after pretendin’ he didn’t feel a fuckin’ thing. That’s me. That’s all I got."

> "I didn’t ask you to change, Pete."

"Yeah? Well I ain’t gonna. I can’t. This is it. This is what you get."

Then, quieter:

> "But if I could be different—for anyone—it woulda been you."

He looks like he might cry. Instead, he laughs.

> "You remember that zombie movie marathon we did junior year? You fell asleep on my shoulder. I didn’t move for hours. Back hurt like hell. Best night of my life. Pathetic, huh?"

You shake your head. He shrugs like it doesn’t matter.

> "Anyway." He grabs the six-pack, leaves one can on the table. "This one’s for you. ‘Cause you saw me once. Even if you ain’t lookin’ no more."

And just like that, he’s gone.

---

#eltingville epilogue #the eltingville club #pete dinunzio #epilogue pete #welcome to eltingville #pete eltingville

89 notes · View notes

captainpains · 2 months ago

Text

Drive-in Dalences (Captain Rex x Reader)

Apart of the @cloneficgiftexchange prompt-a-thon. Had such a blast writing it. I hope you enjoy! 💕

Season: Summer Prompt: Fireflies

Warnings: gn reader, 1950s/Grease AU (really more for aesthetics than anything else), Fluff, Rex a sap and I will take no criticism, first kiss.

Rex shoved Fives off the hood of his blue Chevrolet Bel Air. He laughed as his butt hit the ground. The drive-in was buzzing with activity that night as it was a nice day.

Rex and his four brothers were regulars at Dex’s Drive-in. The food was fine but the town was small and it was the only hangout spot. Fives and Echo were of course being difficult, messing around with the radio of the car while they waited to order. Jesse was endorsing his brothers’ shenanigans by laughing along. It was irritating. Rex didn’t know how his brothers were going to survive when he graduated and enlisted.

“You boys ready to order?” You skated up to the car.

“Yeah, can we get burgers all around, fries too. I know I want a strawberry milkshake.”

“Oh! Can I get a chocolate one?” Echo asked from where he was sitting in the passenger seat.

Jesse and Fives scrambled with their drink orders. Tup, the youngest brother at only ten years old, piqued out of the backseat.

“Can I have a Coca-cola?” He asked with his big eyes at his older brother.

“Of course, sweety,” You smiled as you wrote down the order. “I’ll be right back with your food.”

As soon as you were out of ear shot, Jesse got a mischievous glint in his eye. He grabbed Rex’s shoulders, jolting him from watching you skate away. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing that.

“So, when are you going to put the moves on our favorite server?” He jabbed him in the ribs.

“Yeah, you’ve been makin’ eyes at her for ages.” Fives added, leaning against the car.

“Oh, shove it.” Rex muttered.

The brothers laughed. Poor Rex had been pining for you since he was a sophomore in high school. You had just started working at Dex’s and were so sweet to him. He was always happy to go to Dex’s before, but after you were there he had wanted to eat there constantly. He was total sap, never overtly flirting but still so focused on your every word.

“But, brother, I’ve already written my best man speech,” Jesse joked.

“As if you would be my best man.” Rex grumbled back, moving to get back into his car.

“Of course I would be!” He insisted, “You have no other friends.”

Echo and Fives laughed along with Jesse. Tup didn’t join in, more interesting in his book in the back seat.

“Well, Tup is my favorite brother. Maybe I’ll make him my best man,” Rex declares, stoking the annoyance of his brothers.

“Why – you slimy old boy! I would be shocked if she even said yes to a date with your ass.” Jesse pouted.

“I’m just saying.” Rex shrugged.

“Well, I’m sayin’-” Jesse was cut off by Rex, who threw a napkin at him when he noticed you skating back up with their food.

“Okay. I’ve got five burgers and fries. Two strawberry shakes, One chocolate, and two cokes.” You repeated as you hooked the tray on the car door. “You boys enjoy!”

“Wait! Rex has something to ask you!” Tup, the little traitor, halted you.

Rex glared at his brother, heat crawling up his neck. You waited amusedly for him to say something. Rex remained frozen as his brothers goaded him.

“I do have a shift to get back to, so if you could hurry up. Please?”

“Do you wanna go on a date? With me?” Rex finally managed to force out, mortified as his brothers sniggered.

You gave a gentle smile at Rex. You had always found him attractive, an intelligent and strong peer. You were embarrassed to admit that you had stared at him during the exercise class you’d shared with him that past school year. He was just… so attractive when getting sweaty. He was also so kind to you and his brothers, despite their teasings

“I get off shift at 9. You can pick me up then.” You replied with a soft smile.

Rex was shocked you would agree. He grinned and promised to be there. His brother cheered as you skated to another car.

Rex took his brothers home, baring his brothers’ teasing. He took time to change into a fresh white t-shirt and black jeans. He even grabbed his new and clean black leather jacket. He cleaned his face and tucked his shirt. Fives and Echo were making kissy faces and mocking gestures.

As nine o’clock approached, Rex rushed out the house, unwilling to disappoint you by being late to pick you up. As his car rolled into the drive in parking lot, he saw you standing next to the building. You waved eagerly to him as he pulled up. Rex hopped out and graciously led you to the passenger side, opening the door for you like a true gentleman. You giggled a little as you climbed into the car.

“So, you have a place in mind for our date?” You asked as Rex jumped into the car.

“Well, a few. We can go to the drive-in theater. A new skating rink just opened up. Could head over there.”

“The theater sounds nice.” You agreed.

Rex nodded, a bit idiotically and over enthusiastically. He pulled onto the main road, letting you crank the music up. Fireflies lit up around the car as they pulled into the drive in. Rex paid for the tickets and followed the directions to park near the back of the lot. Rex turned off the car. You cozied up in the car, watching the fireflies dance as the film started.

Rex rested his arm along the backrest. You snuggled up against him, smiling a little to yourself. The movie played as you and Rex snuggled closer, the warm summer night pleasant and fireflies calming.

Rex would claim that it was always his plan to kiss you that night. You would refute that with how nervous he was when your lips finally touched.

It was a short kiss, innocent. In that drive-in with the noise of a comedy playing the background was where that beautiful relationship started.

You would always say that the fireflies you saw were lucky, as there were fireflies the night of your wedding too. And Rex would agree.

#captain rex x reader #captain rex #star wars #cfgepromptathon25

26 notes · View notes

ponyosmom35 · 9 days ago

Text

Investigation Into Stalker

Dexter x fem reader series

Synopsis: Dexter looks into her stalker.

She was in the kitchen when Dexter walked in, barefoot and half-asleep. Her hair was a frizzy halo from sleep and humidity, still tangled from the night before. She was standing at the counter in her oversized MIT sweatshirt, sipping coffee and blinking blearily at the microwave clock.

“You're up early,” he said.

She gave a dramatic sigh. “Pickles used my ribcage as a launch pad. I was forcibly removed from sleep.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow as the cat strutted through the hallway like he owned the place—which, to be fair, he nearly did now.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter beside her. She looked better—still tired, still carrying the weight of the last few days—but her eyes had life in them again.

“You seem better this morning.”

She gave him a lopsided grin. “Yeah, well. It’s amazing what eight hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness will do to a person. Revolutionary, really.”

She was being sarcastic. Good sign. The color in her cheeks and the softness around her eyes didn’t lie. Sleep helped. So did safety.

They got dressed in their usual quiet rhythm. She gathered her things, fed Pickles, while he checked the perimeter from the window. Twenty-three minutes later, they were in the car, stopping at his regular café on 5th for doughnuts and caffeine.

Dexter ordered his black. As always, she took hers sweet and iced and entirely too sugary. She swore she hated it but ordered the same thing every time.

They walked into Miami Metro like a two-person storm, paper bags and coffee tray in hand. Masuka appeared immediately.

“Sugar gods! You’ve arrived.”

He grabbed a jelly doughnut and disappeared like smoke. Batista followed behind, thanking them with a warm smile and taking two—one for later, he claimed.

She sat down at her desk across from Dexter’s and shrugged out of her light jacket. Her blouse clung slightly to the humidity still clinging to the air. She looked awake. Sharp. Almost herself again.

Batista was the last to approach. He leaned on her desk with a boyish grin, draping an arm around her shoulders.

“Kiddo, you wanna hit a new spot with us tonight? Wings, drinks, terrible live music? Masuka, and Deb are joining,”

He glanced at Dexter. “You too, Morgan.”

She looked like she was about to say no, her lips already parting—

“She’d love to,” Dexter said.

She blinked. “Really?”

“Could be good to get your mind off things.”

Nowhere better for her to be while I slipped into her apartment to start my investigation.

Angel beamed. “Alright, hell yeah. You coming, Dex?”

“I’ve got an errand.”

Surveillance, technically. Background checks. Plate numbers. Digital footprints. I planned to spend the night shadowing the man who’s been shadowing her.

Angel gave a quick salute with his coffee and wandered off toward homicide.

She turned to Dexter. “Errand?”

“I’ll swing by the bar later. Pick you up. We’ll head home.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Won’t people talk?”

“I’ll say I owed you a ride.”

She smiled—slow and surprised. “Thanks, Dex.”

There it was again. That small softness in her expression when she looked at me. The way her voice warmed. Like I’d done something that mattered.

He nodded and turned back to his screen, the glare of fluorescent lights painting across his face. As she sipped her drink and got to work, Dexter minimized his emails and opened a new browser window.

Justin Baker Miami, Florida.

Time to meet the man who thought he could haunt her. He wanted to make her feel like prey. I’d show him what it was like to be hunted.

–

By the time she was two drinks into her night out with Batista and the others, Dexter was already parked outside her apartment.

The building was quiet—yellow-lit windows glowing faintly, shadows stretching across the cracked sidewalk. He waited in the car for a full minute before stepping out, gloved hands in his pockets, hoodie pulled low.

Earlier that day, he'd run the name: Justin Baker.

Thirty-three. White. Five-nine. Two hundred pounds. Sloppy frame. Pale eyes. Record thicker than most of the case files back at Miami Metro.

Aggravated assault. Domestic violence. Stalking. And, in his younger years—juvie for public indecency. Caught jerking off in a stranger’s backyard while she undressed. At thirteen.The neighbors saw a figure and called the cops before he finished. Justin wasn’t new at this. He was seasoned, likely had more victims that the police had no record of.

Dexter unlocked the apartment with her key he had stolen. He moved quietly, methodically. He wasn't here to be caught. He was here to confirm what he already knew.

This wasn’t just a bad first date.This was a pattern. A sickness. And it was escalating.

He stepped inside, pausing at the threshold. Everything looked undisturbed… at first.

But the feeling was off. Someone had been here. Recently.

He drew his pocket knife from his jacket and moved through the rooms slowly. Silent. Controlled. Every light remained off as he cleared the space.

No one hiding in the kitchen. Closet empty. Bathroom clear. Bedroom—

His eyes narrowed. Her top dresser drawer was open. Dexter stepped closer and saw the edge of a lace bra draped just over the lip. Her underwear drawer.

He crouched, inspecting the contents, then reached in. Half the items had been disturbed—folds uneven, things missing. Two, maybe three pairs.

He took them. Souvenirs. Disgusting, compulsive little trophies. Just like his blood samples.

Dexter’s jaw clenched.

He’d been here. In her room. With his hands on her things. Imagining her. Violating her.

He stood, scanning the space with sharper eyes now, knowing he was missing something. That’s when he noticed it—barely visible in the bathroom, tucked into the top corner of the tiled shower wall. Small. Cheap. Blinking faintly. A camera.

Motherfucker.

Dexter climbed into the tub, jaw tight as he plucked the device loose. A single strip of adhesive held it in place. The kind that left no trace, and would never be seen unless someone was looking for it.

He turned it over in his gloved hand.

She was being watched. While she bathed. Undressed. Exposed. He must have been watching much longer than she knew.

He could almost feel the rage rising like static in his bones. Not loud. Not explosive. But sharp. Clean. Cold.

He had her on tape. And now I had him.

He slid the camera into his pocket, scanned the room one last time, and locked the door behind him on the way out.

Justin Baker didn’t just cross a line. He carved it into the ground and spat on it. Now it was time for someone else to watch him. And I don't blink.

–

The bar was loud.

Too loud for Dexter’s liking, but he didn’t hesitate when he stepped through the door. A live band played some unrecognizable cover. People laughed. Glasses clinked. Everything smelled like cheap beer and sweat.

He spotted them immediately—Batista waving him over with a big grin. Serena lit up when she saw him, her face flushed, eyes a little glassy.

“There he is!” she said, practically bouncing in her seat. “I thought you said you had an errand!”

“I ran it.”

Technically not a lie. I ran it. Logged it. Cataloged it. And now I’m planning its conclusion.

He sat beside her, her knee brushing his under the small table. The booth was crowded—Batista, Masuka, and a couple uniforms from patrol—but she only looked at Dexter. Her cheeks were pink, her curls wild and full in the humidity. She was tipsy. Definitely tipsy.

“I saved you a drink,” she said, pushing a whiskey toward him. “It’s neat. Like you.”

Cute.

Dexter took the glass and nodded to the table. Everyone was talking at once, laughing about an embarrassing incident involving Masuka, a donut, and a taser mishap that no one could confirm or deny. She laughed.

He smiled. Listened. But his thoughts were elsewhere.

Justin Baker lives in Little Havana. According to the data I pulled, he works odd shifts at a car rental lot and hasn’t posted on any social media since last year. But he has a history. A pattern. And now, he has something of hers. Several things, actually.

Eventually, the group began to disperse. Masuka left first. Batista followed after a long hug from her and a shoulder squeeze from Dexter.

“I’ll see you freaks tomorrow,” Batista called.

Dexter guided her carefully out of the booth.

“I’m fiiine,” she muttered, wobbling slightly in her boots.

“I know,” he said simply, steadying her with one hand on her back as he walked her to the car.

The drive back was filled with her voice—soft, fast, full of warmth. She talked about the bar, the band, how she liked Angel’s laugh even though it was way too loud.

“I think Masuka tried to flirt with me,” she said at one point, half-laughing. “It was so weird. He asked if I liked anime. I said sure, and he looked like he wanted to propose.”

Dexter chuckled once, keeping his eyes on the road.

“You handled it well.”

“Yeah, well, I’m used to weirdos.”

Don’t say it. Don’t look at me like that.

When they got back to the apartment, she kicked off her boots and sighed dramatically.

“I’m going to explode.”

“No vomiting in the hall,” he warned.

“I won’t! …I think.”

She shuffled toward the bedroom, flopping onto the bed like a ragdoll. Her hair fanned across the pillow. Her makeup was smudged. She looked… happy.

“Get some sleep,” he said, standing in the doorway. “I’ll bring you coffee and Advil in the morning.”

She peeked out from under the blanket. “Dexter Morgan, caretaker of cats and drunk girls?”

He smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

She giggled, sleepy and warm, and let her head fall back to the pillow. Pickles immediately jumped onto the bed and curled into her chest.

Dexter stood there for a second longer, just watching. Then he closed the door gently.

She was safe. For now. Which meant I could get back to work.

He sat at his laptop and opened the files he'd compiled earlier.

Last known address: a one-bedroom unit in a decaying fourplex in Little Havana. Second floor. Rear entrance. Minimal security. No cameras. Of course. The perfect place to rot unnoticed.

Dexter clicked into the next folder: Employment.

Justin worked part-time at a rental car company by the airport. No set schedule—he traded shifts frequently, likely to avoid establishing patterns. A known behavior in stalkers trying to elude retaliation.

Phone carrier: prepaid burner. Registered under a generic alias—“James E.” Dexter already traced the number to a single tower less than three miles from her apartment.

He was nearby. Watching her. Texting her. From the shadows, like a rodent in a sewer.

He opened the final tab: Known Associates.

Two former roommates. One arrest for domestic assault. One neighbor reported loud fights, broken glass, and “a strong smell of sweat and beer.” No family locally. No partner. No kids.

No one would miss him. Not for a long time.

Dexter sat back in his chair, his jaw tightening, hands still calm. He made a quick list in his head.

Locate the original source of the shower camera.

Identify what device Justin used to retrieve or store footage.

Retrieve stolen garments—possible DNA contamination.

Confirm entry method into her apartment.

Confirm pattern: past victims, future intentions.

Eliminate the threat.

I was going to get everything back. Every pair of underwear. Every photo. Every second of footage he recorded of her without consent. All of it.

Masterlist

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/790057762332819456/dexter-morgan-masterlist?source=share

24 notes · View notes