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rafe cameron’s gf 𝜗𝜚
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constantly being showered with gifts. gold jewelry. fruity cocktails. being his designated passenger princess. dior lip gloss. shopping sprees. sparkly nail polish. rock paper scissors over aux. movie nights. hanging out with him while he works out. “ridin” by lana del rey. gucci flora. magazine stacks in the corner of his room. polaroids of you in his wallet. fresh bouquets. tiffany blue. doing your makeup in his car while he nods along to a song he pretends to hate <3
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UGH bimbo!reader and rafe is literally my favorite pairing 😋😋 her not understanding why she can’t wear her slutty little outfits out and why she can’t makeout with rafe in front of old people at the country club!!! she’s just not socially aware and that’s not her fault!!!!!
this altered my brain chemistry, thx my luv 🥴
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he could be mean, so mean.
here you were, dressed in the cutest lil matching set— pink lace billowing around your thighs with each step, bows and bling to finish the look —and what did he do?
compliment you? no. fall off his seat at the sight of you? definitely not…he dragged you down the winding halls of the club, gaze occasionally flicking over his shoulder as though you were being hunted, cursing all the way.
when he hauled a random door open you stumbled away from him, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. “rafe! what’re you—“
he tugged his jacket off with a furious huff, practically catapulting the stiff material at you. “c’mon, put this shit on.”
“what? why? I don’t wanna.”
he sighed, palms rubbing over his face in exasperation. “just listen for once would you? this is for your own good, kid.”
you stilled, eyes blinking slowly as they followed his gaze down to your outfit. “you think I look bad?”
“no—for fucks sake, that not the point.”
“what is then? you’re being mean.” the dam was overflowing now, leaking over the slopes of your cheeks in a steady stream. he sighed again, although this time the remnants of his previous anger slowly dissipated, transforming into a soft pity he only reserved for you.
“look ‘m sorry, al’ight, but you can’t be wondering around here lookin’ like that.”
“i thought you said you liked it.” you whispered with a sniff, plucking at the flimsy material of your skirt.
he chuckled at that, brushing away your tears. “yeahhh well that was at kelce’s, baby, see the difference?”
your head tilted in confusion, shaking it slowly like a puppy ensure of a command. he removed his jacket from your grasp, slipping it over your shoulders and shushing your meek protests. “these old farts ‘re gonna get the wrong idea, kay? so put the damn jacket on and smile f’me.”
“ok, if you say so...” you did smile then, stretching up onto your toes in order to reach his lips – but he stopped you again, strong paws forcing you back to the ground.
"nah nah nah, none of that either."
"but–" you wheedled, a pathetic whiny noise.
"none of that cooey shit here, I'm serious. you don’t wanna embarrass me, do you?"
"no..." you cast your dejected gaze to the floor, "what about later? can I kiss you later?"
with a small scoff, he zipped up the jacket, a burly arm securing you to his side.“course you can, kid. you can all you want.”
you giggled, nuzzling into his side and he smiled, tapping your chin. “that’s my girl.”
sincerely ~ 🦓༝༚༝༚
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"it's unhealthy to read fanfiction"
well i'm doing my 20 minutes of daily reading so...
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Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling??? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
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SPARKS AMIDST THE SNOW
scaramouche x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, second chance romance ⤀ synopsis: he meets you again for the first time since erasing himself from irminsul, and new hope flickers in the barren cold. a/n: for the best reading experience, pls think of the outro to all too well (10 min version) while u read this !
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when scaramouche inevitably accompanies the golden haired traveller on their journey to snezhnaya, the last thing he expected was a pit stop in your little village on the outskirts of the capital. and although his puppet body does not shrink in the face of this nation's biting cold, his skin burns under the curious, yet cautious, gaze of those once familiar to him.
he keeps his head down, dipping his hat so that its large brim might hide his visage, eager to avoid any unwarranted attention. still, his eyes cannot help but wander and his heart, imaginary as it may be, cannot help but wonder.
were you well? the last he'd seen of you, he had promised to return a god—one who would whisk you away from the barren cold of snezhnaya to live out your days in glory as his mortal consort. but for all that had transpired, and then that fateful traipse beneath the irminsul, he's now no more than just another stranger passing through—fleeting as the falling snow, just another memory to be buried in the desolate stillness of winter.
he cares not for the stars in the sky, yet somehow they still dictate that his traveling companions would task him with purchasing commodities, of course from your family's stall. he's long grown out of his naivety; knows that in this infinite realm of possibilities, there’d always be the chance of meeting you again, slim as it may be. if it really came to, he had been prepared to let you live your life, free of him this time around, but it seems this world has its own twisted sense of humor, for he cannot tear his eyes from the ring that sits upon your finger.
"that ring. where did you get it?" he's never been one for small talk, but the biting curiosity rivals that of the wind, as it chips away at his exterior. he keeps his tone even, ignoring the multitude of emotions whirring in his head, though irritation clearly seems to buzz the loudest.
it should have been impossible that a ring he'd forged with his own hands should still exist, but as the fate of this world has yet to reflect that… if he hadn't given you the ring, then how? or perhaps even who... the cold, gunmetal glint laughs in his face as your swift fingers wrap up his purchase.
the stranger's question takes you by surprise, and you look up, taken aback by the intensity of his indigo gaze—beautiful, and bitter, and so blatantly familiar, yet you cannot quite figure out why.
your village is nowhere near the main road, so it isn't often that you'd host any foreign guests; even if you did, you're sure you'd remember if someone like that were to ever have passed through. nevertheless, you flex your fingers, pulled out of your thoughts by his impatient sigh.
"I'm not sure. I've had it ever since I could remember."
you're the same as he remembers, he thinks. a rose amidst the snow, with frost resting in your hair and on the curls of your lashes. out of habit, he takes your hand, inspecting the ring at a closer proximity.
'how rude,' you think. and yet your hand in his, feels comfortable, and warm, and right. like an electric charge drawing two magnets home to the other. it’d be blasphemy to pull away, but you manage to do so anyway, furrowing your brows at his boldness, the frown on your lips more so a reflection of your confusion, rather than displeasure.
“if you wanted to look, you could’ve just asked,” you mumble, as you slip the ring off your finger, offering it to him in the palm of your hand.
the detailed metalwork, the particular branding imprinted in the iron… there’s no denying the influence of the raiden gokaden, though it was perhaps, a subconscious decision made from muscle memory. in hindsight, he thinks that, in the moment, he must have felt—still feels—that same overwhelming affection that came as second nature to kabukimono. after all, it was forged as a promise of his love, and there’s no question about it when, hidden beneath his clothes, its pair hangs on a chain around his neck.
"it’s made with excellent craftsmanship," he boasts, "any merchant worth their weight, would give you a good price for it." he figures you might as well get something out of it, and a piece like this, though meaningless now, is still sure to last you until at least the next winter.
but a stubborn pout is painted across your snow-kissed features. "absolutely not! it’s actually quite dear to me, you know..."
scaramouche scoffs at the irony. ‘why?’ he wants to ask. he is not foolish enough to believe himself an exception from the rules of this world; not when he's already convinced himself to give up on chasing the impossible. still, here you are, turning destiny on its head—his heart, right within reach.
“it can’t be that dear, if you’d so willingly hand it off to a stranger.” his face reveals nothing, though he cannot say the same for the bile that rises in his throat. he crosses his arms, a brow raised in skepticism. "how do you know I won't run off with it right now?"
“I don’t,” you start, “so I suppose you could call it a leap of faith.”
“or a doomed attempt at flight,” he counters. “you’d leave something so precious up to fate?”
you ponder for a moment as to why you feel so drawn to this stranger, why this back and forth comes so easily, why you seem to somehow just trust him.
"we don’t get many visitors here,” you start, “and as fate should have it, the day we do, it happens to be someone as interesting as you. that must count for something, no?”
the realist he’s learned to embody rolls his eyes at such ridiculous notions: your blind optimism… putting such faith in these false stars…. but the tenderness he had buried begs to differ, planting roots between the cavities of his chest, sprouting until it breaks through the surface.
he takes a further study of the intricate details, the careful inazuman script engraved on its body. ‘my heart,’ he had wrote.
scaramouche dips his head as his fingers close a fist around the piece, the large brim of his hat hiding the fondness glimmering in his eyes, and the ghostly smile settling on his lips. he does not cringe as he recalls the lingering remnants of kabukimono's innocence: stubbornly deluding himself to believe that his hollowed chest was naught for his natural lack of a heart, but because fate had dictated you to be its keeper.
perhaps the warmth of sumeru had indeed rubbed off on him—melted the frost that crawled upon and tore his skin, whilst teaching him to hope again, not for anyone else’s sake, but for his own. what was that vahumana saying? it’s difficult for people to truly understand themselves—and as much as he’d like to disagree, judging by his current predicament, he knows he cannot.
“have you ever considered that this ring might be one half of a pair?” he tosses it in the air, nonchalantly, as if he were merely flipping a coin, catching it mid-way before you have the chance to swipe it back.
“what do you suppose fate would have to say about that?”
it’s almost impossible to tell whether he’s truly genuine in his queries, but the mischievous gleam in his bright eyes, and the smug look on his face, seem to nullify any regards you may have had. your brows twitch in vexation. was he not just here to buy provisions? and yet he toys with you so…
“well if that were the case, then it would be between me and whoever owns the other half,” you huff, reaching over once again in an attempt to snatch back your belonging, only to miss by mere seconds thanks to a quick slight of his hand.
breathing out something between a chuckle and a scoff, scaramouche tugs at the thin chain around his neck, hard enough for it to snap right off, and toss in your direction.
"a leap of faith," he says plainly. it lands in the palms of your hands: a ring, near identical. 'my soul' it reads. if he lacked a heart, then it could only have been forged from his soul.
a flurry of questions swarm in your head, as you stare at his ring. you want to ask him why and how, but he's already pivoted away, the tassels of his hat barely missing you by inches, as he quickly grabs his purchase.
“who are you,” you manage to blurt out, calling out to him, and asking him to wait, so he might answer these questions he’s planted in your heart, but he only bids you farewell with a lazy wave of his hand.
though there's nothing he'd like more than to hear the sweet song of his name falling from your lips, he's learned it best to leave the past where it belongs. once he's settled his scores... then he'll get his second chance with you—he'll make sure of it, vowing to come back for you, not as kunikuzushi who you had once known him, but he hopes you might one day be able to love him as he is, as well.
‘my soul.’ your new ring reads. you shake your head, pursing your lips at the mysterious wanderer, wondering if you’d ever see him again, but a gust of wind blows your way—not a prickling cold as you’re used to, but a warm summer breeze that seems to caress your cheeks oh so sweetly.
perhaps it's only in your head, but you swear the wind seems to carry the whisper of a name in its flurry. 'and don't you forget it,' it seems to say.
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a/n2: pleaseeee associate this with the outro of all too well (10 min version) like imagine the camera slow panning out amidst the falling snow, to the hopes of another chance together (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) anyways, tysm for reading, reblogs/feedback vry much appreciated ♡
© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
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i am TIRED! OF YOU SLUTS! 😡 (*me*, just not today specifically)
when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut
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the struggle is real
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
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when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut
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the struggle is real
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
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me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:
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like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
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the killerverse
masterlist of related works
pairing: luke castellan x fem reader
summary: everything about luke and his childhood best friend, a daughter of ares affectionately called killer.
content: pining x1000. stupid childhood best friends in love. specific chapter warnings on each fic
daylight part one
↳ you and luke through the eyes of percy jackson during his first days at camp half-blood
daylight part two
↳ the details behind luke’s fight and the story of the longest time you and luke didn’t talk
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
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daylight
part two - series masterlist
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pairing: luke castellan x daughter of ares reader
word count: 4.6k
summary: the max/luke fight exclusive. and the first time you went more than a day without talking to luke.
warnings: max says very mean things about reader (hes not a nice guy), fight descriptions, wound descriptions, near death experience, severe reader injury
“Violet told me it looked like you were going to cry, Luke.”
“She did not,” he says through a laugh. He drops a handful of strawberries into the bucket by his feet, pushing his hair out of his face.
The June sun isn’t too flaming hot yet, but it’s warm enough where an hour of strawberry picking has the both of you sweaty and tired.
“Tyler said it was more like you were about to keel over and die,” you tease. “I can’t believe that me ignoring you for less than twelve hours moved you to tears.”
He rolls his eyes as he tosses a strawberry at your head. “I wasn’t moved to tears,” he insists. You nod like you believe him. “Anyway, I thought you were into that thing.”
You shift your nearly full bucket of strawberries over, sighing with the exertion. “Into what thing?”
“Y’know. The whole defending your honor thing.”
Your laugh is so loud it attracts the attention of the satyr playing his reed pipes a couple feet away. Luke’s chest does something weird at the sound.
“You’re funny.”
“I’m being serious!” He laughs too, to try and loosen that weird feeling in his ribcage.
“So what?” You’re grinning as you take a few slow steps in his direction. “You wanted me to fawn over you?”
His back goes stick straight when you grip one of his biceps dramatically, feigning weak legs. You throw the back of your hand against your forehead, swooning against his chest. “You wanted me to faint and say, Luke, oh Luke! You’re my hero!”
He pinches that part under your ribs that he knows is ticklish and watches as you dissolve into laughter, stepping away from him. The loss of touch makes his chest feel empty.
Did he want that from you? He would be lying if he said no. And as he watches you laugh as you gather your hair away from your face, he decides to say, “Maybe I did.”
Your bright laugh tapers into a small smile, and Luke wishes he could read your mind. “Alright, hero. But how ‘heroic’ was the punch if you and Max were just having a dick measuring contest?”
Luke blinks hard. You’re kidding, right? Max’s snarky comments about him added fuel to the fire, sure, but that was not why he punched him. “What do you mean?”
“You know. That thing he said about you while we were leaving. The reason why you jumped at him?”
He uses a hand to block out the sun from his eyes so he can see your face better. You’re being dead serious.
“Killer,” he starts slowly. “That wasn’t why I punched him.”
Luke had called your name, his voice pitching up nervously at the end.
You had turned to face him from the top of the hill, your eyes softening. Luke could cry at how relieved he was that you and Max weren’t holding hands.
“Luke,” you said, taking a few steps closer to him. At the sight of his nervous fidgeting, you frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Do you have a second?” he’d asked. He shot a side glance to Max. Obvious code for without the loser standing next to you. “I have to talk to you.”
Sharp eyes darted down to where the hem of his shirt was wrinkled from his fidgeting hands, and you nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”
You turned back to Max, an apology in your eyes. His mouth was parted in what was probably surprise. “I’ll only be a second, I’m sorry.”
Luke extended his hand to help you down the sharp incline of the hill, and your fingers slotted with his like they always did.
A better person wouldn’t turn back to smile at Max.
But Luke wasn’t a better person.
He smirked at him, unashamed, and the slight upturn of his lips must’ve been Max’s tipping point, because then, he was opening his mouth to speak.
“No surprise,” Max had mumbled.
The anger laced with his words made you cock your head around. “What’d you say?”
Max raised his shoulders in an offhand shrug, but his eyes were narrowed in irritation. “Nothin’.”
“C’mon, dude,” Luke said, his smile curling into something meaner. He wanted you to see exactly how much of a coward this guy was. Maybe then you’d be mean enough to turn him down next time. “Say it again.”
His eyes narrowed directly at Luke. “I said there’s no surprise.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” you’d asked, and even though your expression was calm, the way your voice lowered implied you were feeling anything but casual about it. You knew Max wasn’t being snarky to you, but you had gone toe to toe with someone for Luke before, and were willing to do it again.
Sometimes, Luke forgot you were a child of Ares. You loved a good fight, but didn’t go around blatantly starting arguments like some of the other demigods from your cabin. But as he watched your head tilt, he remembered just how much he loved you like this — willing to snap someone in half. The unmistakable fire in your eyes and the way your entire presence seemed to grow in size seemed surprising to Max, and his eyes widened a fraction.
Luke stepped closer to him until they were a few feet away from each other. “Just answer the question.”
His mask of indifference was beginning to fall. Max’s face reddened as he grew even more annoyed at the challenge. “There’s no surprise because you’re always like this, Castellan. You don’t let anyone speak to her for a second before you lose your fucking mind.”
You had scoffed from behind him. “That’s it? That’s your problem?” Luke could picture the face you were making at Max right now. Your eyes were probably rolled as you stuck your tongue into your cheek the way you did when you were really annoyed. “Let’s go, Luke. What a waste of time.”
You turned to walk down the hill without him, ready to get as far away from Max as possible. Luke smiled at him as he backed away. “Lady’s orders.”
“Taking commands like a dog,” Max spat, but Luke didn’t care. His smile was growing in smug satisfaction at the knowledge that you would never give Max the time of day again.
The delight on his face must’ve been making Max desperate, because he shot out a few other quips at Luke, fighting miserably to land a jab that would sting. But it wasn’t working. Luke didn’t care about Max or what he thought of him.
But as Max’s eyes slid over to you, he knew exactly what to say.
“Y’know, if you’re gonna react like this whenever another guy looks in her direction, keep your bitch on a tighter leash, Castellan.”
It was no surprise to either of them when Luke’s fist met the side of his face.
Max was down for the count. He staggered back, landing on his ass in the dirt. Luke moved to grab the front of his shirt collar, yanking him forward with his fist.
“Apologize,” Luke snapped, his voice taking on a dangerous tone. He wasn’t even sure if all five of Max’s senses were working after that hit, but he didn’t care. “Fucking apologize, now.”
At his lack of response, Luke shook the boy again. His head lolled, dazed.
“Gods, Luke,” you had said, appearing at his side. You pushed at his shoulder in warning. “You proved your point. He’s a jealous asshole, let’s just go.”
“Are you kidding? Did you hear what he said?” he had asked, giving you a look in disbelief. “He doesn’t get to say shit like that and get away with it, he—”
Luke was cut off by Max’s shot to the side of his face.
Of course, his jaw stung. But there was no dizziness like when someone managed to get in a good hit on him during sparring, so Luke was able to catch his barings almost immediately. Max staggered back, clutching his throbbing hand in his other.
Luke decided the Hephaestus kids must’ve locked the boy up at the forges and fed him scraps, because it was clear he had never punched someone in the face before.
“Tighter leash,” Max still had the gall to repeat. His mouth was splitting into a grin Luke could not wait to knock off his face.
And so he did.
He shoved Max to the ground, getting one good strike in before you and someone else were pulling him off of him. The crowd that had apparently formed to watch the argument was thinning out, letting Chiron drag them in for what was likely an hour long talking to.
When it was all over, and the two of them are dismissed to their cabins, Luke made sure to shoulder check Max, just for good measure.
You gape up at him.
“Max really said that?”
He nods, his throat dry. He hadn’t wanted to repeat the words, but you had begged and pleaded in that way that had Luke folding like a lawn chair.
“Woah.” Your voice is quiet as you hold out your hand. Luke reaches for yours like a trained dog.
(Max had certainly been right about one thing.)
You had sat down on the grass sometime during the story, keeping the two of you away from the sun in the shade of a tall strawberry bush. Luke worried that you weren’t comfortable against the rough material of his cargo pants, but you looked content to lay your head in his lap and listen.
The other campers around you say their hellos as they step around you, thankfully not saying a word about your slacking off. One of the Aphrodite girls teasingly wiggles her eyebrows at Luke while you aren’t looking, and he flips her off behind your back.
He expects you to lace your fingers together like always, but finds himself staring as you hold his hand in both of yours. You inspect the wrapping around his knuckles before leaning down to kiss his skin through the white fabric. “Guess it really was a heroic punch.”
His heart is stuttering in his chest, but he wills the burning away. “Guess so.”
You sit upright, nearly knocking your faces together. But you tug him closer again after he dodges the collision, your hands going around his middle as you press your face into his collarbone in a way that has his breathing unsteady. He brushes a kiss onto your hairline.
Happy to be held, you sigh out, “Thanks, my hero.”
The two of you aren’t hugging completely — it’s way too hot out for that — and Luke has to fight against every part of his brain to keep it that way. The addition of that one single word is doing something to his head.
My hero.
Yours.
You call him a hero every single day — it’s your nickname for him, for crying out loud — but you’ve never called him yours before.
He’s not just anyone’s hero, he’s yours.
You pull away from his chest with a smile, but his hands around your waist don't let you get too far. “That night was probably the longest we’ve gone without speaking. Sorry it was kinda for no reason.”
He doesn’t outright say it, but you know you’re forgiven. If there was a world where Luke could stay mad at you, it wasn’t this one.
Luke turns your words over in his head, buying time for himself with the way he’s rubbing circles into your side. He already knows you’re wrong about that, and he’s going to correct you, but he feels content with having you so close. You lean back against him, the both of you uncaring of how warm it already is outside.
“One time, we didn’t talk for almost two days.”
You pull back again to frown at him. “No way. If we were ever not speaking for that long, I’d remember.”
“Oh, yeah?”
You hum, confident in your answer. “One of us would’ve gone insane if that had happened. We wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
Luke doesn’t stop to think about the truth to that statement. He shifts forward a little, leaning in closer just to watch the face you make. “How much do you wanna bet?”
You’re a little flushed, and you give him a wobbly smile like you know what he’s doing by sitting so close. After a second, you say, “Loser has to bring both our strawberries to the truck later.”
He flicks your forehead, leaning back onto his palms in the grass. “Typical.”
You were always looking for a way out of carrying the strawberries down to where the camp loaded them up for shipping.
“Have fun with both of our crates, then,” he teases. “‘Cause we both know you didn’t get those scars on your back from a cat.”
You were both around twelve, and the two of you had come a long way from Connecticut.
Luke tried not thinking of his mother and Westport much, determined to look forward and not back. Leaving was what was best for him. But from time to time, you’d bring up home, and he’d get a pit in his chest whenever you did.
He missed his mother. He hated feeling so alone.
You were his best friend, and though you soothed the ache in his heart, no friend could replace the comfort a mother was supposed to bring. He grieved the perfect life he never got to live. The pain would flare up once in a while, and he would be quiet and inconsolable.
You understood, because you always did, and always were extra nice during these times.
Your latest adventure had taken you two all the way down to Hershey, Pennsylvania. Neither of you had money to do much, but you had weighed your choices and spent the few bucks you two could spare on chocolate at Hershey Park.
It was stupid, sure, but he saw your smile when you split the bar with him, and he knew he’d sacrifice another hundred dollars just to share another chocolate bar with you.
It reminded him of home, in a good way. But everything just hung heavy over his head, and Luke was still down for the rest of the night.
“Don’t worry about coming with me. I’ll get the wood tonight,” you offered. “Can you get the fire started?”
He was unresponsive, staring away at the sunset in the distance. But you didn’t get angry or annoyed. You just squeezed his shoulder as you went deeper into the woods for good fire sticks.
Wait for me. Don’t go too far, he would’ve said on a normal night. But his words were getting jumbled up with the thoughts of his mother that plagued him, and he was quiet.
When Luke thought about you again, the fire had been burning for a few minutes, and his hands were beyond warm from it.
He turned in the direction you had left in. He called your name once, his voice hoarse from his bout of silence.
“Hey, you get enough wood yet?” He tossed the last bit of kindling into the fire, brushing off his hands. The turkey sandwich you were about to share was warming up next to the flames. Both of you knew that no warmth could make the bread taste like something other than cardboard, but you insisted on it anyway.
The dense foliage of the trees blocked out the last bits of light from the setting sun, so he knew you wouldn’t have gone far. He picked up his own sword as he headed away from the fire, squinting in the dark for you. He called for you again.
The empty trees echoed Luke’s voice back to him.
“The turkey’s going to get cold,” he had warned, moving in the direction he’d thought you’d gone in. This was stupid. You shouldn’t have split up when it was so dark out.
Luke strained his eyes to find a blob, or a shape, or anything that remotely resembled you. But it was like you were gone, without a trace.
That sick feeling was beginning to stir in his stomach. He called your name again, louder and more frantic. Luke knew without a shadow of a doubt that you hadn’t left him on purpose. Something bad had to have happened.
You were hurt. Or something took you. Or you were lost. Or maybe all three. The idea of you alone out here had him calling out for you louder. Whatever light the sun might’ve given was gone now, and Luke was relying on his sense of sound just as much as his vision. Staring ten feet ahead was like staring into a dark abyss.
It had been fifteen minutes of this with no response. Before he could get too nauseous, Luke did the one thing he thought might work.
He closed his eyes, dropped to the ground, and begged.
“Dad.”
He swallowed around the weight in his throat.
“I know we don’t talk. And I don’t know if we ever will. But she’s my best friend. Please keep her safe, because I…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t do it without her.”
There was no glowing figure that appeared before him to hand him his friend back. He tried again.
“Aphrodite,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. How desperate was he? “Please bring her back. Please. And I’ll never ask for anything ever again—”
His heart jumped into his throat. Tension was gripping onto every part of him. Luke hoped that he had heard something different. But then it cut through the silence of the night again.
A scream of terror.
Luke shot to his feet, his sneakers skidding against the leaves covering the forest floor. He stumbled like a baby deer as he sprinted into your direction, his shoulder catching prickly branches while he tried not to stumble over jagged rocks.
He decided that when he found you — because he would, he had to — he was going to kill you for this.
Luke prayed for a clear pathway back to you and begged his legs to move faster. He followed the sound all the way into a clearing.
You were leaning against a rock when he found you, your stare a mile long. It seemed like it stretched past the trees in front of you and even through the acres of farmland past that.
“I stabbed it.” There was no tone to the way you spoke. Just syllables spat out by a machine. “It’s dead.”
Your dagger was a few feet away, the blade splotched with red. The blood was smeared on the palms of your hands, too. He couldn’t tell if it was yours or not.
He swiped a hand through your hair, checking for bleeding there. Finding nothing, his hands went to the sides of your face, trying to match your gaze.
“Where’d it get you?” he asked desperately. “You gotta tell me.”
You shook your head, your hands twitching at your sides.
“Luke.” Your voice broke as you pulled his hands from your face. Your hands were tight around his wrist. “Please hold me.”
“You have to tell me where it got you, first. Please, please tell me.”
One of your hands dragged his arm around your waist, the way you usually did when you wanted a hug. Luke shook his head.
He said your name firmly. “I’m not messing around. You could die if you don’t—”
His hands were shaking so bad, he almost didn’t notice when they had brushed up against something wet and thick and coating the small of your back. But when he was so accustomed to every small difference in the way you acted, or the way you held yourself, or the way you felt under his hands, the foreign patch of wetness had him stopping in his tracks.
He let you lean forward onto his front as he braced himself for the sight of your back. You were eerily silent as he did so, your arms resting over his shoulders in an unreciprocated hug.
If it was bad enough, you were going to die here. And Luke was going to have to hold you and watch.
Your cheap t-shirt was shredded to strips of fabric, offering him a sickeningly clear view of the wound underneath. Whatever monster did this to you was big. Three jagged lines marred the expanse of your lower back, the gashes angry and red and inflamed. From them gushed red hot blood. The claws that had left their mark had torn at the tissue—
(Luke fights back a gag thinking about it now.
Of course, time had run its course, blurring his memories. But the sight of this wound has been one of the only things that’s stayed, even years later, when the two of you are miles away from that forest in Pennsylvania.)
He fought down bile as you tightened your arms around his neck. “Please, Luke, please.”
In what you thought were going to be your last moments, you wanted nothing more than to be held. And as he felt your tears stain his shoulder, he knew that he wasn’t going to let it end like this.
“Save your energy,” he said firmly, fumbling to find a steady grip on the bottoms of your thighs. “We’re going to the hospital.”
On any other day, you would’ve protested the way he was supporting all of your body weight, letting you slump forward. But you were quiet now, and Luke found his legs carrying him out to the street even faster.
A trucker found the two of you collapsed in the road on the outskirts of the forest.
“A bear,” Luke thinks he had said, but he can’t recall anything after your injury with any accuracy. He was watching as blood poured from your wounds one second and was scrubbing that same blood away in the hospital bathroom the next.
While you were whisked off by the doctors, Luke sat in the waiting room next to a cop and what was probably a social services worker. They tried asking him questions about his parents, your parents, what you two were doing out in the woods.
He answered the same thing everytime, and made up a bullshit excuse when he couldn’t. I don’t know. I don’t know. I found her out there.
For a few hours, the hospital was working to keep you alive, and for even more hours after that, they worked to keep it that way. The cop at his side changed after a while, but Luke sat in that chair the entire time. And he stayed there for an entire night waiting to hear about you.
“Just let him in,” a nurse said in hushed tones to another. She was pretty and had kind eyes that looked sad when she snuck glances at him. “He’s been here for seven hours.”
Had it really only been seven hours? Luke already felt ten years older.
After lots of back and forth twenty feet away, your nurse approached him. He thought she kind of looked like you, but looking back, Luke thinks he was just missing your face.
The nurse had told him you would wake up on your own time, that you were hurt pretty badly and your body needed time to get better. Then she handed him some crackers and let him step into your room.
You were hooked up to a bunch of wires and bags and machines that made you look small. Your hand was cold when he slipped his into yours, with none of the usual warmth you offered.
He had done this to you, Luke realized in horror.
He had been so torn up about his mom, he let you go off on your own, and didn’t even realize it. If he had gone with you, this never would’ve happened. The two of you would’ve eaten your gross turkey sandwich and taken turns keeping watch while the other slept.
Luke never told you, but he had done lots of thinking at your bedside. Mostly, he thought about leaving.
He was perfectly capable of disappearing and never being found again. And after enough time, the cops would identify you. They’d call your mom, who would drop everything to come and get you. You could go back to the safety of your home, live a comfortable life, and not have to go to bed hungry everyday.
Luke was being selfish by bringing you with him all of those years ago. And as he decided against leaving, he realized he was being selfish by making the decision to stay with you, too. He needed you. You were all he had left.
Twelve year old Luke Castellan ended up going forty hours without hearing your voice. Forty hours of silence with nothing but the beeping of the machine hooked up to your heart.
He could only breathe easy again when you were strong enough to run a hand through his hair. You were warm again.
The two of you had fled from the hospital a few days after. The two unaccompanied children from that Pennsylvanian hospital had disappeared before they could even put out a Code Amber.
Luke decides to keep most of these details to himself, omitting most of it for his peace of mind.
“The longest we went without speaking was that time you got mauled by a monster out in the woods,” he reminds. You already know the story, anyway. “You were asleep in the hospital for a day or two, I’m not sure.”
He is sure — you were asleep for thirty six hours and didn’t speak for another four.
You make a face, completely unaware of the unwanted memories this conversation has dredged up. “That doesn’t count, Luke. I was dying!”
He knows. His nightmares about that night haunt him just as much as the nightmares he started getting after his quest.
“Never said we were only counting times we didn’t talk by choice,” he says, stacking your strawberry crate onto his. He had won your little bet, but he was planning on carrying yours no matter what.
You smile, interlocking your arms. He’s grateful for the touch. Both of you have come a long way from those woods in Hershey. You’re alive and safe, with no memories from that night but the scars on your back that Luke will stare at sometimes. You lean against him as you walk down the hill, the summer sun disappearing behind a cloud.
“I’ll never understand how we did all that when we were kids,” you say, your voice quieter now. “We were so little. We should’ve been doing math homework, or something. Not fighting for our lives all by ourselves.”
Luke nearly freezes, but your connected arms force him to keep walking. “The gods don’t exactly like being nice to their kids.”
Your father left you to die. It was Luke that dragged your half conscious body to safety. He was the one who held your hand in the hospital when you cried from the pain and begged for someone to take it all away.
And the both of you were twelve.
Why should the gods get away with that?
But you knock your head against his shoulder with something shining in your eyes, and his thoughts disappear from his head.
“They did one nice thing, though,” you say offhandedly as he passes the crates off to another camper.
With his hands free, he pulls you into a side hug. One of his warm hands slips under the back of your shirt, sliding to the small of your back. His fingertips run over the scars that have been healed for almost seven years.
You’re alive. You survived. That’s all he could ever ask for.
“One nice thing. Like what?”
You have a sly grin on your face, and Luke knows you’re proud of what you’re going to say next.
“They brought me you.”
my thoughts on aphrodite/the nurse
notes: wipes away tear. hes my best friend… as always lmk if u enjoyed!! i do plan on writing more luke hes so fun
luke tags: @randomgurl2326 @repostingmyfavs @cedricsleftelbow
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
Text
daylight
part one - series masterlist
luke castellan x daughter of ares reader
3.8k you and luke castellan via percy jackson
tags. the tangledinlove special (jealousy trope, best friends in love, denial of feelings etc.) and title from the tswift song
a/n. i havent written in sooo long please don’t make fun… also i kiss canon and characterization goodbye because i have not read the books since i was 7 years old
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i. back and forth from new york (sneaking in your bed)
Percy Jackson has become a light sleeper.
He didn’t think it was even possible to be yanked from sleep so harshly, but finds himself jolting awake whenever the kid nexts to him so much as turns over in his sleep.
He chalks the nerves up to his new… situation. If finding out your father is Poseidon and watching your mother turn into dust Avengers: Infinity War style could be called that.
This is also the first time he’s slept around so many people, so he thinks he’s just on edge. It’s not like he was ever close enough with anyone to warrant a sleepover before.
He shuts his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep.
Until he can’t.
There’s tossing and turning from across the room, and then a muffled noise.
Someone’s sleep talking.
Percy groans in frustration before realizing he’s being too loud. Thankfully, the kid next to him seems to be desensitized to random nighttime grumblings. Which is understandable, seeing as there’s an entire classroom of other children around them.
Percy takes his pillow that’s barely thicker than his forearm and clamps it firmly over his ears. He counts sheep. He imagines them jumping over fences when that doesn’t work. And then he imagines them as Chiron when that doesn’t work either.
The grumbling doesn’t stop. But as Percy peels the pillow from his ears, he realizes that the measly fabric was able to muffle something.
The crying.
Percy squints across the room, his eyes well adjusted to the darkness by now. He can see the Thrasher now, tossing in their sheets as quiet sobs leave their mouth.
Heard what happened to you on the hill. And I just…
He can make out a dark mop of hair.
Wanted to say I’m really sorry.
Tall limbs and a red cotton shirt.
I know what you’re going through, believe me. I’m—
Luke.
That’s Luke’s bed, Percy realizes. The heroic and brave and wise boy who introduced him to camp is crying thirty feet away from him, and he has no idea what to do.
A twig snaps from outside, and Percy jolts upright. Ah, of course, how could he have forgotten about the second reason he’s feeling so twitchy? Apparently all of those mythological monsters he’d learned about are real, too. Because someone out there is plotting against him.
The memory of rain soaked clothes and the feeling of a sharp horn under his hands has Percy fumbling for his pocket, sweaty fingers closing around Riptide.
Should he wake Luke? Surely he would know what to do. But the idea sounded ridiculous. The camp was safe, it had to be. Grover had said it himself. It wasn’t possible for anything to get past that old tree on the hill.
But rational thinking was beginning to look less rational since he was alone with whatever creature was outside. Something was definitely on the other side of the wooden walls, and it was just Percy and his stupid pen against whatever monster is making its way nearer.
Whatever it is is nearly silent, making its way around with soft footfalls and quiet steps. But the wood of the patio outside creaks under their weight, and Percy thumbs the cap of his pen nervously.
The doorknob twitches, and a cold chill goes down Percy’s spine when he realizes that the door isn’t locked. The door creaks open without protest.
It’s a person.
Much less scary than previously anticipated, but a potential threat nonetheless. Percy watches in awe as the hooded figure carefully steps over the floorboard that he nearly tripped over about thirty times already, dodging limbs hanging out of beds and sleeping bags. A perfectly trained ninja in the night.
Percy pushes himself up using a forearm, concealing Riptide in his sleeve.
“Who are you?” he croaks, voice choppy from disuse. “I have a weapon, so don’t try anything.”
He winces at the way it's much less intimidating than he hoped.
The figure whips around, their hood slipping down to reveal their features. Moonlight streaming in through a window illuminates your face.
Oh. It’s you.
Luke had introduced you to him earlier in the day, and he can’t remember much about you. But he remembers the easy way Luke had been around you, a closeness that Percy hadn’t seen before.
You were lingering around the forge, and had gotten a front row seat to Percy nearly setting someone on fire.
“Luke, why are you giving hot tools to twelve year olds?” you’d asked as Percy shed his goggles and gloves frustratedly.
The two boys turned around to find you standing right behind them.
Percy flinched away, and Luke laughed at the face he was making. “Percy, this is—”
“Luke’s best friend,” you had proclaimed, slotting yourself against his side. Percy was on the fence with what he thought about Ares kids, but the difference between you and Clarisse could not be more clear. You were all smiles as you reached down to ruffle Percy’s hair. “Don’t tell Chris, or he’ll get a little angry.”
“Sure, killer,” Luke had said, a smile lighting up his face. He turned away from Percy to face you completely, both of his hands coming to rest on your sides. “I’ll see you at lunch?”
You saluted him seriously, but the way your other hand curled around his arm was awfully casual. “Absolutely, sir.”
He squeezed you once, sending you leaning away from his grasp. Percy felt like he was intruding on something as he watched the two of you playfully fight in front of him.
With a pointed look, Percy’d said, “Uhh. Alright. Nice to meet you?”
You at least had the shame to look a little embarrassed as you released Luke from the headlock you’d put him in. “It was nice to meet you too, Percy.” You took extra care to whack the back of Luke’s head as you left. “I’ll leave you to it!”
Luke watched you leave, a fond smile on his face as he tried to straighten out his hair. “Sorry, where were we?”
“What are you doing up?” you ask from across the room, keeping your voice as quiet as possible. Red Converse hit the floor softly as you make yourself comfortable in a cabin that’s definitely not yours. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”
“I thought curfew was strictly enforced here.”
“It is,” you yank your tattered hoodie over your head, dropping it onto the foot of Luke’s bed. “So keep it down before you wake up Katie. She’s snitched on me twice already.”
Percy huffs. “I’m not even—”
“S-Sorry.”
You and Percy go silent.
“It won’t… I won’t—”
“Luke,” Percy thinks he hears you say. You crouch at his side, sweeping his hair away from his face. Without even a grimace, or a sign of disgust, you wipe what must be his sweat off on your flannel pajama pants. Your voice is softened with affection. “It’s just a nightmare.”
“I won’t fail again,” he hiccups instead.
Your shoulders sag. With practiced hands, you shift the boy over and settle onto the empty part of the mattress with him.
Percy knows he’s being nosy, but curiosity keeps his eyes glued to your movements. You seem to know exactly what to do, digging through a bag at your feet and pulling out a cool water bottle. Your hands go to Luke’s shoulders as you gently coax him upwards, placing the water in his grip.
Luke’s eyes are still shut when he says, “Hey, killer.”
“Hi, hero.”
“What’re you doin’ here?”
When you don’t answer, Luke tips his head back to drink before tossing the bottle somewhere on the floor. He shifts over, giving you more room to lay down. Percy freezes when you meet his gaze head on through the darkness.
“Go to sleep,” you whisper, and Percy knows you’re not just talking to Luke.
You disappear into the mattress as Luke pulls you into a hug. Percy hears quiet rumbling as you whisper something to him, and he can’t tell which one of you pulls his head into the crook of your neck.
Luke sleeps silently for the rest of the night.
ii. now that i thought of you (things will never be the same)
Capture the Flag scares Percy to no end.
A chill goes down his spine as the other team lets out their battle cries, and he begins to doubt what Chiron said about no maiming being allowed. Some of those kids look like they’re out for blood.
The nerves only get worse as Annabeth drags him off to someplace in the woods and promptly leaves him to his own devices. No plan, no help, no sense of direction. He’s honestly expecting a bear to come out of the woods and maul him half to death, but after what feels like an hour of silence, he lounges back on a bit of rocks and watches the clouds.
“Hey, Goldilocks.”
Fear launches Percy to his feet as he takes in his surroundings. Riptide slips out of his hands and clatters onto his shield, spinning around the curved piece of metal like a Beyblade.
It’s you. Again.
“Relax,” you say quickly, raising your hands to show him you mean no harm. Your sword is tucked away and you have a slight smile on your face. “I was just going to ask you what you’re doing all alone out here. Our flag’s in the other direction, if you didn’t know.”
“I know,” Percy huffs, picking up his own weapon. He rights his armor as he looks at you suspiciously. “This girl Annabeth dragged me out here.”
“Annabeth,” you say amusedly. You glance around the two of you like she’s going to jump out of a bush.
“She’s long gone. She dragged me out here just to ditch me,” he says bitterly. “You know her?”
You have a weird smile on your face. “She’s like my little sister.”
Luke had said the same thing to him, out by the archery fields yesterday. “So you and Luke, you’re like, siblings too, then?”
“Gods, no!” you protest, your face scrunching together in disgust. “He’s just… He’s like…”
Percy watches you fumble for your words, his brow raised. You seemed pretty disgusted at his suggestion.
“He’s just Luke,” you decide on, and Percy nods, even though he doesn’t really understand. For a brief second, you look horrified again. “Did he… Say that we’re like siblings?”
“No,” he says, and watches as you smile slowly, satisfied.
Ohh, Percy wants to say. It’s like that. But he knows that you could probably tear his head off if you wanted to, so he bites his tongue.
“How long have you guys known each other?” he asks instead.
Your smile grows fond as you think about him. “Our entire lives. We were friends before either of us even knew about all of this.” You gesture to the two of you and then to the woods around you.
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah. I couldn’t imagine this place without him,” you say thoughtfully, your gaze growing far away. “Hermes is lucky to have a son like him. He’s great.”
You talk about him so kindly. For a second, he can see his Mom in your eyes, and the adoring way she would speak about his dad on the rare occasions she would bring him up. And Percy knows it’s not nice to assume, but… He’s assuming.
Percy doesn’t phrase it like a question when he says, “You like Luke.”
A twig snaps somewhere nearby.
You’re silent for a second. “I — What do you mean?”
Percy doubles down. “You have a crush on him.”
“Alright, Goldilocks,” you say, amused. “I don’t like Luke.”
“Sure.”
“I don’t!” you insist, looking awfully embarrassed for someone who ‘definitely doesn’t like Luke.’ “And even if I did, he would never like me back, so…”
You turn to face the woods, and Percy has no doubt that your face is on fire.
“I thought you guys liked each other.”
“Percy, stop talking.”
“Like when you snuck into the cabin, I thought—”
“Percy,” you snap, your voice low.
“—you were dating. Like Jim and Pam. Or like Rory and Dean.”
You whirl back around, curious. “You’ve seen Gilmore Girls?”
He realizes what he said too late. “My mom made me watch it.”
Your smile disappears under your helmet as you slip it back on. “Good for her. And I’m sorry to leave you here, but I have to go.”
He frowns. “What? Why?” Percy almost doesn’t want you to leave. You’re the first person he’s seen in an hour, and your company isn’t that bad.
“My sister is about fifty feet away, and I’m supposed to be defending my flag that’s halfway across the woods.”
Percy perks up at this. “Annabeth’s back?”
Finally. He isn’t sure what she’d wanted him to do, because he definitely hasn’t done it.
You shove his shield into his hands as you brush past him. “No. Clarisse is.”
The words take a second to register, but once they do, Percy whips around in your direction. He finds nothing but the rustle of the leaves as you make your quick exit.
“Percy Jackson!” a voice booms from the direction of the woods.
He’s screwed.
iii. i once believed love would be (burnin’ red)
Their team won Capture the Flag.
Percy hadn’t done much, other than get claimed by Poseidon and be used as Clarisse bait. Nonetheless, he was enjoying the celebration feast.
Everyone was in high spirits — especially Chris, who had helped lead the team to victory while Percy was being pummeled by three angry Ares kids.
(Yeah, he was trying to not be too bitter about that.)
A group of campers were cheering on Annabeth for her plan that lead them to the big win. (Definitely not still bitter.) The comradery amongst their team was high, and even those that lost didn’t seem too angry about it.
Except for Clarisse and her cronies, of course. They were sitting in a corner, sending him furious looks every once in a while.
Percy made a mental note to ask someone about putting a deadbolt on his cabin door.
The other Ares kids didn’t seem to mind though, wearing any new battle wounds with pride. Percy could see you across the dining pavilion, talking with one of the boys from another cabin.
Luke did not look too happy about that.
Percy had thought he would be soaking up every glorious moment of the dinner, as he was the one who secured the flag for their team. But he had done nothing much other than sulk and push his food around with his fork.
“Who’s that?” Percy asks, once he notices where his angry glare is directed.
Luke is distracted when he responds. “Oh, uh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That’s Max. Cabin 9. Hephaestus kid.”
Chris laughs as he takes his seat next to Luke, finally hungry after all of his celebrating. “He’s been trying to ask her out for a while now.”
“And he needs to take a hint.” Luke scoffs. “She clearly doesn’t like him.”
The two of you are sharing an orange. Max breaks off pieces for you to have, and Percy watches as you laugh at something he says, covering your smile with the palm of your hand.
The three of them are silent.
Percy’s head tilts. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Luke says, his tone steely. “She’s my… She’s my best friend. If she liked Max, she would’ve told me.”
The three of them watch as the boy stands up and you follow suit. Max tosses the rest of the orange into the fire as an offering, and the two of you head away from the celebration.
Percy gives Luke a side glance. If he had eaten anything, it probably would’ve been emptied up onto the table right now.
Luke shakes the table with the force he uses to stand up. “I’ll be back.”
His plate is left abandoned, and Chris snorts at his speedy departure. Luke’s practically jogging across the pavilion to reach you before you get too far. That old goofy cartoon running sound effect plays in Percy’s head as he does.
The boy closes the distance in record timing, stopping you and Max before you can make your way up a small hill just outside of the pavilion.
Luke must be a great liar, or just really convincing, because after a few words from him and an extended hand, you’re back at his side. You say a few parting words to Max before the two of you turn your backs on him and head back in the direction of the feast.
Unfortunately, it seems like Max is significantly unhappy with that.
He looks a little more than angry when he says something that has you and Luke whipping your heads around.
Whatever he said must not have been nice, because the next second, Luke is advancing in his direction, and the other boy is meeting him in the middle.
The small argument is beginning to attract the attention of the campers on the outskirts of the feast, with a few mixed reactions. Some look like they’re ready to jump into a brawl if need be, and others watch the argument play out, unashamed.
Percy grimaces. “Are they… okay?”
Chris gets up wordlessly to head in the direction of his friend, and Percy trails after him with not much else to do. Other campers join them, forming a bit of a crowd around the three of you.
Your voice sounds biting as you say something to the both of them, and while it seems like Max isn’t angry at you, it looks like he still spits out a snarky comment directed at Luke, if the smirk on his face says anything.
And that’s all it takes. Luke rears his arm back and strikes Max right across the face.
Something that sounds like a mix between a gasp and an “Ooh!” ripples through the crowd as he stumbles back.
That’s gotta sting, Percy thinks as Max steadies himself on shaky legs. The boy looks completely dazed from the single blow. If that’s what Luke can do with a single punch… Percy hopes he never gets on his bad side.
You shove Luke’s shoulder and say something to him, starting another disagreement between the two of you. But now steady on his feet, Max seemingly takes advantage of him being distracted and takes his own shot at Luke’s face. Percy sucks in air through his teeth as he rubs his jaw.
Luke’s on him in a second, wrestling him to the ground as he moves to probably hit him again. But you and one of the older campers rush forward to drag him off of Max just as Chiron’s booming voice sounds from the other end of the clearing.
The crowd scatters like a flock of birds. Chris drags Percy by the back of his shirt collar away from the scene, leaving you, Luke, and Max alone.
Everyone disperses back to their cabins, whispering about the events all the way up until the lights go out.
Alone in the Poseidon cabin, Percy doesn’t see the way Luke enters his own a few hours later, his knuckles sore but his heart aching.
iv. but its golden
You don’t look in Luke’s direction during Percy’s selection ceremony.
Once he’s selected Annabeth and Grover, you give him a genuine smile and squeeze his shoulder before walking away as fast as you can.
Luke calls after you, but you ignore him. The other twenty demigods at the ceremony look away in what’s probably second hand embarrassment.
Percy doesn’t see you again until much later. After knocking on his cabin door, you put a wad of cash into his hands.
“What’s this for?”
“Emergency cash,” you explain as he rifles through it. The stack is heavy. “I know Chiron gave you two hundred, but you never know. Use it only for emergencies, alright?”
“This is nearly two hundred dollars,” Percy says, shocked. “Where’d you get this from?”
“Summer job.”
“I can’t—”
“Annabeth already refused to take it from me,” you protest. “I thought you were my best bet.”
“This is a lot of money.” Percy doesn’t think he’s even held this much cash before.
“I know,” you say, before closing his fist around the money again. “But I know I could’ve really used this money on my first quest. So I’m giving it to you for yours.”
Percy was getting the impression that you weren’t going to leave his cabin with this money in your hand.
“Thanks,” he acquiesces with a smile. “Only for emergencies.”
“Only for emergencies,” you confirm, squeezing his shoulder.
“Were you nervous for your first quest?” he asks, tucking the cash into the inner pocket of his jacket.
You shake your head without an ounce of hesitation. “No. But it’s normal to be nervous, if you are.”
Percy thinks about his Mom, all alone in the Underworld. He was doing all of this for her. He was a little more than nervous.
“How were you not worried? Like at all?”
You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your hoodie. “I was with Luke. I didn’t really have anything to be worried about.”
Percy thinks about Annabeth and Grover. Could he rely on them? The Oracle’s words weigh heavy on his shoulders. Percy wished that he had someone he could count on like the way you relied on Luke.
“Are you mad at him?”
“Who said I’m mad at Luke?” You tilt your head in question.
“You ignored him in front of everyone earlier. It was kinda hard to watch.”
You look away, smiling. “Well, he was kind of being stupid last night. I’m not mad, I just needed to cool down.”
There’s shuffling in the doorway, and you don’t have to turn around to know who it is.
“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you mumble under your breath. Luke’s holding an old box in his hands, staring straight at the back of your head.
You give Percy one last reassuring smile. “Good luck, Percy. And I know you and Annabeth aren’t all that close, but she’s a good kid. You can count on her.”
“She’s a good kid.” Luke repeats from behind you.
You turn to face him, your gaze assessing, and Luke’s eyes widen in what Percy thinks is slight fear. But it’s like his entire body relaxes when you move forward to flick his shoulder.
“Thank you for your great input, Luke Castellan,” you tease, leaving a quick kiss on the bruise on his lower jaw.
His eyes blow wide with surprise. “Yeah,” he stammers. “Yeah.”
“See you later, hero.”
The door swings shut behind you.
Luke stares blankly for a good ten seconds before Percy speaks.
“So…” he starts. “What’s in the box?”
“Yeah, uh,” Luke repeats, dazed. “It’s a, uh. A gift.”
Percy presses his lips together, slightly miffed.
It’s obvious to him how the two of you feel about each other. He just wonders if either of you will ever figure that out yourselves.
part two
a/n. evil boys i love u. if i ever write more luke fic itll be through one of their povs so their interactions are less restrained!! lmk if u enjoyed theyre my sillies
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
Text
1 year with luke castellan
↳ january 14 with annabeth chase
series masterlist
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pairing: luke castellan x daughter of apollo!reader
word count: 2.9k
summary: luke forces annabeth to go seek medical care from that one apollo kid he’s always fighting with
content: a little bit of a slow burn. luke makes like one dirty joke. unedited writing and banter
“Luke, you’re being—“ Annabeth cuts herself off with a wet cough. “—completely dramatic.”
The sight of them must look crazy to any of the early risers around camp. Because much like a cat handling her kittens, Luke has Annabeth by the scruff of her neck, dragging her in the direction of the Apollo cabin. With her tired and lethargic, he’s doing most of the heavy lifting.
“Kid, it’s been a week, and you’re still burning up. And the way you hack up phlegm is scaring the campers.”
“Yeah, so?” she groans, dragging her feet. “If they weren’t aware, that’s kind of how being sick works. That’s how the body reacts to—”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
She huffs, annoyed, but the congestion just makes it sound like a weird gargling noise. Luke snorts a laugh from in front of her, and she digs her heels into the ground harder. But he just continues walking with her in tow, undisturbed.
Annabeth doesn’t care how immature she’s sounding — she hates going to the camp healer. The bedside manner of those teenagers could use some work. The last time she’d landed herself in there, she was fighting the urge to put one of the healers in their own infirmary.
“And definitely don’t get smart with this healer I’m taking you to,” Luke adds, looking thoughtful. “‘Cause she won’t care how old you are. She’s evil.”
The Apollo cabin is only about fifty feet away now, and even though it’s dreary and cold out, the building still seems to be shimmering under the sun. Annabeth feels her stomach churn at Luke’s words, and she can’t tell if it’s one of her routine bouts of nausea or slight fear.
“Are you being serious?” she hisses, her voice dropping to a whisper as they grow nearer. “Why would you take me to her, then?”
“She’s apparently good at what she does,” he soothes. “She’s just mean. A monster in the form of a demigod, really.”
He releases her from his grasp just to knock on the door, and Annabeth sees the opportunity. But her exhaustion has dulled her reflexes, and the moment she’s bracing herself to run, Luke’s grabbing onto the orange fabric of her camp tee again.
Luke gives her a lopsided grin as the two of them hear footsteps on the other side of the door. “Plus, she’s really pretty.”
Annabeth rolls her eyes so hard it hurts. Her snarky response is cut off when the door opens.
Your eyes meet hers, and Annabeth is taken aback by the kindness in them — no apparent evilness like Luke had claimed. All kids of Apollo have that weird glow to them, and you’re no exception. Even though the door still isn’t fully open, just staring at your shiny smile gives the effect of having a flashlight shone directly into your eyes.
“Hi,” you say kindly, opening the door a little wider. She’s starting to get a closer look at your face, and she realizes Luke was right. You are pretty, and she remembers seeing you around before with Silena and Clarisse.
But she honestly hears about you more often than she actually sees you around camp.
Luke’s complaints of you always made their way to her ears eventually. Some days it was about how you were always trying to one up him, whether you were on his Capture the Flag team or not. Other days it was about how you would always go way too far during training and bruise his ribs, or nearly sprain his ankle.
With the amount of bodily harm you seemed to cause, Annabeth hadn’t even considered the idea of you being a healer.
You open the door wide enough for her to get a good look at you, and your easy demeanor is enough to put Annabeth at ease. If she were more awake, Luke’s mean words about you would’ve probably had her on edge, but it feels like you’re single handedly parting the clouds above you, so she relaxes easily.
“Can I help— Oh.”
Whatever it was about you that had Annabeth pacified in your presence is gone the moment you push the door open a little wider. Your smile flattens out into a line.
It’s like watching the sun disappear behind a cloud.
“Castellan,” you greet, expression unreadable. Annabeth doesn’t miss the way you look him up and down, cringing at the blood stain on the bottom of his shirt.
Luke grins, and Annabeth has half the mind to walk away before she has to hear the rest of this conversation. “Hey, sunshine.”
For a second, Annabeth wonders if Luke’s snark is going to end up with them having the door slammed in their faces. You give him an indecipherable look.
“You’re lucky your sister is here. I would’ve done your face in for that stupid nickname.”
Annabeth doesn’t doubt it. It had taken Luke a week to get over the black eye you had given him that one time.
“Sorry,” he says, but the amused look in his eyes says anything but. “Just excited to see my favorite girl, of course.”
Something changes in your eyes. You look smug when you say, “Oh, really? Well I don’t see—”
The amusement is wiped clean off his face. His teasing tone has long disappeared when he says, “Dude, fuck off.”
“Language,” you remind, giving a side glance to Annabeth. “But really, have you ever considered just—”
“I get it,” he says quickly, throwing Annabeth a weary look. He throws his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry.”
You look smug. Luke looks effectively humbled.
Annabeth’s head is spinning. The two of you go back and forth so quickly it’s hard for her to keep up.
“Anyway, is there anything I can do for you?” you ask Annabeth, turning away from him.
She glares at the boy. Plants her feet like the proverbial mule.
“No,” she says firmly. “I feel perfectly—”
”Annabeth’s sick. She’s had a fever for over a week now,” Luke offers, cutting off her lie. He seemed to have recovered from whatever conversation you two had just had. His tone is sweet again, his charm levels cranked back up to fifteen. He’s really laying it on thick.
You don’t seem to care much for the way he has that look on his face — the one he uses whenever he talks to pretty girls. Instead, you tilt your head at Annabeth curiously. She only shrugs, her mouth shut tight. There’s no use lying to you.
After looking her over, you reluctantly turn to face Luke. “It’s been over a week?”
“Almost two.”
You nod, the first remotely kind gesture aimed in his direction. After what Annabeth feels is a few awkward seconds of Luke staring expectantly at you while you assess her condition, you finally open the door for the both of them.
Luke tries to usher her in, and she nudges his hands away. Annabeth’s already resigned herself to her fate — she knows the drill. Still dragging her feet, she makes her way over to an empty bed at the edge of the room and slumps down, exhausted.
She’s pleasantly surprised to find the scratchy green sheets have been replaced with soft blue ones. And as she lets her head fall back against the cloud-like pillow at the head of the bed, she realizes a lot of the room has changed since she’d last been here. What had once been a dreary infirmary has been revived — posters that look like they should be in a pediatrician’s office cover the walls. A glance inside the storage closet shows organized shelves stocked to the brim.
Annabeth shuts her eyes so she doesn’t have to look at the photo of an owl wearing a stethoscope anymore, and listens to the sound of you flitting around at the other side of the room. There’s the quiet closing of cabinets and the sound of your sneakers on the wood as you gather what you need. She can hear whatever’s in the cabinets roll around as you shut the drawers of supplies quickly.
Annabeth sighs loudly. She just wants to take whatever medicine the camp bought from the local Walgreens and leave.
When Luke doesn’t say anything about her dramatics, Annabeth realizes belatedly that she can’t sense his presence at the end of the bed. She cracks open an eye in curiosity — and fights the urge to cringe.
He’s practically on your heels, watching as you do whatever healer-y stuff that it is you do. Annabeth knows for a fact that he has no idea what you’re doing, but he watches, a little too interested, as you take a knife and begin chopping something efficiently.
The reason why you’re using a common kitchen knife in an infirmary is beyond Annabeth’s knowledge. Maybe a new healing method? Or maybe it's a silent threat to get Luke to back away from you.
“You still sore?” Annabeth hears him ask, picking up a metal object off a desk and tossing it into the air.
Confusion paints your face as you set the knife aside. “What are you talking about?” You catch the object on his next throw, unamused, and hiss at him to stop touching things.
“You know, after last night.”
Annabeth watches your eye twitch. Luke smiles, like he knows he’s won something. “After we sparred?”
He just grins, picking up the object again while you blink at him, stunned. “‘Course. What else would I be talking about?”
Annabeth has a feeling that she’s missing out on a second, more unspoken conversation.
The point of the kitchen knife is tapped lightly against Luke’s chest, but he doesn’t break eye contact for a second. “You’re funny, Castellan.”
“I know.”
The two of you move around your table in silence, with the occasional murmurings of Luke as he opens his mouth and asks what sounds like a stupid question. At one point, you pretend you can’t hear what he’s saying over the sound of you crushing something with a mortar and pestle.
“Why haven’t you been resting?”
After a beat of silence, Annabeth blinks hard to clear her vision. It had taken a little too long for her to realize that you and Luke were at her side. You’re standing over her and Luke is sat in a chair by the bed, giving her a questioning look. Her face warms, adding heat to her already raised body temperature.
“Excuse me?”
“You were leading Capture the Flag last week,” you point out. “But Castellan says you’ve been sick for a while. Why haven’t you been resting?”
She bristles. What good demigod gets put out of commission for two weeks over a simple sickness? Any normal demigod, sure, but she was Annabeth Chase. She could overcome anything, especially the average flu.
“I’m not that sick. And I’ve had the flu before, it should go away any day now.”
You nod at Luke, and he helps prop Annabeth up on a pillow, much to her dismay. A swirling goblet is placed in her hands, the liquid inside purple and shimmery. It’s so dark in color she can’t see to the bottom.
“Something me and my dad made,” you explain, a tinge of pride in your voice. “It uses some medicinal herbs and less than a tablespoon of ambrosia. Just enough to kickstart your immune system, but not enough to heal any major wounds.”
Annabeth hides her surprise. You had developed this with Apollo? The gods visiting their children wasn’t unheard of, but it was obviously not an everyday thing. Even claiming their children seemed to be a load of work for them.
“You just have to drink the whole cup. After that, you should start feeling better in about twelve hours.“
After a weary glance, Annabeth nods, draining the glass sip by sip. It doesn’t quite taste like what she’s usually reminded of when she eats ambrosia, but there’s still that umami taste that warms her chest with the comfort of a long lost home cooked meal.
“You’re going to need to make that for me,” Luke says after a few minutes of silence. “You hit me so hard once, I lost hearing in my right ear.”
You snort. “I don’t think drinking it could save you from your atrocious form when we do hand-to-hand.”
Luke is fast enough to curl his foot around your ankle so you stumble when you take a step back. But he isn’t fast enough to block the metal appliance you throw at his face.
Annabeth works to drain the rest of the liquid so she doesn’t have to sit through another few minutes of you two arguing. She’s almost done with the goblet when you make a gesture at Luke for something. Half yawning, he haphazardly sticks out his arm in your direction.
Your responding gaze could rival Medusa’s.
“Couldn’t even bother to read the time for me? It’s a digital watch, you don’t even have to—”
“—Well, Sunshine, I just thought that since you obviously do everything better than me—“
“Don't start.”
Annabeth almost laughs at how Luke did the one thing he told her not to do — get smart with you. He retracts his arm, huffing. “It’s eight fifteen.”
You’re smiling when you face Annabeth. “Then you’ll get off of bedrest by dinner.”
“Bedrest?” she echoes in disbelief. “I’m supposed to sit here for twelve hours doing absolutely nothing?”
“No. I expect you’ll be asleep for a few of those hours. The treatment kind of acts like an antihistamine, so it could make you a little drowsy.”
Her head is spinning. She’s being taken out by a mortal sickness.
You take the empty goblet from her and hand it to Luke.
“If you’re going to annoy me while I work, you can at least wash this for me.”
“Don't you have a servant to do that for you? I’m sure that one Aphrodite kid would love to.”
You make the same face you made when you realized Luke was outside your cabin, so Annabeth assumes you don’t like the aforementioned Aphrodite kid very much either.
“At least leave the cup in the sink.”
Luke mumbles under his breath what is likely a mockery of your words, but you pay him no mind as he slinks away.
The cabin is quiet for a few moments, and Annabeth accepts the cool cloth you place on her forehead thankfully. Then, there’s the sound of running water, and she stares behind your head to see Luke using a sponge to scrub out the interior of the goblet.
You take his seat next to Annabeth and give her a heavy look. “Even the best of us have to rest, you know.”
“I know.”
“So it’s okay if you take off the rest of the day.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She shrugs, turning the washcloth over. “Yes. I just don’t want to.”
You smile in the weird shiny way you do. “You’re exactly like Luke said you were.”
Annabeth doesn’t say anything about how you’re calling him by his first name now, but she perks up at your words. You and Luke were talking about her?
“Which is?”
Your icy gaze usually directed at Luke thaws a little when you turn back in the direction of the sink. The both of you watch as he dries the inside of the goblet, thoroughly wiping it down. “He said you’re smart. And an excellent counselor.”
Her spine straightens the slightest bit. It wasn’t often that Luke was willing to praise people to their faces, so she would take anything she could get.
“But he also said you can be stubborn. And prideful.”
Of course he did.
“And even though those can be flaws, I do admire that about you.”
You look pensive, so Annabeth waits for you to continue.
“I’m not going to force you onto bedrest.”
The one eighty from your previous decision is making Annabeth’s head spin. She thinks that’s what you wanted.
You give her a look that’s thick with wisdom and experience. For a second, she can picture you amongst her older siblings, with their steely gazes and sharp stares. “But if you keep at this, you’re going to face a fate a lot worse than twelve hours of bed rest.”
You don’t say anything else, letting her sit with your cryptic words. The conversation ends when Luke walks over with the newly shined goblet, and you take it from him to put everything back in their proper places. He sits down in the spot you vacated with a heavy sigh of his own.
Annabeth can’t tell if it’s the placebo effect, but she is beginning to feel a little exhausted. She sits in a comfortable silence as she joins Luke, who’s watching quietly as you saunter around the room, deep in work.
Her eyelids haven’t quite fluttered shut yet when Luke mumbles something from next to her.
“I hear your bedrest’s been lifted. You headed out soon?”
Annabeth hesitates. She thinks about her counselor duties. And she thinks about rotting in this cot doing nothing.
And then she thinks about you.
She doesn’t waver when she says, “I think I’m gonna rest for a while.”
Luke’s brows raise. “You are?”
Trust me, I’m surprised too, she wants to say.
“Your friend,” Annabeth says, hesitating over the word. She isn’t quite sure what the two of you classify as. “She’s not evil like you said. She’s really smart.”
What seems like a grin spreads across his face — Annabeth can’t tell with the way everything is unfocusing.
Luke’s voice is surprisingly light. “I guess you’re right.”
notes: they’ll get together in a year. trust
if i added you to the wrong taglist let me know and ill fix it!
1 year with luke: @marshymallo @ghostisstuff @tayswiftlovebot @dangelnleif @bipstargirl @fearlessmoony @lyssaluvss @badcoping @dorcas4meadowes @surftrips @inejwraiths @lizziesfirstwife @randomnpc456 @pleasingregulus @solecitoszn @supercutszns @superswaggycooch @kiyasoup @teatimedisaster @sgmianne @otchae @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @mclando81 @softtina
general luke taglist: @chasebeth @silkenthusiasts @urmomsbananabread @sunny747 @randomgurl2326 @repostingmyfavs @au-ghosttype @mrsaluado @holy-macncheese-balls @catluvwr @katemlk @lukecastellandefender @wonuskie @kitkat-writes-stuff
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
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So what I'm hearing is that we ALL fell in love with Ronald "shows his autistic inventor friend A Bugs Life" Gladden
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siriusly-parker-main · 2 months
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i want both of them at the same time
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siriusly-parker-main · 3 months
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—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.3: sweet dreams, chicago
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pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader   genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—anxiety, (+18) masturbation, mb one (1) allusion to a blowjob, swearing, excessive use of cigarettes  word count—3.6k
detailed instructions on how to fuck up your life in 30 seconds
author’s note: tremendously down bad, lonely, and socially inept? not talking abt u LOSER im talking abt carmen. my lil meow meow 
masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | eyvcte masterlist | < back. next >
important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3  
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tell them
not white, gray – the exact color of cigarette ash, the red ember a reflected streak of sunlight; these walls box him in, and it’s always a surprise that space can feel so vast and so confining all at once. the plastic chair he sits on is unforgiving on his back. his foot sounds a pattern on the tiled floor to impair the silence.
he’s aware of it, of everything: his pursed lips, trembling lashes, quick blinks, slight sniffle, flitting irises, the light coat of sweat forming by his hairline. the taunt flex of his muscles; twitch of fingers that have nothing to grasp onto but each other. the tapping. pulsing in his jaw and temple. the tapping.
tell them
he tries to stare ahead, keep straight – it’s not expected of him, but he wishes he could do it. wishes he could face the silhouette sat across, too close and too far.
“well?” she prompts – a prim woman with a kind face sunken from all the miseries she had collected over the years, “how are you, carmen?”
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siriusly-parker-main · 3 months
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—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.2: thank you, love you
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pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—trauma, anxiety, swearing, sum depression again, the inception of horny thoughts word count—3.6k
old man discovers instagram
author’s note: we playin w our willy on chap 3 (i am unhinged)
masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | read on ao3 | < back. next >
important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3  
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it takes six days, three hours, and twenty four minutes to notice. and once carmen does, he makes an unconscious note to be attentive – not for any specific reason, for no reason at all, it just happens. things happen sometimes, and that’s okay, the natural flow of life demands action and inaction always prompts curiosity and, and, and, and, look, it wasn’t, he wasn’t, it’s not like that. he just happened to become aware of a trait, and now that he is, he can’t help but watch out for it. not, not watch out watch out, just, detect, maybe. like, he just so happens to glance, and she’s doing it again, and there’s a certain satisfaction to that discovery until he thinks that it’s weird he’s growing so familiar with her ticks.
it’s not on purpose – both are of innocent intentions. it’s an anxious response, a thoughtful one, because calmness can’t be absolute, something’s gotta give, and her give just happens to be her mouth. he sees her grinding molars by the twinges of her jaw, sees the pout, sees her two front teeth gnawing on her lower lip, sees quick swipe of her tongue as she thinks before she speaks. he sees, and sees, and sees, and sees, and 
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