#I’m sorry these are both my faves let me have my moment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pricelessemotion · 1 year

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Never really over | S.H.

summary: [4.2k] you and steve fall apart, then fall back together.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: so much angst, best friends to exes to lovers, language, gratuitous taylor swift references

a/n: exes to lovers is one of my fave tropes so i hope i did it justice! reader is vaguely asian-coded by accident (though there shouldn’t be any direct references to r's appearance!) lmao happy AAPI heritage month to all my fellow asians

masterlist

The day after your breakup, Steve shows up at your house with a bag of takeout and a six-pack. He kicks off his shoes at the front door while you’re in the kitchen, already grabbing napkins and chopsticks. The light on the floral rice cooker on the counter just turned from cooking to keep warm. Steve is nothing, if not right on time.

To most people, the situation would seem peculiar. But you and Steve were best friends before your break up and you had promised that you would stay best friends after it.

You settle in on opposite sides of the worn-down loveseat, a rerun of Golden Girls playing on the television. You’re just about to ask him if he remembered to get extra sauce for the chow mein when Steve, seemingly anticipating your question, silently hands you a small cylindrical container.

The night goes on as it usually would, with Steve lamenting Keith’s tyranny and Dustin’s antics. He helps you clean up when you’re done, scooping the leftover rice into a Tupperware container saying I gotta get myself one of these, it’s so convenient! He even does the dishes, washing while you dry, never commenting on the fact that you have a perfectly good dishwasher that you never use.

Once he’s standing in the entryway, shoes back on and keys in hand, he instinctively leans in for a chaste kiss goodbye.

You flinch, turning your cheek at the last second. The moment becomes a sobering reminder as to why you decided to break up in the first place. Instinct over time starts to feel like routine. Routine over time starts to feel like a chore. Another thing that you have to cross off your to-do list.

For a while, it was grounding. It felt good to be normal. Normal felt like warmth, like coming in out of the freezing cold and cozying up next to a blazing fire. But you knew from experience that the cold always comes back. As the days drew darker, the once roaring hearth settled into a pile of ashes. Being grounded can feel like being tied down. It’s only natural to want to break free.

You didn’t realize freedom would feel like this.

“Right.” Steve huffs out awkwardly, swinging his car keys around his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shuffles out the door while you offer a weak goodbye. You know you’re letting the cold in by watching him as he gets into his car. You do it anyway.

–

Steve and Dustin have taken to visiting you while you’re on shift at the coffee shop. You’re not sure why. The arcade next door seems much more fitted to their shared interests, but they still come and visit you all the same. Usually, when you come upon them, they’re standing on the other side of the till having a whispered conversation that dies the moment they notice you’re there.

“A latte for me, and hot cocoa for the kid.” Steve says, ruffling the younger boy's hair.

“I’m fourteen!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Maturity. Did you want a coffee? I’m sure our girl over here has some great recommendations.”

Dustin only grumbles in response, muttering insults under his breath. Steve refuses your offer to comp their drinks, paying and dropping his change in the tip jar.

You set both drinks down on the counter when they’re done. One is a simple steaming cup. The other is piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles, decorated with a tiny plastic snowman left over from the holidays.

“Thank you,” Steve says, leaning against the counter. “Y’know, you’re my most favorite barista in the whole world.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only barista you know, but you’re welcome.”

“So, would you be interested in movie night tomorrow?”

“Wow, let me think.” You feign contemplation, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I have a meeting with some venture capitalists but I might be able to squeeze you in.”

“It’s a date.”

“So… you guys are back together?” Dustin darts a confused glance between the both of you, his irises going back and forth as if watching a ping-pong match.

“No!” You and Steve both blurt out at the same time. Then you both take a moment to look at each other as if to say, I know why I said no but why are you saying no?

Is it really over?

Dustin, as observant and tactless as ever, gives off a little shrug. You mutter something about needing to go to the back to do inventory. As you’re walking away, you hear Steve say something that sounds a lot like Nice going, doofus!

–

Dustin answers the door when you ring the bell. Steve’s house has the usual suspects for movie night. Max and El are cuddled up together on the floor, practically laying on top of each other. Robin and Nancy are on the loveseat to the left, so wrapped up in each other that they barely even register your arrival. You presume that the sounds coming from the kitchen are Mike, Will, and Lucas, no doubt making one too many bowls of popcorn in the microwave.

Steve is sitting, his arm draped over the back of the couch. Before, there would’ve been no questions as to where you would sit. The empty couch cushion practically had your name on it. You would’ve already bounded across the room and snuggled up to the boy that felt like home.

You search the room for another option, but come up empty. Unless you want to pointedly avoid sitting next to him by crashing on the floor with the kids, which would undoubtedly draw attention to the very thing you want to ignore.

Taking a seat next to Steve, you toe the line between platonic distance and romantic distance.

“What’s on tonight?” You ask no one in particular.

“The Princess Bride.” Lucas replies, coming from the kitchen with a bowl of fresh popcorn.

He barely gets a chance to put it down before the three other boys tumble onto the floor and begin shoveling the savory snack into their mouths. Max and El whine about their lack of civility, yelling at them for having spilled popcorn on the floor before the movie has even started.

“Ah, that’s my favorite!”

“I know.” Steve finally speaks up beside you.

“We’ve only seen it like a million times.” Max says, rolling her eyes and resting her head on El’s shoulder.

“Hey! Little shits who eat my food and use me as a taxi service don’t get to complain about my movie choices.”

“Whatever, Steve.” The redhead remarks, with an unmistakable fondness in her voice.

You settle into your seat. The January cold has seeped into the house and, despite the heating being on full blast, you’re freezing. Steve notices, tugging the comforter in his lap over your frame, enveloping you in a warmth you didn’t realize you missed so much. You murmur a quiet thank you that you’re almost sure goes unheard until he turns, giving you a small smile before returning his attention to the screen.

In order to properly share the blanket, you have to scoot in even closer. You tell yourself that it’s a perfectly reasonable platonic distance, that you used to do this all the time before you were dating. If Steve is experiencing even a fraction of your inner turmoil, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking ahead, paying far too much attention to the film. The palm that would usually come to rest upon your shoulder stays gripping the back of the couch.

Sometime after Buttercup and Wesley enter the forbidden forest, you fall asleep.

It’s hard to make out anything through the dense fog. The trees around you loom large, foliage so lush and thick that it blocks out the sky, making it unclear if it’s day or night. The only light source comes from an oil lamp.

The lamp casts a shadow over the face of the person holding it, emphasizing his strong brow and straight nose. You go to move toward Steve, but you can’t. You’re stuck. Ankle deep in sand, coarse and with the consistency of molasses, that slowly creeps up higher and higher. It takes you a moment to realize; the sand isn’t getting higher, you’re getting lower.

You’re sinking.

Desperately, you begin grasping at anything and everything that might get you out. It’s futile. The more you move, the further you fall. You’re waist-deep now. Steve is still standing there, stone-faced, oil lamp flickering. He turns, walking into the fog and taking the light with him.

You open your mouth, wanting to scream. Needing to scream. But only one word echoes throughout. It does nothing to stop Steve’s retreating figure.

Stay.

“Hey,” Steve is tugging on the sleeve of your sweater. “Wake up.”

The fog dissipates. Feeling slowly returns to your limbs. The first thing you realize is that you fell asleep on Steve’s shoulder. The second thing you realize is that, due to your impromptu nap, the distance between the two of you is practically nonexistent. You recoil, sliding yourself as far away from him as you can. Steve flinches at the sudden movement.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft and comforting, like a childhood blanket that you can’t sleep without. “It seemed like you were having a bad dream.”

You blink your eyes furiously, trying to shake the sinking feeling that has settled deep into your stomach.

“Where is everyone?” You ask, avoiding his question. The once lively living room is now empty. Remnants of movie night surround you in the form of stray pieces of popcorn and a nearly empty tub of Red Vines.

“They all went home about twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed so comfortable. I didn’t wanna wake you.” He shrugs, saying the next words gently. “Are you having nightmares again?”

Before, you would tell him yes. You always talked to Steve about your nightmares. Most of the time he was there to witness them firsthand, waking up to your shouting and thrashing. Some nights, he would be able to coax you back to sleep with soothing words and tender touches. Other nights, he would stay up with you for hours, talking about nothing. The next day, the deep bags etched under his eyes would serve as another reminder of just how tiring you could be.

“I’m fine.” You wipe the corner of your mouth, cringing at the slight dampness you find there. Great. Not only did you fall asleep on Steve but you also drooled on him. “I think it’s time for me to head out.”

Leaping from the couch, you get to the foyer in record time. Your shoes are already halfway on before Steve appears, standing in between you and the door.

“You don’t have to. You know the guest room is always made up for you if you want it.” He bargains.

“I— I have to go. I’m sorry. Goodnight Steve.”

“Please, you’re tired. At least let me drive you.” He’s practically pleading, already moving to grab his car keys.

“Just let me go, Steve!” Your outburst echoes throughout the empty house.

Steve takes a step back away from you. “I’m sorry.”

Regret washes over you like a tidal wave. You can feel yourself being ripped under the current. You curse yourself, not for drowning, but for dragging Steve down with you.

“No, don’t apologize. Fuck, I’m sorry. I just—”

“Have to go?” He supplies.

He sounds dejected like this is another battle with you that he’s already resigned himself to losing. You fumble through another apology, another goodbye.

You don’t dare to look behind you as you make your way to your car. It isn’t until you’re halfway down your street that you spare a glance at your rear-view mirror. Steve is still standing there, the door wide open.

You don’t know why you keep having dreams where you ask Steve to stay.

You’re the one who is always leaving.

—

“She was totally flirting with you!” You scream whisper, keeping in mind that the diner is mostly empty aside from the loyal patrons that come in every weekday for a hearty serving of beef and potatoes.

Steve showed up to the coffee shop today, sans Dustin, asking if you’d like to grab a bite to eat after your shift. You obliged, hoping to make up for your outburst from the other night. He still hasn’t mentioned it. For your sake, you hope that he won’t.

“No, she wasn’t.” You thought Steve’s obliviousness when it came to romance only extended to you. Apparently, you were wrong because he was completely ignoring the way that the waitress was batting her eyelashes at him.

“Yes, she was!” You take a fry from the basket and Steve pushes his strawberry milkshake toward you, already knowing that you were going to subject him to the gross combination and he might as well get it over with. “Y’know, if you wanted to ask her out you could. Don’t let me hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back. Anyways, isn’t it weird, having your ex-girlfriend be your wingman?”

“I’m still your best friend. Besides, you totally helped me out with Brandon so I just thought I’d return the favor.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, causing you to furrow your brow at him. Despite having loved him for a long time and having known him for even longer, his inability to read a room knows no bounds.

“Last week at Family Video?” You utter the words with slow precision, but recognition fails to make its way across Steve’s face. “Brandon Clayborn asked you for horror movie recommendations and you sent him to me.”

“And he asked you out?” Steve gapes at you from over the rim of his milkshake. The idea of grabbing the glass and slogging the pink confection at him crosses your mind, but instead, you clench your fists at your side.

“Is that so unbelievable?” At your response, Steve’s brows pinch together. He toys with the wrapping paper of his straw, folding it over and over again.

“And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“Oh.” Steve finally stops fiddling with the piece of paper. It’s shredded to pieces in a pile in front of him. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the bulging leather wallet. “I’ll be right back.”

With that, Steve slides out of the booth and walks up to the counter. The giggles of the waitress can be heard throughout the diner. You turn toward the window so that you don’t have to see her scrawl her number on the receipt, and you catch your muddled reflection. You don’t know if you look like you’ve seen a ghost or if you’ve become one.

–

Due to unforeseen circumstances, your second date with Brandon had to be rescheduled. A literal rain check. He’d sputtered out numerous apologies over the crackling phone line, saying how the picnic he had planned didn’t account for a torrential downpour. You promised him that it was fine, that you didn’t even wanna leave the house in this weather. You didn’t think anyone would want to leave the house in this weather, which is why you grew shocked at the sound of the doorbell ringing.

Then you promptly remember that this is Hawkins and that anyone or anything could be behind that door. Grabbing the old wooden bat you keep under the couch for emergencies, you inch toward the door. The frantic ringing of the bell matches the beat of your heart. Peering through the peephole, you sigh in both relief and frustration before flinging the door open.

“Are you insane?!” You practically scream at the soaking wet boy. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Steve stands in the threshold, shaking his head like a dog would to get all the water out. You flinch as the droplets inevitably fall on you. The fine mist and wind that he’s brought in with him chill you to the bone.

“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly.

“How did you even manage to get this wet in the twenty feet from the street to the porch?” You ask, peering behind him to look for the familiar maroon vehicle. It isn’t there.

“I walked here.”

You balk at him. Sure, Steve has been known to act recklessly from time to time, but never without reason. Instead of taking the time to berate him for being so stupid, you take one look at the soggy shivering boy and shut the door, turning on your heel towards your bedroom. You don’t need to look behind you to know that he’s following you.

“C’mon, you’re gonna catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes.”

You rummage through your drawers, managing to find a t-shirt and sweatpants that you had stolen from him long ago. Now is as good a time as any to give it back, right? Stuffing the items in your arm, you thrust them into Steve’s hands and direct him to the bathroom. He doesn’t need direction. He knows the floorplan of your house just like he knows you–all too well.

While Steve is in the bathroom, you go to shut the drawers that you had left open in the rush to find him something to wear. The bottom drawer has always had a problem, getting stuck at the most inopportune moments. Lifting it just a little, you slam the drawer back into place which causes the contents on top of your dresser to shake with the force. The silver picture frame falls on its face and you go to place it right side up.

It’s a photograph of the two of you from last summer. Robin had pointed the camera at you and at the very last second Steve grabbed you and placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal in delight. The memory stings. You almost want to put it face down again so that you don’t have to be reminded of what once was. Instead, you’re interrupted by the sound of a lock turning and quiet footfalls on carpeted floors.

The moment Steve steps into your bedroom, you’re drenched in nostalgia. It’s been months since you’ve seen him like this–standing in his pajamas in your bedroom. It’s moments like this that are the hardest. The ones where you can feel how everything and nothing has changed. It feels like relief and restriction.

You realize you’re still standing in front of the dresser and go to sit on your bed. You need to put space between you and Steve. He has this insane gravitational pull and you know that if you stay around him like this for too long, you’ll end up back in his orbit.

He steps cautiously around the room like he’s afraid of stepping on a landmine. One wrong move and everything could blow up. Standing in front of the dresser, he takes the dreaded picture frame into his hands. He’s still using a towel to dry his hair when he finally speaks.

“It’s a good picture.” He says, simply. The pads of his thumbs wipe away the layer of dust that coats your sunbleached faces.

“It is.” You manage to choke out. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He places the picture frame back down on the dresser. It’s perfectly angled towards you. The ghost of your smiling face taunting you in your own bedroom.

“It’s funny, y’know?” Steve lets out a mirthless laugh.

“What is?”

“We broke up and the only person I wanna talk about it with is you.”

All of the air has been sucked out of the room. Steve has always been good at taking your breath away.

“I mean, I get it. I get why we broke up. I do.” He lets out a deep breath before continuing on, not giving you a chance to interrupt. “Except, I don’t. I can’t wrap my head around how one day we were fine and the next day we weren’t. I know that I’m not good enough for you–I’ve always known that. I guess I just wanna know when you finally figured it out.”

His words make you ache. A tightness blooms in your chest and spreads all the way down your arms to your trembling fingertips. You want so badly to reach out to him. He’s on the other side of the room but he might as well be on the other side of the world. You don’t know how to bridge the ravine that you’ve put between the two of you. You know for him you’d make the leap, uncaring of the abyss below. The thought scares you so much that your fists tangle in your bedsheets, hoping for something to keep you from falling back in.

“The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you weren’t good enough for me. You’ve always been good enough, Steve.”

You can tell from the shake of his head that he doesn’t believe you.

“I thought that maybe you just needed a little space, a little time. Then I have to watch you go on dates and move on like it’s easy. Like the fact that we’re not together anymore doesn’t eat you up inside.”

“It’s not easy! It’s killing me!” Tears collect in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I don’t know why I can’t just be happy with you. I want to be happy with you.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Steve begs, his question punctuated by a boom of thunder and a flash of lightning.

You found solace in the eye of the storm. Once the storm passed, you didn’t know what to do with the wreckage. Calm didn’t provide comfort. Instead, it only reminded you that there was likely another storm to come. Steve has always been better at picking up the pieces and patching things up. You didn’t want to become just another thing he had to fix. So, you pushed him away.

He still came back.

This time he brought the storm with him.

“I’m afraid that the minute I actually enjoy everything, it’ll all get taken away from me.” You confess, roughly wiping away your tears.

Steve crosses the room and kneels in front of you. His hair is still slightly damp, a stray strand hanging in front of his forehead. You brush it out of the way and he catches your wrist, placing a kiss in the palm of your hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He murmurs, lips still brushing your skin. He says it like a promise. You wish the words were tangible, that you could close your fist around them and hold them close. “Tell me what I can do to fix it.”

The words simultaneously endear and exasperate you. Here is this boy who loves you, sitting in front of you telling you to let him love you. Here you are, about to tell him that he can’t.

“What if you can’t fix it, Steve? What if I’m unfixable?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he takes both of your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Then I’ll still love you anyway.”

Steve looks up and the clouds part. You’ve been so caught up in your doom and gloom, that you’d forgotten what it felt like to see the light of day. You lean down, closing your eyes, pressing your forehead to his.

“Why?” The question comes out watery and wanting.

“I can’t help it.” He breathes out.

You understand the feeling.

You bridge the gap, uncaring of the abyss that lies below. You’d fall through eternity if it meant you got to do it with him. His lips feel exactly like you remember them–like home. He kisses soft and slow, hands anchored at your hips as if to prevent you from floating away. When you break apart, both of you gasping for air, there’s uncertainty in his eyes. It fades away as soon as you lean back on the bed, pulling at his sleeves and dragging him with you.

The night is composed of soft apologies and even softer sighs, accompanied by the din of rain against the roof. It isn’t until far into the night that the storm finally subsides, leaving the pavement to glow in the morning sun.

Waking up next to Steve is a revelation. You don’t know how you ever survived without it. He’s all sleepy smiles and tired eyes, drowsily pulling you closer to him. Resting your head on his chest, you’re soothed by the rhythmic thump of his beating heart.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to walk in the rain just to say that you wanna get back together. You’re so dramatic.” You joke, hoping that it isn’t too soon to start poking fun.

His chest rumbles with laughter, the reverberations quelling your fears.

“In my defense, it wasn’t raining when I started walking.” He says, voice still thick with sleep. “Besides, you love it.”

You smile contentedly to yourself, not offering up a response besides a hum of agreement. He’s right. You do love him. Rain or shine.

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atlabeth · 8 months

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(they all say that) it gets better | luke castellan

bleedin' me dry for context (this is that reader's origin story!!)

summary: a look into your unclaimed year.

a/n: does it still count as fluff if you already know it doesn’t end well? idk but i’m having fun writing for this pair so it’s okay. i hope you guys are enjoying reading them!! this ended up becoming a hell of a lot longer than i thought it would be but these kind of one shots are my faves to write lol

title from teenage dream by olivia rodrigo bc apparently guts teenage angst works very well for a demigod who feels like they're worthless and unwanted for a good period of time!! shoutout to the gods

wc: 11.4k JESUS

warning(s): fem!child of demeter reader. typical anger at the gods, but luke is actually pretty sweet! crazy. mostly hurt/comfort, reader is going through it at the beginning (mentions of injuries and almost dying), honestly she's going through it the whole time but luke is very nice to her lol. barely proofread bc proofing 34 pages is a nightmare !!

It was your first day as a demigod and you were already off to a bad start.

You didn’t remember much, obviously. There was a lot of stumbling, barely held up by your satyr as you crossed the border, and then full on collapsing. Somehow you managed to stay conscious all the way to the infirmary, enough to hear shocked murmurs from the people-like blobs around you and terrified, whispered affirmations from your satyr as he ran along with whoever was carrying you.

You didn’t remember much. But you do remember thinking what a shameful existence it would be to die at fourteen.

And now you were sitting in an uncomfortable cot, staring at the wall and counting divots. The first half of your visit was only there in flashes as you drifted in and out of consciousness, but now, unfortunately, you were fully awake. You belatedly wondered how many other kids began their camp life with a stay at the infirmary.

The thought was dashed from your head as you jolted and cried out in sudden pain, and you shot daggers with your glare at the boy next to you.

“Sorry.” The boy fixing you up was about your age, and he almost seemed to glow from within. “You dislocated your shoulder—I was popping it back into place.”

“You could have warned me,” you seethed.

“I did,” he said, and when he placed his hands on your shoulder they actually did glow. “You just weren’t listening.”

“...Sorry,” you said after a moment. “I’m having a rough day.”

He shook his head with a slight smile. “It’s expected.”

“It’ll be okay,” your satyr said, and some of the tension left your shoulders as you looked over at Tate. He’d been by your side for the past two weeks of disasters, and you’d saved each other’s lives more times than you could count. You were just thankful he didn’t have to watch you die. “Jace is one of camp’s best healers. You’re in good hands.”

You nodded, not wanting to cause any more problems, so you bit your lip and bit your tongue and let him heal the rest of your injuries in silence. He was done soon enough, and you could feel both their eyes on you as you rifled through your backpack. Thankfully, Tate brought it in as you were dying. Your own blood stained the nylon.

“How do you feel?” Tate asked anxiously.

“Better,” you said, tearing your eyes away from it as you continued making sure all your belongings were still there. “A lot better. Not like there’s much competition.”

Tate chuckled, and Jace picked up a small bag from the bedside table and handed it to you—it looked like there were little pieces of fudge inside. “Here.”

“What’s this?” you asked as you took it.

“Ambrosia,” he said. “Wait a few hours before you have a piece, and only have a little if you feel a lot of pain. I already gave you nectar while you were out, and the last thing we need is you burning up.”

You looked at Tate with raised eyebrows and he smiled a bit. “Ambrosia and nectar are the food of the gods. It heals demigods in small portions, but take too much and you’ll get a fever. Worst case scenario, you’ll literally burn up from the inside.”

“Oh,” you said, and you stuffed the bag into your pack before zipping it up. “I’ll… I’ll wait.”

“Probably a good idea,” Jace said, and he looked over at your satyr as he stood up. “I’ve gotta get back to my sword-fighting lessons. Can you give her a tour?”

He shook his head. “I have to debrief with Chiron and Mr. D. There were some… rough things on the road.” Tate looked at you. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes— are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“It’s fine,” you said with a smile. “Do your thing. I’ll look around some, then we’ll find each other later.”

Tate nodded thankfully and went through an open door opposite your bed, and Jace gave you a tight smile as he started to put away all the medical supplies he used on you. You sighed, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked out.

You shut the door behind you and blinked rapidly as you tried to adjust to the sunlight. Then, you heard someone sigh.

“Thank the gods you’re okay.”

You turned to see a boy standing up from the wall. Dark curls hung just above his eyes, a contrast to his tanned skin, slightly red from exertion. He was wearing the same bright orange shirt that your healer was—Camp Halfblood, it said in curved text. He was far too pretty for his own good.

“I’m the one who carried you in,” he said, and you realized you were frowning. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” you said. “That’s… that’s nice of you.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve gotten someone new,” he said. “Even longer since they’ve had such a dramatic entrance.”

You shrugged. You didn’t exactly know what to say to this boy. “Sorry.”

He paused for a moment, and then he nodded. “Not one for conversation. That’s fine.”

“I did almost just die,” you said wryly. “I’m fresh out of icebreakers at the moment.”

“Maybe I can help with that.” He held out his hand. “Luke Castellan. Head Counselor of the Hermes cabin, and apparent rescuer of damsels.”

You huffed a laugh as you stared at him. “I’m a damsel?”

“I’d say you were in as much distress as someone could be back there,” he said with a shrug. “I practically saved your life. I think that deserves a handshake.”

The slightest bit of tension dissolved from your shoulders and you shook his hand. His smile grew.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, dropping his hand. “You were pretty rough when I found you.”

“Better,” you said, though you grimaced a bit as you tested your shoulder, and you decided to switch your pack to your other side. “Whoever that guy in the infirmary is, he’s good.”

Luke nodded. “Son of Apollo—they’ve got healing abilities. Very useful when we’re all constantly getting injured.”

Your brows knit together. “So it really is all real.”

“You were nearly dead on our doorstep, and from those claw marks I’m guessing it wasn’t just a bad fall.” Luke offered a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ve known it’s all real for a while.”

“Of course,” you said. “It’s just weird to really know that it’s all real. To see all of you, really. Just knowing I’m not alone.”

He nodded. “That’s the best thing about it, knowing you’re not alone.” He looked around at your surroundings—various campers chatting as they walked with each other (some glancing at you as they went by), distant shouts and cheers, and a perfectly blue sky matching the perfectly blue house you just left.

“I’d say the worst thing about it is feeling like I still have no idea what’s going on,” you said. “Unless the gods exist just to be deadbeats. That’d be disappointing.”

Luke actually laughed at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you found yourself smiling a bit. “I can tell we’re gonna get along.”

Your own smile returned—it was like his joy was infectious. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he nodded. “Just… try not to throw the gods’ names around like that. They don’t like to be talked about unless they’re being revered.”

You huffed. “Sounds like an interesting place.”

“Camp Halfblood,” he provided, and he gestured around you with his hand. “Keeping young heroes safe for over three millennia.”

“What,” you said wryly, “are you their PR guy?”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “It’s something Chiron likes to say.”

“You’re the second person to mention Chiron,” you said. “Who exactly is he?”

“You haven’t gotten a tour yet?”

You gave him a look. “Come on. You carried me in. You think I could have gotten a tour between then and now?”

“Fair,” he admitted, and he tilted his head. “I can give you one, if you’re so inclined.”

“I said I would wait for Tate,” you said. “He’s my satyr— I figure I owe it to him.”

“C’mon,” Luke said. “He’s meeting Chiron and Mr. D—that’ll take long enough on its own, and if we don’t get out of here soon enough, you’re gonna get dragged into a whole other conversation with them. At least this way, you can get a little bit of downtime before all the lore of this place is dropped on you.”

You bit your lip, and then you sighed and nodded. “Fine. But it can’t take too long.”

Luke smiled and held up three fingers. “Halfblood’s honor.”

You didn’t know where to start.

There were far more people than you expected, not nearly enough beds for all of them, and half were talking and a quarter were fighting and the others were just completely unfazed. All you could do when you walked in was stare.

“You get used to it,” Luke said, glancing over at you. “Everyone’s nice, I promise—just keep a hand on your pockets.”

You frowned. “Why?”

He gave you a crooked smile. “Hermes is the god of thieves. We learn by experience in this cabin.”

Your hands instinctively reached back to the pockets of your jeans, despite the fact that you hardly had anything to your name. “Why do they put the new, naive kids in here again?”

“God of travellers, too—all are welcome.” Luke saw your hand shoot to your pocket and laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone mess with you too much—for now, at least.”

“Oh, good,” you said lightly. “The hazing doesn’t start until later.”

Luke smiled as he continued to guide you through the cabin, nodding to and greeting campers with equal parts names and handshakes as he walked past them. You got just as many stares as Luke did hellos, and your skin crawled at the attention.

“Why are they all looking at me?” you whispered to him.

“Like I said, you’re the first new camper in a while.” Luke glanced at you. “News spreads fast, especially in this wreck of a place.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said , but your grip tightened on your backpack strap. “Just very busy.”

“That’s what happens when they shove everyone in here,” Luke said. “All are welcome means all are welcome—Hermes kids, unclaimed kids, and kids of minor gods.”

You frowned. “Minor gods don’t have cabins?”

“This place is as much for us as it is in honor of the gods,” he said. “Twelve cabins for twelve Olympians. They don’t see it as a problem, therefore we can’t see it as a problem.”

You decided to bite your tongue, but you couldn’t hide your sigh. “I guess I’m gonna be here for the time being.”

He looked you up and down, and all you could think was that you must look like an absolute disaster. “I’m guessing you fall into the unclaimed.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, a sad attempt at a smile. “Yeah, but I just got here—I bet my mom doesn’t even know it yet. Gods are busy.”

“They’re also omniscient,” Luke said wryly. “I’m sure she could have claimed you the second you crossed the border. Your parent could’ve given you a little divine intervention and kept you from nearly dying on the hill.”

“Well, I’m here for now,” you said with a bit too much force, and your nails dug into your palms. “So do you mind showing me around?”

Luke stared at you for a moment before he smiled. “‘Course not. I can also give you a quick tour of camp too, if you haven’t already gotten one.”

You shook your head. “Only the infirmary.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “you heal up well.”

“I don’t think that’s a credit to me,” you said. “I think it’s whatever magical drink that healer gave me while he was trying to bring me back. Tasted like pecan pie.”

“Nectar,” he said as he started walking, and you followed behind him. “Drink of the gods that heals demigods in small portions. It tastes like your favorite food—same as ambrosia.” He stopped in an empty corner and looked at you. “You like pecans?”

You shrugged, suddenly self conscious. “My dad makes it the best.”

“I hope you’ll be able to get the real thing soon,” he said, and then he gestured with a flourish at the same empty corner. “Welcome to your new home.”

You stared at him. “This is the floor.”

“We’re a little overbooked,” Luke said sheepishly. “If it makes you feel better, we’ve got sleeping bags. And this is a top tier corner. Quieter than the others.”

“…Great,” you said. “I feel very welcome.”

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, he sounded like he meant it. “Bunch of unclaimed kids, couple kids of minor gods, couple Hermes kids—it all kinda adds up to a mess.”

“...It’ll be better than camping,” you said, though mostly to yourself as you took your bag off your shoulder and let it thud to the ground.

“Hey,” Luke said, and his voice was softer, “it’ll be okay. With any luck, your parent’ll notice you now that you’re at camp, and you’ll be claimed before you know it.”

“I hope so,” you murmured.

“Luke, who’s the new girl?”

A boy with curls just as good as Luke’s walked up and clapped him on the back, smiling at you in a way that instantly set you at ease. He also wore the orange camp shirt, with long tan sleeves below that he’d pushed up to his forearms. He had kind eyes.

Luke said your name, his own smirk on his lips as he looked back at you. “You’ve probably heard about her dramatic entrance by now, but she’s the newest resident of the Hermes cabin.”

“Unclaimed or your sibling?” he asked.

“...Unclaimed,” you said yourself. You hadn’t even been here for more than two hours and it already felt like your own brand of shame.

He repeated your name with a nod and held out his hand. “I’m Chris,” he said. “Fellow unclaimed kid.”

A little bit less of a scarlet letter, at least. You swallowed your budding insecurity and shook his hand. “Sounds like a shitty club to be in.”

He snorted. “You’re telling me.”

“How— how long has it been?” you asked hesitantly, almost afraid to know the answer.

His lips pressed into a tight smile. “Couple years.”

“Gods,” you murmured. You didn’t know if you’d be able to wait that long. It had been hard enough already growing up without one—if your mother was just out of reach after all this time, you would surely lose your mind.

“Don’t worry,” Chris said, his expression softening a bit. “It won’t take that long for you. I can tell.”

“That’s what Luke said,” you responded wryly. “Do I give off a vibe that says ‘I’m unwanted, but not for too long’?”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “I promise, it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve been the counselor here for a couple months—kids get claimed all the time. I bet you’re next on the list.”

“Maybe,” you said. You didn’t believe it as much as they did—if they did at all.

You heard the door open and your head automatically turned to the noise, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment as Tate came through, slightly out of breath. You stared at Luke—he said thirty minutes at least. He just shrugged.

“I figured you would be here,” Tate said, his chest rising and falling just so as he walked—trotted?—inside. “You didn’t exactly wait.”

You opened your mouth to speak up, but Luke beat you, already putting on a charming smile. “Sorry. We got to talking, and then I offered to show her around the Hermes cabin. Just so she could put her things down, y’know.”

“‘Course,” Tate nodded. “That— that was probably a good idea. Would have been bad if you got lost or something.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you went to pick your bag up. “Luke said you would be talking for a lot longer— I was going to come back after I was done with this.”

Tate shook his head. That nervous energy from the worst parts of the road was back, and you wondered how badly the talk with Chiron and Mr. D went. “No, it was a good idea. Better than you getting lost around camp or caught up with some troublemakers. Thanks, Luke.”

“‘Course,” he said.

“Not sure she’s in much better hands with Luke,” Chris said wryly. “He’s head troublemaker in the cabin of troublemakers.”

Luke just chuckled and shook his head. “It’s her first day. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

You were only able to glance at Luke for a moment before your attention was drawn back to Tate as he gestured outside with his head. “Chiron’s waiting outside. He wants to talk to you some before the tour.”

And now you had to deal with it too. “...Great,” you said. You set your bag back on the ground, in your newly coveted corner.

“It’ll be fine,” Tate promised. “You already went through Hades to get here— he’s not gonna pile on you more. That’s why Mr. D is back at the Big House.”

This time, you did look at Luke. Thankfully, he understood.

“Dionysus,” he explained. “He’s our camp director.”

You blinked. “The god?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “Punishment from Zeus. Not the worst gig, but he’s… interesting.”

“Great,” you repeated, because you didn’t feel like processing that at the moment, and you looked back at Tate. “You’ll be with me, right?”

He nodded. “Not for the talk, but for the tour.”

You let out a loose breath, because it was going to be fine. He was just the authority figure of the one safe place in the world for you, and you were just an annoying kid that had no idea what the hell was going on.

“Great,” you said for the third time. You looked back at Luke. “I’ll see you around?”

He smiled and bowed his head. “Definitely. You do kinda live here indefinitely now.”

You nodded, more relieved than you wanted to show, and you started following Tate out.

You heard Chris mutter something to Luke, and you turned your head in time to see Luke jab him in the side. His head perked up when you laughed, and his whole expression changed as his smile returned and he did a little wave.

You couldn’t help but smile back as you did the same, and you left the cabin with a little pep in your step.

—

“You promise you’ll be safe.”

“Yes, Tate,” you said with a slight laugh. “The worst is already over—you got me here, and we’re both alive. I’m gonna be fine.”

“I know,” he said, and he managed his own smile. “I’m just worried about you. You don’t spend two weeks on the road fighting for your life with someone and not get a little attached.”

“You’ll be back here, right?” you asked. “I know your whole thing as a Protector, but you’ve gotta drop the demigods off too, right?”

“Of course I’ll be back,” he promised. “It… just might be a while. You’re the third demigod I’ve gotten to camp safely, now—Chiron’s trusting me with a bigger mission. It might be a couple months, but I’ll be back.”

“And you’re telling me to be safe,” you said wryly.

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” he said. “You just got here.”

“I know,” you said, and you pulled him into a hug. “Just don’t get killed out there.”

Tate laughed and patted you on the back before he pulled away. “So long as you don’t killed out here.”

“Thanks for everything,” you said with a nod.

“Thank you,” he said, and he gestured at the pavilion with his head. “Now get over there and make some friends. I’ll see you around.”

You hugged him one last time before you reluctantly went off, and you looked back to wave him goodbye before you really started on your way.

Your head still spun with all the information Chiron and Tate had imparted on you—so much about Greek mythology (and how it was all real), ADHD and dyslexia (and how they weren’t just there to make your life harder), your godly parent (who would hopefully claim you within the month) and so much more that you knew you would forget in an hour or two.

And Chiron’s talk. God, it felt more like you were in the principal’s office than anything, even though he was nothing but kind. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed from it all, and though the talk was probably meant to stave some of that anxiety off, it really didn’t.

But you’d always felt out of place all your life. And now you were finally where you were meant to belong—that had to count for something.

Tate had dropped you off at the pavilion—nearly dying had taken a lot out of you, and it just happened to be lunch—and just as you neared the tables and realized you had no idea where to sit, your eyes were drawn to a boy raising his hand and calling your name.

You looked over and saw that it was Luke, the counselor from earlier, and you couldn’t help but smile. True to his word.

You weaved your way through various campers and around tables full of kids to finally stop next to Luke’s table—Chris, the guy from earlier, sat across from him, and they both smiled at you.

“How’d the tour go?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said with a nod. “A little overwhelming, but better than I thought.” You pulled at your new camp shirt, the fabric noticeably brighter than a majority of those around you. “I match now, at least.”

“Orange suits you,” Luke remarked, and he patted the open spot next to him. “Sit down—stay for a while.”

You chuckled as you sat down. You still felt out of place, but at least they weren’t going to hang you out to dry. “Bright orange seems like an odd choice when we’re trying to stay hidden.”

“Probably so Chiron doesn’t lose us,” he joked. “This place is huge, and there’s a lot of us. When the newest camper gets turned around in the woods during capture the flag and nearly dies to a monster, it’s easier to find them.”

You frowned, and you must’ve not been very good at hiding your panic because Chris shook his head.

“Luke, you’re scaring her. She’s already been through enough.”

“Don’t worry,” Luke said, patting you on the shoulder. “Just a little halfblood humor. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you said wryly. “It feels like I nearly died four hours ago and now I have no idea who anyone is or what to do.”

“Not true,” Chris spoke up, and he smiled. “You know us.”

“I’ll look out for you,” Luke promised. “And pretty soon, you’re gonna be good enough to look out for me.”

You let out a long lasting sigh. “God, I hope so.”

—

“You’re not holding it right.”

You adjusted your hold on the hilt, resisting the urge to wipe away the bead of sweat dripping down your forehead and the even stronger urge to hit him.

“You’re still not holding it right.”

Your teeth grinded together as you turned to look at Luke. “Are you gonna actually help me, or just stand there judgmentally?”

“I dunno,” he said. “The weather’s pretty good over here.”

You groaned and moved your non-dominant hand closer to the pommel, shifting your other down as well. “Is this worthy of your approval, Your Majesty?”

Luke chuckled as he walked over to you, and you could feel the calluses on his hands as he adjusted your form with slight touches to your arms. “It is acceptable, my lady, but your posture is not.”

“I don’t know how so many people at this camp like you,” you grumbled. “This is awful, and so are you.”

He smiled. “You’ve been here for two weeks. Give yourself some grace.”

“I’ve spent one of those trying and failing at the most basic basics of sword-fighting,” you said. “I spent the past hour losing to an Ares kid who I’m pretty sure actually wanted to kill me.” You looked over at Luke. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Trial by fire,” he supplied. “You’re still alive, so obviously you’re doing something right.”

“Yeah, probably because you’re here,” you said. “You can’t just kill someone when their counselor’s standing right next to them. It’s bad publicity.”

Luke huffed a laugh and shook his head as he crossed his arms. “Stop talking down on yourself. You managed to make it here with a couple monster attacks on the way—what’d you use then?”

“I started off with a screwdriver I stole from the garage before Tate and I left,” you said. “And then I stole a hunting knife from some outdoor store. Not exactly top-tier.”

“Lotta stealing,” Luke chuckled. “Maybe you are a Hermes kid.”

“They nearly caught me,” you said. “Definitely not.”

“Regardless of thievery, you still survived,” he continued. “You’re not a bonafide swordsman, that’s fine. But you’re resourceful, creative—scrappy in a fight is just what we need sometimes.”

“Great,” you mumbled. “I’m ‘scrappy’.”

“It’s a compliment,” he promised. “If we were all sword-fighters, we wouldn’t get far. Someone like you is gonna do us a lot of good.”

“If I don’t die before I even get out to the battlefield.” You knocked the helmet off of one of the straw dummies with your sword and sighed as it clattered to the ground. “This is the only enemy I stand a chance against.”

“You’re thinking too much about it all,” Luke said. “You’re literally wired for battle—didn’t you feel it during your fights on the way to camp?”

You shrugged. You guess you did—you remember not even taking the time to analyze the situation, just knowing your lives were in danger and finally feeling the ever-present jitters in your bones settle for the first time.

“It was rough,” you finally said. “But… it did feel like I knew what I was doing. Like my body understood it all even when my mind was still a couple steps behind.”

“And that was without training, and with,” Luke huffed an incredulous laugh, “a screwdriver. Just imagine what you’ll be able to do with actual Celestial bronze and actual training.”

“…I think I remember why people like you,” you said reluctantly. “And why I liked you.”

Luke grinned as he stood up. “That’s the spirit.” He picked up the fallen helmet and placed it back on the dummy, then looked at you. “I think I’ve put you through enough suffering. Let’s get lunch.”

“So a compliment was all it took for me to get out of this?” you asked in exasperation, gesturing with your sword as you worked to undo the ties on your armor with your other hand.

“Exactly,” he mused, and he took the sword from you to store it away. “I don’t get nearly enough compliments these days, y’know. Sometimes you end up taking that out on campers that don’t know how to swordfight.”

“Luke Castellan,” you grumbled as you finally got your breastplate off, “you are a piece of work.”

He winked. “Thank you.”

—

You didn’t think you were built for this life.

It was the only thought running through your head as you sat at a crowded Hermes table, absentmindedly picking at fruit with your fork as you stared off into the distance.

You’d been at Camp Halfblood for a month now, but it had already felt like a lifetime.

You’d managed to make a few friends—a Demeter girl who grew you a bouquet of your favorite flowers as a consolation prize for fighting dirty during training; an Athena boy who told you whatever interesting fact popped into his head first every time you ran into each other; the Hebe girl who had the misfortune to have the corner opposite you in the Hermes cabin and showed you skincare tips once in a while.

Throw in a smattering of Hermes and unclaimed kids and a counselor that seemed determined to make you smile, and you weren’t as lonely as you thought you’d be.

You were learning how to fight in your own way. Luke was right—you weren’t a swordsman, but you were damn good up close and personal. He’d taken you to the camp armory, you found a Celestial bronze dagger that spoke to you, and from then on you’d actually been doing well in training.

Your corner of the Hermes cabin didn’t feel as sad anymore, either. Luke took you to the camp store for retail therapy after you nearly burned your jeans off on the climbing wall, so now you had an AC/DC poster (courtesy of the little money you had) and an I ❤️ NY keychain to attach to your backpack (courtesy of Luke’s idle hands).

You were starting to come into your own, sure. You were doing better in training and making friends in the cabin you were stuck in and starting to get used to burning part of every meal, but the most glaring issue of all still hadn’t been resolved.

You still hadn’t been claimed.

And maybe it shouldn’t have been such an issue for you, but how could you not feel shitty? How could you see all the different tables and all the different kids talking and smiling and joking with each other that had parents who cared enough to at least claim them, and not feel unworthy?

Because you did. You felt unworthy, and it didn’t matter how many times you took your sparring partner down or bested the climbing wall or actually hit the bullseye at archery practice—your mother didn’t think you were good enough, so neither did you.

“How’re you doin’, Berkeley?”

You frowned. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Luke as he sat down next to you. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

“Berkeley,” you repeated, finally glancing at him. “That’s not my name.”

Luke shrugged. “I dunno what to tell you. You’re unclaimed. UC. University of California—first one I think of for you is Berkeley.”

You were staring now. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’ve got tons of UCs. I’ve gotta keep track of them all somehow,” Luke said, and he pointed at campers both at your table and walking around as he talked. “That’s LA, Irvine, Davis—the others aren’t here, but you get the gist.” He looked back at you. “Been savin’ Berkeley for someone special.”

“Oh gods,” you said, horrified. “I’ve got to get claimed.”

One of the girls at the table—Irvine?—rolled her eyes as she stood up and flicked Luke on the head. “Be nice,” she said before walking away. All he did was smile.

“Maybe give it to someone else,” you said. “I don’t feel special.”

Luke’s brows creased. “If you don’t like it—”

“It’s fine,” you said. “The name doesn’t bother me. The reason I have it does.”

His eyes softened as he said your actual name. “It’s only been a month. You’ve still got plenty of time.”

You looked across at the Hebe girl you’d become friends with—Marisol, if you remembered right—and hoped that your eyes didn’t show the desperation you felt. “How long did it take for you?”

She offered a sympathetic smile. “Six months. But it probably won’t be that long for you.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” you mumbled. But it had been a month, and you hadn’t gotten a single sign.

“Because it’s true,” Luke urged. “Whoever your mom is will notice you—you’ve been killing it lately.”

“Really,” you said flatly, “I’ve been killing it.”

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t know it because you’ve only got your own experience—you went from nearly dead on our doorstep to taking down most of your opponents.”

“In training,” you said.

“That still counts!” Luke exclaimed. “Y’know, you’re holding yourself back. You’re incredible, but you’re the only one that seems to not notice it.”

“And my—”

“Do not say your mom,” he said, pointing a finger at you. “We’re not talking about the gods right now, we’re talking about you. And you, Bee, are killing it.”

That gave you pause. “Bee?”

“I’m trying to get you back up and you focus on the nickname?” Luke asked wryly.

“Just explain it,” you said.

“Bee shortened from Berkeley,” he said. “Not fully unclaimed, but still something special.”

God, you hated him. You’d been feeling shitty for a majority of your month here, but he always managed to make you smile.

“Sure,” you said.

“And a little annoying,” he added, earning himself a jab in the side as he laughed, “with a bit of a sting.”

“Aren’t you just so clever?” you mused, though you couldn’t help your smile widening.

“It’s in my genes,” he said proudly.

For the rest of a less than exciting lunch, Luke kept you occupied. Whether it was stories of his life before camp, or the couple of months that earned him counselor before you got here, or getting the other campers at the Hermes table to talk about themselves, he made sure you didn’t get a chance to spiral.

By the end, your face hurt from smiling

As you finished cleaning up, Marisol turned to you. “Me and a couple other girls were gonna go play volleyball—do you wanna come with us?”

“Yeah,” you said, and your smile grew. “Yeah, I’d love to. Thanks.”

“‘Course!” she exclaimed, and she linked arms with you. “I’d be a fool not to get you on my team after you took down Liam yesterday.”

She continued to talk as she pulled you along, and you looked back at Luke. He chuckled and gave you a thumbs up. “Go get ‘em, Bee!”

You gave him one back, and as you turned back to Marisol, you found that you couldn’t stop smiling.

—

It was two in the morning and you couldn’t stop crying.

You finally had a mattress against your back, and however stiff it was, it was better than the floor. A decent amount of kids got claimed over the past month, and half the cabin left after the summer was over, so you finally had the privilege of a bunk—thankfully, Marisol did too, and she was below you.

At least, until the summer-only campers that all the Hermes kids liked more than you returned. Then it was back to the floor.

Unless you got claimed before then. But that was less likely than being able to muster some good will from your cabin mates.

Because it was embarrassing, truly. You’d been at camp for four months now, and you hadn’t even gotten a single goddamn peep from whoever your mother might be. You just woke up every day on the floor, moseyed about a camp that still didn’t feel like home, burned offerings to a god that didn't want you, and went back to sleep on the floor.

And now you were crying in a bed that was barely even yours and it was two in the morning and you were wondering if it would have just been better for you to die on the road to camp the first time, because at least then your mother might have actually paid attention to you.

“Hey.”

And now you were really wishing you’d died because you’d woken someone up and they’re just gonna hate you more—

“Are you okay?”

You finally turned your head from where it had been buried in a pillow, a laissez-faire attempt to suffocate yourself or maybe just muffle the noise, and you saw Luke Castellan. Counselor of a cabin of thieves, vagabonds, and rejects, and maybe the only person that you didn’t want to see you like this. All that good will, the unearned faith you’d accumulated—this was the easiest way to lose it. His eyebrows were creased, and his whisper held what sounded like concern, but he was required to be concerned.

You nodded, still not moving, still not speaking. Tears rolled down your cheeks and stained the bed sheet.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more believable than that, Bee,” Luke murmured.

“No, I don’t,” you whispered back.

You got the tiniest huff of a laugh out of him, and he gestured towards the closed door with his head. “Wanna take a second?”

“It’s past curfew,” you mumbled.

“And you’re miserable,” Luke said. “You can’t feel any worse getting eaten by harpies than you do now.”

Still, you stared at him.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. “Right outside the cabin. Harpies won’t even know.”

You rubbed a hand across your face, coming away wet with tears, and you realized that he wasn’t just going to leave you like this. So you got up as quietly as you could, careful not to disturb your bunkmates, and followed Luke. He pushed the door open and shut so quietly you wondered how many times he’s snuck out.

The cold air was sobering, and you wiped away more tears before wrapping your arms around yourself. Camp Half-Blood was always supposed to have perfect weather, but you guess not even they were immune to November nights.

“So,” Luke started, and in your peripherals you could see him leaning against the side of the cabin. You could feel his gaze on you, and you just stared off into the distance.

“So,” you repeated.

“You wanna tell me why you’re crying in the middle of the night?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said, because it felt ridiculous that a boy your age was acting like he’s ten years your elder.

Luke chuckled and tipped his head. “Fair. You want to say anything at all?”

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

He shook his head. “I was already up. I’m a light sleeper.”

“Seems rough in a cabin like this,” you said.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” he said. “Did you have a nightmare?”

You frowned, because now it really felt like he was babying you. Luke must have caught on, because he laughed a bit and shook his head.

“Demigods have… extremely vivid dreams,” he said. “Typically horrific nightmares. Sometimes prophetic.”

Your frown deepened. “That’s awful.”

Luke shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. The gods can’t interfere in mortal affairs, so I guess it’s their way of letting us know what’s wrong.”

You shook your head with a sigh. “No nightmares, thankfully. Just… feeling overwhelmed.”

“About what?” he asked. “I told you you’ve been doing great.”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you say it,” you said wryly. “It doesn’t mean I believe it.”

“There’s no reason you shouldn’t,” he asserted.

You huffed a laugh. “It’s been four months, Luke. Four months since I got here after nearly dying in five different states, and I don’t even know who’s responsible for it.”

“Ah,” Luke said. “The unclaimed thing.”

“Yeah,” you said wryly. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Sorry,” he said, and he shook his head. “It’s a bigger deal than that, I know.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” you said. “There’s at least six other kids in there dealing with the same thing as I am, and none of them are waking up their counselor in the middle of the night with their tears.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Luke said with surprising conviction. “Like your feelings aren’t valid. Because they are.”

You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“They are,” he insisted. “A— and you’re not bothering me. We’re friends, and we help each other. I care about you, y’know.”

“I never said I was bothering you,” you said wryly.

“You thought it,” Luke said. “I know you did.”

“...Maybe.” You sighed and shook your head as you looked out at the stars. They really were beautiful here. “I just can’t help but be bitter about all this, and I feel so shitty about it.”

“Would it make you feel better to know you’re not the only one that thinks that?” he asked.

“A little, yeah.” You glanced at him. “No one else seems too bothered that their parents are never around.”

“Most of them have accepted that it’s just the way it is,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Have you?”

Luke sighed after a moment of reluctance. “I… I have a complicated relationship with my dad because he was around. It was almost… worse to know him, and then to have him leave.”

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” you quoted.

“I don’t know about that,” Luke murmured. “But it certainly helps to talk about it.”

You glanced over to see him gazing off into the distance, a look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place. This was the most he’d ever talked about his past to you, you realized—and it still wasn’t much.

“When were you claimed?” you asked after a moment of contemplation.

Luke shrugged. “I never really had to be. Hermes stayed with my mom for a year after I was born, and she told me who he was when I was a little older. I’ve known basically my whole life—he had no reason not to claim me as soon as I got to camp.”

“So you’re saying my dad could be keeping secrets from me too,” you said.

“He might not know,” Luke said. “A lot of times, they don’t talk about it. Sometimes, we don’t find out until a monster’s trying to kill us on a field trip.”

You huffed. “What a great existence we’ve been blessed with.”

Luke smiled, though it was tighter than usual. He let out a deep breath, then fully turned to you.

“Do you have your dagger with you?”

You frowned. “It’s under my pillow. Why?”

“Under your—” Luke stared for a moment before he laughed and shook his head. “A little paranoid?”

You shrugged. “You said it yourself. You’re a cabin of thieves.”

“True,” he admitted. “How’d you like to get some of this emotion out?”

“We’re sneaking out even more?”

“It’ll be fine,” Luke promised.

“You always say that,” you said. “Eventually, it’s not gonna be true.”

He laughed and gestured at the door. “Get your dagger. We’re gonna make this a very bad night for some mannequins.”

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

You huffed as you ripped your dagger out of the dummy, a few strands of straw coming out of the new hole you’d torn in its forehead, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. “Are you kidding? This was a great idea.”

“Not this part,” he said. “The ‘being alone with you during a rage’ part.”

“I’m not in a rage,” you muttered as you slashed at the breastplate, “I’m blowing off steam.”

Luke hummed. “And you thought you weren’t a good fighter.”

You stabbed at the armor again then rammed your fist into its head, and you took a step back as the mannequin thudded to the ground. “I guess I just need to think about my mom before I go into battle.”

“Y’know, Bee,” Luke said, “you scare me sometimes.”

You shook your head, wiping your blade on your night shirt to get any debris off as you turned around. “You’re really gonna stick with that?”

“I told you I’d stop if you didn’t like it.”

“It’s not that. I just…” You sighed and shook your head again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.” Luke crossed his arms. “Everything you have to say matters.”

“Not if I say it doesn’t,” you countered, and you looked at him. “Who do you think it could be?”

“Your parent?” he asked. You nodded.

“Definitely not Apollo,” Luke said. “You’re way too dreary to be a kid of the god of the sun.”

“Gee,” you said dryly, “thanks.”

Luke shrugged. “You asked.”

“Well— who else?” You picked the dummy back up and dusted the armor off. “Athena, maybe? I’m smart.”

“Not smart enough to not be out past curfew with me,” he said.

“You suggested this,” you scoffed. “And I definitely needed it. If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“And why do you think that would work?” he asked, amused.

“You’re the camp’s golden boy,” you said. “I doubt you’d get in much trouble.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding. “Or you just think I’m good enough to talk my way out of it.”

You tilted your head. “That too.”

“I never thought Ares before,” Luke chuckled, “but after all this, I think you might have it in you.”

“God, I hope not. Priya hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Luke said. “She just tried to kill you that one time.”

“And that other time during capture the flag,” you said. “She’s out for blood, Luke.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “She always is. She’s probably already moved onto her next victim.”

“I hope so.”

“Maybe Aphrodite?” he suggested. “You’re awfully pretty.”

You rolled your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Luke corrected.

You huffed a laugh but couldn’t help the slightest smile as you shook your head. “It’s not Tyche, at least. I have the worst luck.”

“Maybe you’re a Big Three kid,” he said. “How do you feel about the sky?”

“I like it,” you said.

“The ocean?”

“Not so much.”

“And the darkness?”

You huffed a dry laugh. “I’m not a Big Three kid, Luke. Even I know that.”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You can never know for sure until you’re claimed.”

“If I was, I would be the biggest disappointment,” you said, looking at your reflection in your dagger. “Breaking their pact for a kid that can barely fight.”

“Why do you always do that?”

Luke’s voice had lost the joking edge from before, and when you glanced over at him, he was frowning.

“Do what?”

“You always put yourself down,” he said. “You don’t even give yourself a chance to believe that you’ll be great, or that you’ll succeed—you’re just a coward, or a failure, or worthless at the first bump in the road.”

“Luke—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I need you to understand that you are so, so much more than whatever that shitty voice in your head says.”

You went silent. Any words you could have even said stuck in your throat.

“This is not an easy life,” Luke asserted. “We’re thrown into an ocean before we know how to swim, and we have to find the shore all on our own or die trying. We—” he laughed, but there was no heart in it— “we’ve got our parents above us that could guide us, could save us, but most of the time they refuse to even acknowledge us. And we’ve got every single goddamn obstacle in the way trying to kill us.”

He inclined his head towards you. “But in spite of all that, you’re alive. You’re still here. You’re pushing through everything in your path, and you are still fucking here. Do you get that?”

“…I’m still here,” you repeated, and your hands clenched into fists. It had never felt more right to have your dagger in your hand.

Luke nodded resolutely. “And you’ve got a couple lifeboats to help along the way.”

“You mean it?” Your voice came out softer than you thought, in stark contrast to the stiffness of your bones, but you felt like a kid all over again.

“With all my heart,” he promised. “For as long as you’re here, I’ll be here.”

Your throat tightened, and the telltale beginnings of tears pricked behind your eyes. This time, when you spoke, your voice was little more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he said. “And I mean that.”

You nodded, maybe a few too many times, and cleared your throat as you looked back at your dagger. “It’s late. We should get back before we actually get in trouble.”

Luke nodded too, and he helped you move the dummy back into place. You hated how your heart jumped into your throat when your hands brushed for the barest moment, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you for this.” You played with your hands as Luke finished putting everything else away—extra insurance to make sure no one knew you were here—and only managed to make eye contact just as he looked at you. “It… it really helped.” More than he knew, you were sure.

Luke smiled, and he offered you his arm. “Always.”

You took it, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Just… don’t tell anyone about the crying.”

He chuckled as you started walking together. “After the way you’ve been handling that dagger? I’d be a fool.“

“Luke,” you groaned, “this is awful.”

“You were the one who said you wanted to spend time with me,” he said, giving you a crooked smile. “Spending time with me after the worst cabin inspection ever means cleaning the place head to toe for our next one.”

“Is skipping dinner really worth it though?” you asked as you scooped up a pile of dirty clothes and tossed it into the basket between you two.

“It’s the only time this place is completely empty,” he said. “I told you I could handle it alone—you’re the one that insisted on helping.”

“Maybe I do want to be a Big Three kid,” you grumbled. “At least I’d only be cleaning up my own mess.”

“You’d also have the wrath of the gods and every monster in the world to deal with,” he said.

You shook your head. “A small price to pay for a clean cabin.”

“And then you wouldn’t get to see me when you wake up every day,” he mused. “A much bigger price to pay.”

You huffed as you dropped to your knees, reaching under a bed to grab a stray camp tee. “Keep talking, pretty boy. It won’t clean the floors.”

Luke grinned. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’ve got the messiest cabin in the world,” you said. “We’ve gotten the lowest rating every day for the past two weeks. I’ve been here for seven months now, and I don’t think we’ve ever gotten a full five.”

“Which is why you’re helping me!” he said. “Because you’re as sick of scrubbing the pegasi stables as I am.”

“You’re the counselor here!” you exclaimed. “You’ve gotta whip your siblings into shape.”

Luke gestured at you. “You’re basically my co-counselor. It’s just as much your responsibility.”

“And just what makes you think that?” you marveled.

“You’re the person in the cabin I like the most,” he said, “and we spend a lot of time together. That’s enough to make you my partner.”

“My stuff is always clean,” you said. “It’s you and the rest of the Hermes kids that’ve gotten us stuck in the stables and the kitchens every afternoon. Not me.”

You started remaking the unmade bed—would it kill any of the Hermes kids to make theirs right after they got up?—and shook your head. “It’s just not fair. Aphrodite’s cabin is basically Barbie’s Dreamhouse, and Demeter kids can grow plants to make it all pretty. We’ve just got a cabin of slobs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but when you glanced at him, you saw he was smiling. “It’ll all be fine.”

“You always say that.” You got the fitted sheet into all the corners then looked at him full-on. “Even when it’s not about something as stupid as laundry. How do you know?”

Luke shrugged as he nudged a ladder to a top bunk back into place. “I don’t. I just hope for the best.”

“How do you do that?” you asked. “How does anyone here do that? I feel like I’m the most pessimistic person here.”

“Every single one of us is an anomaly,” Luke said. “Freaks of nature. By all accounts of logic, we shouldn’t exist. But we do. All of mythology does. And when we have to literally fight for our lives for every single day, it doesn’t do much good to sweat the small stuff.”

“All I do is sweat the small stuff,” you grumbled, and you stretched your back out before you continued. “D’you think they’ll get annoyed that we just pooled all their laundry together again?”

“Nah,” Luke said. “If they didn’t want to have to pick all their stuff out after we so graciously do the laundry for them, they would keep their things clean in the first place.”

You chuckled and shook your head as you finished laying out the sorry excuse for a comforter—it would end up on the floor five seconds into the night, but Sisyphus and the boulder and all that—and sat down on the fruits of your labor. “I think this mess is the one thing I won’t miss when I get claimed.”

“You’re not as down about that as you used to be,” Luke noted.

“You know how they say a watched pot never boils?”

He actually laughed at that as he leaned against a bed post. “If you don’t care, you’ll get claimed faster?”

You shrugged. “Nothing else has worked. And like you said—don’t sweat the small stuff, right?”

“Like you said— all you do is sweat the small stuff.”

“Maybe I’m gonna try and turn over a new leaf,” you mused.

“I think that would be good for you,” he said. “You’ve been happier lately. It’s good to see you happy.”

“You’ve been watching?” you asked wryly.

Luke smiled. “You know I always am.”

You ignored the warmth stirring in your chest as you shrugged. “I’ve spent way too much time this year being sad over things I can’t control. Might as well start focusing on the things I can.”

“And to think,” he mused, “this is the same girl that wanted nothing to do with me when we first talked.”

“Oh, please,” you said dryly, “I’ve always wanted something to do with you.”

“And you still understand that flattery gets you everywhere,” Luke said with a grin. He pushed himself up and held out his hand. “C’mon—this place is clean enough. I think if we run, we can still make dinner.”

“Think we’ll get in trouble for partially skipping?” you asked as you stood up and took his hand, swinging your intertwined hands a bit as you walked together.

Luke chuckled as he pushed the door open and you walked out. “After the work we did here? We should be hailed as saints.”

“Luke,” you whispered.

His eyes shot wide open as he jolted up, and you had to stifle your laugh at his bewildered expression before he realized it was you.

He said your name groggily, rubbing his eyes as he kept himself propped up with his other arm. “What d’you need?”

“The stars,” you said. “They’re beautiful tonight.”

“So are you,” he mumbled. “You don’t see me waking you up in the middle of the night to tell you that.”

“Luke,” you said, but you couldn’t help your smile. “On topic.”

“The stars,” he said, barely nodding in his addled state. “Good for them. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“No, Luke—” you laughed softly and took his hand. “Come stargazing with me.”

He closed his eyes, but he didn’t take his hand away. “You’re insane.”

“Please,” you said. “I could never see the stars at home, not like this. They’re brighter than I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s so late,” he complained. “Can we do it in the morning?”

“Do you know what stargazing is?” you asked, amused.

“Hey, lovebirds.” The annoyed, tired voice of a camper rang out as they hit the wall. “Take it outside so we can sleep.”

Again, you had to bite back a laugh. Luke looked like he was holding back a groan, but he got up anyway, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes. You moved to the door as quietly as possible, and you waited until he joined you on the small porch.

“Thank you,” you said, hearing the door close, “and sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Luke covered up his yawn as he held a jacket out for you. “Put this on. I’m not gonna be responsible for you getting a cold because you want to stargaze in February.”

Your eyebrows rose as you took it. “Is this yours?”

“Don’t think too much into it,” he said, but he had the slightest smile on his lips. “You wanna see the stars, right? Let’s see ‘em.”

“Not here,” you said, shaking your head as you zipped up the maroon hoodie. You held out your hand once you finished. “Do you trust me?”

“Oh, gods,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “We’re doing a trust exercise too?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you remarked. You took his hand and started dragging him along, a clear spot in mind.

“You’re kidding me,” he said in exasperation. “I thought we were just gonna look at the sky for a couple minutes— you’re taking me to a second destination?”

“Hey,” you said, “don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to use that on the harpies when they catch us and eat us,” Luke said offhandedly. “‘I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re really trying not to sweat the small stuff.’”

You laughed as you continued on your way, and out of the corner of your eye you could see Luke smiling too, despite himself. Suddenly, though, his grip tightened on your hand and he pulled you behind one of the thicker columns of the pavilion.

“Wh—”

He shook his head then gestured with it to the other side of the pavilion. One of the harpies—Aello, if you remembered correctly from Chris’s rant the past week about cleaning dishes—was walking past, muttering things to herself.

“Speak of the devil,” you marveled. You definitely weren’t a child of Tyche.

Luke gave you a look that quite clearly said be quiet, and for some reason that only made you want to laugh more. He must have seen that glint in your eye that he’d grown used to, because he placed his hand over your mouth right before the dam was about to burst.

You squeezed his hand tight as you tried to keep yourself from blowing your cover while Luke occupied himself with actually watching to make sure your path would clear. You were pressed right up against each other, and even through the jacket, even in the cold, you could feel his body warmth. He did say he ran hot.

Eventually, Luke let out a labored sigh and let his hand drop, and you wheezed, nearly doubling over.

“There is something wrong with you,” he said. He was barely able to hold back his own amusement.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “that was awful.”

“That was your fault!” he exclaimed.

“How was it my fault?” you argued. “You’re the counselor here—you’re meant to be the responsible one!”

“I was being responsible!” Luke laughed again as he ran his hand through his hair then used it to gesture at you. “You were the one that nearly got us caught—you were the one who wanted to be out here in the first place!”

“Right,” you said, pointing your finger, “we gotta get to the beach.”

“Stargazing on the beach,” Luke marveled. “Definitely worth nearly getting eaten.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said as you continued to pull him along. “You could’ve said no.”

He squeezed your hand for a moment. “We both know I can never say no to you.”

Once you got to the beach you let go of his hand and laid down, taking care not to get sand in your sneakers. Luke sat down next to you but stayed up, watching the tide go in and out.

At night, without a hundred campers running around making all the noise they can, you actually felt like you could breathe.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” It almost felt wrong to break the sacred silence, to insert yourself in the ambiance of nature working together in all its glory.

“Yeah.” Luke’s voice was softer than usual, that rough edge you’d grown used to absent in the face of calmer seas. “Yeah. It’s…”

“Serene,” you suggested.

“Beautiful,” he said. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you.

“Very smooth,” you said wryly. “Now stop flirting and look at the stars.”

Luke chuckled lightly as he let himself fall back. His hand bumped yours as he adjusted his position, and your breath caught in your throat for the barest moment. You moved it away.

The two of you laid there together in silence gazing at the stars for what felt like forever. The gentle waves coming to shore then leaving, the scattering of sand from quiet winds, and not a single angry car horn or police siren.

You missed home, the city. You were headstrong in your belief that Detroit was better than New York. But gods—sometimes, you just couldn’t beat camp.

You didn’t know what possessed you to break the silence. But something had been tugging at you since the moment you laid down on the beach, and so you did.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Luke didn’t miss a beat. “Always.”

“I…” you trailed off for a moment, but you bolstered yourself. “I’m scared of what comes next.”

You heard Luke shift in the sand and felt his eyes on you. “What do you mean?”

“After this,” you said. “The honeymoon phase of being a demigod.”

He huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t say we have a honeymoon phase.”

“You know what I mean.” A shiver went down your spine and you put your arms on your chest. Like a coffin. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I think you need to stop getting up in the middle of the night,” he said. “It seems you have all your existential crises then.”

You exhaled out your nose, a sorry excuse for a laugh. “I’ve heard about quests—how they can happen for no reason except a god’s will, to— to prove that you’re worthy. And all I can think about is that my mother will never claim me until I prove I’m worthy or die trying.”

Luke was silent. You could feel your throat closing up, the threatened onslaught of tears. You blinked them back.

“All my life, I have never felt seen,” you murmured. “And I’m terrified that the only way I will be seen is when I die.”

“Look at me.”

You turned your head—Luke’s eyes were piercing in the moonlight.

“I don’t care what anyone says, especially that voice in your head—you’re worth everything and more,” he said. “And you are worth so much more than becoming a martyr for a god’s approval.”

“I wish you could tell my mom that,” you mumbled.

“I would march right up to Olympus and say it to her face,” he said. “And if it bothers her that much, she can smite me right now.”

That got a breathy laugh out of you from the pure absurdity. Luke’s eyes flicked to the sky as he waited, and when he didn’t instantly die a horrific death, his gaze went back to you.

“I see you,” Luke promised, his voice low. “And I’ll make everyone see you the way I do. I swear it.”

You were starstruck. You couldn’t look away from him, from the determination etched into each detail of his face, the softness in his eyes directed wholly at you—the fact that he was here at all in the first place at an unholy hour just because you asked.

Oh gods. You were in trouble.

“It’s late.” You finally managed to break the spell that held you under. “We should go.”

“Yeah.” Luke made no motion to move, still focused wholly on you.

“Luke,” you whispered.

You could have sworn his eyes moved down to your lips, but he was sitting up so quickly that you knew you must have imagined it. You cleared your throat as you followed suit, brushing the sand off your—his— jacket.

“This was nice,” he said after a moment. “...Thanks for waking me up.”

“Of course,” you said. “There’s… there’s no one else I would’ve wanted to share it with.”

Luke smiled, and you didn’t think he’d ever looked more beautiful than he did now, awash in the silver moonlight. If you were braver, you would have taken his hand again. You would’ve done what the voice in your head desperately wanted to do—had wanted to do for the past two months.

But you didn’t.

“I guess it was worth nearly getting eaten, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he shrugged. “But most things are worth it when it comes to you.”

You nearly melted right there, and it was a credit to your strength that you didn’t say anything horrifically stupid. Instead, you put on a smile, hoped he couldn’t see how much he was killing you, and started back up on the path.

“C’mon,” you said. “Before we end up having to clean the entire camp for breaking curfew.”

“Whatever you say,” he mused.

You groaned as you slumped into your usual spot at the Hermes table. You heard Luke laugh, and you felt his eyes on you as you put your head in your arms.

“What’s got you so down?”

“I’ve been fifteen for three days and I already feel like an old woman,” you said. “Everything still hurts.”

“Capture the flag was meant to be a birthday gift,” Luke said wryly. “And we did win.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you grumbled. “I swear, some people went after me on purpose just because it was my birthday. I’ve got bruises all over.”

“You know, we have an infirmary for a reason.”

“They’re battle wounds,” you said. You picked up your head just to take your goblet. “Lemonade. Actually, pink lemonade.” You took a sip, but even that didn’t make you feel better. You buried your head back in your arms with a rough sigh. “Signs of our victory.”

Luke huffed a laugh. “Sometimes I really don’t…”

He trailed off suddenly, and you heard a collective gasp go up at the table.

“What?” you asked halfheartedly.

“You— you’re—”

You didn’t know why he couldn’t finish his sentence. You picked your head up to see Luke’s face awash in golden light, his eyes wide. Everyone else at the Hermes cabin was just as awestruck, and Marisol fumbled around in her purse until she pulled out her compact. She opened her foundation, the mirror pointing at you, and you realized why.

A glowing, golden, translucent sickle with a few sheaths of wheat floated above your head. You frowned.

Before you had the chance to say anything, Luke was yelling your name and tackling you in a hug. You let out a grunt of surprise as you barely managed to brace yourself, and when he pulled away he was smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“You’re claimed!” he exclaimed, his hands gripping your shoulders. “You— you’re finally claimed!”

“Demeter,” you said, almost absentmindedly. It still hadn’t quite hit you.

“Demeter,” he repeated, nodding rapidly, that gigantic smile seeming like a permanent feature at this point. “I told you everyone would see you— I told you we would make them see you the way I do!”

The rest of the table was chattering away, and you could feel Chris patting you on the back and saying words that went in one ear and out the other. The rest of the pavilion was starting to catch word, and you could see a couple kids from a table on the opposite end standing up and craning to see. Maybe your new siblings.

(You should be happy.)

Your new siblings.

…Your new cabin.

You could still barely think, like there was static in your brain. Luke’s hands on your shoulders were the only thing grounding you.

(You should be ecstatic.)

A year of tears, silent prayers, and apathetic resolution had finally come to a close, just days after your fifteenth.

(Why are you not smiling?)

You’d been claimed. But you didn’t think you’d ever felt more lost.

#also you may notice. that these include the flashbacks mentioned at the end of bleedin me dry. bc i enjoy hurting people #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #sadie writes

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cas-kingdom · 1 year

Text

The Art of Parenting

A/N: This took a lot of time and motivation to finish, so it isn’t my best, but honestly I’m just glad to have it up and posted at this point, haha. Hopefully you enjoy it all the same.

In my OC’s (reader’s) world, our fave seven are no longer together by the time she officially becomes a member of the BAU. But let’s imagine for the sake of this fic that they are. <3

As usual, reader is Spencer’s sister and this fic is entirely platonic.

Title: The Art of Parenting

Summary: On the jet home, you find Hotch in need of some reassurance. And a blanket.

Words: 2634

As unexpected as it was to see the youngest of the unit walk sluggishly down the jet’s aisle, wrapped from head to way behind your toes in a heavy duvet and clutching two pillows to your chest, nobody could say with certainty that it was surprising.

And, frankly, as sudden laughter and teasing remarks shattered the previously dismal atmosphere of the jet typical after a case, nobody could say it wasn’t appreciated.

Between Rossi’s almost disgruntled “Why’d I never think of that?” and Emily and J.J.’s pleas to toss them both a pillow each, Derek pushed his headphones back and breathed a short burst of laughter.

“Oh, Princess, you did not.”

“It’s an eight-hour flight home,” you stated matter-of-factly, “you can bet your ass I did.”

You sat between him and Spencer, the latter absorbed in a book about insects, and crossed your legs beneath you. With little reluctance, as though you’d been expecting as much, you threw the pillows in the direction of Emily and J.J.. A stream of thanks and praises came your way immediately. Sleeping on a long plane ride home was bad enough, but sleeping after five days of running, shooting, yelling, punching, and powered by nothing but caffeine was rough. A pillow was capable of making that sleep the best damn sleep they’d ever had.

“Y/N—” J.J.’s voice was muffled by the pillow she’d stuck her face in—“you’re my lifesaver right now, and I love you.”

Emily pushed herself up on an elbow. “Do you happen to have a sleep mask back there?”

Derek waved her off and sat forward as you made yourself comfortable, spreading your duvet out around you. “Forget about that,” he said, “tell me you brought enough for all of us.”

A general hush encompassed the jet. Rossi leant forward expectantly, one brow quirked, and even Hotch, thus far silent in his own corner as he bent over a pile of paperwork, paused for a moment, his head tilted to await your answer. J.J. was utterly gone, it seemed, though Emily was still waiting for confirmation of a sleep mask.

You gave Derek a look. Derek clucked his tongue and shook his head, sitting back against his seat. You, because you were you, immediately unwrapped yourself from your blanket burrito and handed him a corner so he could pull it across him. Derek’s teasing look of misery dropped in an instant, and he accepted the corner with a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.” With that, he pulled his headphones over his ears and shut his eyes, sinking down the couch enough that the duvet touched his chin.

“Sooo…that’s a no on the sleep mask?”

“Sorry, Em.”

The jet settled again after a sigh and a wave of the hand from Emily. Soft snores were just about audible from underneath J.J.’s pillow, Rossi had made himself comfortable in his seat, head in the palm of his hand, and Hotch’s momentary distraction had not thwarted his determination to finish his work before you landed. You watched him for a moment, noting the trademark crease in his brow as he hunched over documents.

And the man wondered why he got so many headaches.

“Did you know that a ladybug will prepare for a food shortage by laying infertile eggs for her young to eat once they hatch?”

Spencer hadn’t taken his eyes from his page, completely immersed, and wouldn’t have noticed if his sudden statement didn’t even gain a response. Still, instinctively, you turned away from Hotch and towards your brother, peering in total interest down at what he was reading. “Creepy,” you said.

“Resourceful,” Spencer corrected.

“You’re telling me you’d procreate and go through nine months of pregnancy and hours of painful labour only to give the baby away to be eaten by your other kids once it’s born?”

Spencer looked up. A puckered brow temporarily marred his features. “Actually,” he said, “the time taken by ladybugs to lay eggs after mating varies and can sometimes be as little as seven days or as long as two to three months. Once the eggs are laid they can take between three and ten days to hatch.” There were a couple beats of silence, both of you staring at the other, before Spencer sniffed and turned back to his book. “And I can’t get pregnant.”

Years ago, before and at the beginning of his career, sarcasm had been alien to Spencer. Since then, you were proud to say he’d become one with a few more human traits. Teasing being one of them, as was proven when he glanced at you from the corner of his eye and let a playful smile slip onto his face. You breathed a quiet laugh and leant your head against his shoulder when he snuck an arm around you.

“Your pillows have been taken hostage,” he reminded you. His eyes were still following the words in front of him, but he’d slowed his pace. Still an exceptionally abnormal pace, but normal enough that he could read while talking. He lowered his voice a bit, well aware the rest of the plane, save from Hotch, was deep in sleep. “Do we plan a rescue attempt?”

You hummed. “You’re comfy enough.”

Spencer smiled and glanced at his watch. “How about utilising my comfiness and getting some sleep?”

You rose an eyebrow at his subtlety. “You know I stopped being twelve over ten years ago?”

“One of the parenting books I read when you were little said that parenting is a lifetime job and does not stop when a child grows up.”

You looked critically up at him. “What about you?”

“Uh, I think I’ll stay up for a bit and read.”

Needless to say, you knew when you next woke he’d be beaten by sleep. You shuffled down the length of the couch so you could put your head in your brother’s lap and curled your legs beneath you so that you didn’t accidentally kick Derek.

An as yet undetermined amount of time later, you woke to Spencer deeper in sleep than even you had been. His book still in his hand, so close to the end, the genius was slumped against the side of the couch, head lolling uncomfortably back. He had his free hand on your shoulder, an instinctual thing, and as you blinked away the residual drowsiness you squinted at the watch on his wrist. 2:30 am. You hadn’t been sleeping long.

You sat up, careful not to jostle your brother. Derek was still tucked beneath his end of the blanket, his headphones halfway to falling off. You reached across to gently tug them from him before he ended with an ear cushion in his eye.

Emily and J.J. hadn’t moved from beneath their pillows, and Rossi seemed to have stretched himself out across the opposite couch while you’d been asleep.

The gentle hum of the plane’s engine would have caused you to doze off again if it weren’t for the sight of Hotch, still in his corner and hunched over his work. The man was unbelievable.

After a hefty amount of blinking and rubbing, you let loose another yawn before standing to your feet. You noticed Hotch glance up at the movement, and he offered a tired smile as you walked down the plane’s aisle towards him. You had intended on slipping into the seat opposite him but at a sudden remembrance slowed halfway. Hotch frowned lightly and you pointed a finger at him to wait before walking past him and towards where you’d all stored your bags before flying.

When you reappeared with a second duvet even thicker than the one now spread evenly across Spencer and Derek, even Hotch couldn’t refrain from chuckling. He still held his pen in his hand but let his eyes move from his papers for a moment as he sat back.

“What’s this?” he asked.

You smiled as you passed him the duvet, feeling some sense of victory when he didn’t hesitate before taking it. Sitting opposite him, you watched him settle it around himself. It was some solace to see him visibly relax beneath it.

“I knew someone would need it,” you said. Then, after fleeting reluctance, “How much do you wanna bet I knew that someone would be you?”

Hotch, because he truly was not as harsh as those on the outside would consider the permanent lines in his forehead and coarse glint in his eye to mean, chuckled softly. “Nothing, thank you,” he said, resigned.

You breathed a laugh. “How much longer do we have?” You turned in your seat and stretched your legs out across the length of it, leaning back against the wall. The shutter had been pulled down over the window, but you reached over with a finger to crack it open slightly. No light flooded onto Hotch’s workspace, so you imagined there was still a while to go. It didn’t bother you, of course. You knew there was always the possibility that a new case would land in your faces the moment you stepped off the plane. Any slither of solitude in the confinements of the jet was precious.

“Four hours, give or take.” Hotch was silent for a moment, but you had a sense you were suddenly being scrutinised as you continued to peer aimlessly out of the crack in the window. Keeping your head in place, you flicked your eyes to the side, gaining uneasy confirmation when you noticed his gaze on you.

Hotch rose an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked.

Your eyes involuntarily widened. “Huh?” Hotch let his lips twitch knowingly upwards, and you decided after a moment to reciprocate it. With confidence built up over almost fifteen years in his company, you leant forward and clasped your hands on the table in front of you. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” you said.

He sat back. “I know.”

“I know you know.”

Hotch put his pen down. He absently glanced around the jet, as though assuring himself everyone was still asleep. Then, sighing, he returned his gaze to you. “Jack asked about his mother on the phone this morning.”

You frowned. “I’ve heard Jack talk about Haley before.”

“He has. Really, I encourage it. I wouldn’t want him to forget her. But he…” Hotch hesitated, the words so obviously clinging to the end of his tongue. For as much as he encouraged his team to talk to someone when they were struggling, he certainly didn’t act upon his own advice. Still, the rarity of it and the love you held for him made you the most patient you’d been.

“This morning,” Hotch continued quietly, “he asked specifically about her death.” Another pause, though only so he could take an encouraging breath. “He asked if Haley was shot in the head or the heart. Said he couldn’t remember which.”

You couldn’t say you weren’t taken aback, and Hotch noticed it immediately. He sat up straighter, apprehension entering his posture. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, “I shouldn’t be saying this to you. You don’t need this.”

“Hey.” You shook your head to make sure he knew he’d gotten the wrong idea. “Neither do you. Share the load a bit. It’s okay.”

His gratitude was obvious as he relaxed a bit, sitting back against his seat and staring out the crack in the window. It was still dark, but the light from the moon highlighted the clouds as you passed. He found it easy to focus on them as he arranged his thoughts.

“He’s growing up,” he concluded eventually, “and he’s becoming more curious about his mom…it’s natural, I know, but it’s…”

“Terrifying?”

Hotch shrugged in defeat, yet a smile still pulled at his lips. “I’m not sure how Spencer did it with you,” he admitted.

You lifted yourself slightly to peer over the back of the seat. Your brother was still deep in sleep, utter innocence on his face. You found yourself smiling still when you sat back down to look at him. “You did it too, you know,” you said. At Hotch’s silence, you continued. “It wasn’t just Spence raising me. Of course, he did the majority of it, but I was nine when I met the rest of the team. You all raised me, you all had to let go of the fact I wasn’t a kid anymore at some point. If you can do it with me, you can do it again with Jack, I promise you.”

Hotch hadn’t thought about it like that, but your presence in the team always brought about new angles. It was true that Spencer’s addition to the team had included his younger sister, and it was also true that, whether prepared for it or not, they had all been surrogate parents to you in at least some way throughout your life. They had watched you grow up, imparted their own life lessons, and, yes, at some point, they had had to accept the fact that you didn’t need them quite so much anymore. He seemed to remember his own awakening had been when you’d come into his office at eighteen with a mug of coffee after claiming for years the taste was too bitter. Somehow, seeing you sat opposite him with one leg crossed over the other and occasionally sipping at your latte, realisation had snuck up on him that you absolutely was no longer the nine-year-old he’d used to have to clean chocolate from.

In more ways than one, the reminder soothed his soul, the parts of it aching for his little boy to remain little for just a while longer. He had always been afraid of the process, perhaps because each year Jack grew older marked another year without Haley.

With a hum of acknowledgement, Hotch ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Really. That’s helped.”

“Sometimes you just need a reminder,” you said. “You’ve done it before. Sure, this time will be a little different, but you’ve got the tools to make it work.”

Hotch frowned playfully. “Haven’t I said those exact words to you before?”

“No comment.”

He laughed then, with not much regard to the others sleeping on the plane, before stretching an arm out in obvious invitation. You felt a warmth immediately settle within you as you got up to sit beside him, settling in between him and his arm and accepting the bit of the duvet he passed along to you. You were a creature of habit, and since a child you had always found your comfort in the arms of one of the BAU team members, whoever happened to be closest. Such a comfort had naturally been less sought after as you’d grown older, especially from Hotch, but it only meant each offer from him was appreciated more.

“And don’t worry about Jack’s questions,” you whispered, shutting your eyes. “I remember having the same curiosities about my parents when I was growing up. I just wanted to know more about them, about myself.”

“I have a feeling I’ll be getting more.”

“Hmm.”

“Thanks again, Y/N.”

You yawned, the lull of the plane catching up to you once again. You leaned further into Hotch’s side and absently pat his hand sitting at your shoulder. Already half asleep, you murmured an “It’ll be okay”, not even reacting when Hotch pressed a small kiss to the crown of your head and pushed the documents he’d been working on to the other side of the table. He closed his own eyes, feeling somewhat at peace, with, really, the first of both his kids in his arms.

And if the team’s next go bags were mostly stuffed with pillows, blankets, and sleep masks…none of the jet’s staff ever mentioned it.

Criminal Minds Masterpost

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ellecdc · 7 months

Note

hello!! i came across cbbh a few days ago and im OBSESSED 🩷 definitely one of my faves!!

can i request a blurb about cbbh sirius x reader’s little domestic moments as they raise their family 🥹 tysm 🩷

you absolutely can babes! thank you so much for reading and the request 💖

CBBH Sirius Black x reader - bedtime foul

You moved at the pace of a snail as you closed the door quietly to Aurora’s room, not wanting to wake the girl you had finally gotten to sleep. Trying to get the nearly-five-year-old to go to bed almost made Lyra’s nine-month-old sleep regression look like child’s play.

Almost.

You followed the gentle sound of Sirius’ voice murmuring to the offending infant’s nursery, leaning against the door to enjoy the view.

It was a painfully domestic scene, watching your husband in his band tee and plaid pyjama pants hold Lyra’s small form up near is head as he murmured into her dusting of black hair, looking out of the window into the night as it fell upon Potter Manor.

“And then, Princess Y/N and the brave Knight Regulus jumped out from their hiding spots and defeated the monster, and they all lived happily ever after.” You heard Sirius finish before Lyra grabbed a fist full of his hair and tugged hard before letting out a guttural scream.

“Oh, you poor darlin’. What’s your papa doing to you, hm?” You commiserated with the baby as she reached her pudgy arms out to you. You took her easily into your arms and Sirius, though disappointed at the usurpation, gladly released his grip on Lyra after she relented her grip on his hair.

Lyra, much to your husband’s chagrin, calmed instantly and watched your face as she let out a shuddering breath, tears drying up almost immediately.

Sirius leaned his forehead onto your shoulder from behind you and the three of you rocked back and forth like a boat at sea.

It wasn’t long at all before Lyra’s breathing evened out, and you were almost sorry to have to disturb this little vertical family cuddle that was happening, but you wiggled your shoulder signalling for Sirius to move his head before you went to place the infant into her crib.

You both left the nursery and moved across the hall toward your own room. You closed the door behind you as you let out a breath you weren’t completely aware you had been holding.

“These girls make Draco look like an angel baby. I don’t remember us having such an issue at bedtime with him.” You complained as you moved to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

“It’s ‘cause Lyra hates me.” Sirius muttered petulantly, causing your toothbrush to pause on its way to your mouth.

“Lyra does not hate you!” You argued emphatically. In fact, it could be said that he was Lyra’s favourite person – especially as Padfoot. You’d be damned to admit that to the likes of him, however.

“Sure she does.” He scoffed as he spread moisturizer on his face. “You probably thought I’d been accosting her with the way she started squealing; she’d have you thinking she acted in self-defence.”

“I did not think that. I heard you speaking so sweetly to her!” You said through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Well, if I’m so sweet to her, why does she yank at my hair?” He asked.

You hummed as you finished brushing your teeth and spat into the sink. “Maybe she doesn’t hate you, maybe she just hates your hair.”

The lid to his moisturizer fell to the sink below him as he whipped his body to face you. “Why would you say that?” He interrogated you in a whisper.

You started to chuckle, and he quickly shook his head.

“Babe.” He insisted, “why would you say that?”

Sirius had always had a better poker face than you, and you were nearing full on belly laughter at this point. Sirius remained stony faced, though his lips looked a little tight and his eyes were full of mischief.

“Take that back.” He demanded.

“Hey, you asked.” You said with a chuckle as you left the ensuite and moved towards your bed. You didn’t make it far before Sirius had launched himself at you and you were bearing the brunt of his weight in a very crooked piggy-back-ride.

“Sirius!”

“You take that back right now.” He demanded again as he clung to your form. You were still laughing as you continued to step towards your bed with his feet dragging uselessly against the ground behind you.

As you made it to the bed, you turned your body so that your back - and thus, Sirius - were facing the bed and fell backwards, trapping Sirius under your weight.

Neither of you said anything or made an attempt to move, inhaling deeply at the quietness that seemed to be missing from the Manor all day.

“This hair, Y/N,” Sirius started solemnly. You closed your eyes and started giggling silently which left you basically vibrating from your place on top of your husband. “This is the hair of legends, okay? Generations of Black’s have specifically passed down th-”

“You can say bred. You were bred to have that hair.”

“Specifically passed down the trait for this hair. Okay? It was what generations of Black’s strived for.” He continued slightly louder as if you hadn’t interrupted him at all.

“M’kay, you’re like an F3 goldendoodle.” You stated simply which earned you a pinch in the ribs and an indignant ‘oi!’. “You’re like a GMO.” You continued.

“I beg your pardon!?” Sirius all but screeched.

“A genetically modified organism.; you were genetically engineered. Your ancestors were like mad scientists.” You answered as you placidly rolled off of him and landed face down into your mattress.

“You are so lucky that a) you are all the way over there now, b) so incredibly pretty and the love of my life and c) that I’m so fuckin’ tired right now because I would absolutely beat the crap out of you for that cheek.” He said as he reached his arm over to demonstrate the new-found space between you two, though it didn’t amount to much when his fingers landed on your bicep.

“You’re all bark, Black.”

Sirius sighed dramatically. “You’re right. I’d never.”

You smiled to yourself and the two of you laid there - the top half of your bodies on the bed and the bottom halves hanging off - for a few moments just enjoying the silence.

You both had nearly fallen asleep like that when you heard Lyra wail from her room.

“For fuck’s sake.” You muttered as you stood, pushing Sirius back down onto the bed as he went to do the same. “Stay here, protect that hair.”

Sirius groaned but did as you told. “She better not hate my hair, that little minx is bound to inherit it herself.”

#marauders come back be here #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black blurb #sirius black imagine #sirius black ficlet #domestic Sirius Black #self insert #marauders au #reader insert #ask elle

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crimsonicarus · 17 days

Text

GR RPF FIC REC MASTERLIST!!

Long post!

Big shoutout to @arsenalgbt for suggesting i made a list, here are my fave GR fics, im a multishipper so it will be a couple or ships here, anyway, enjoy!

I wanted to also thank all the authors here listed for their awesome contributions to this lovely fandom, im really grateful for all your work <3333333

If any of the authors here listed would rather have their work taken down from this list please let me know .

new year's resolution by @wormeo-and-juliette

Pairing: OT3 Fernando Alonso/George Russell/Lance Stroll

Lance gets the text from Fernando well into the afternoon on the first day of the year: I slept with George.

Um. What?

eagle eyed by @prettydangrotten

Pairing: OT3 Alex Albon/George Russell/Logan Sargeant

“He’s watching, you know,” Alex says, voice level and conversational, like Logan being in the room is a normal part of this experience, “he’s hard.”

i’m your number one (it’s so obvious) by @63historian

Pairing: OT3 Lewis Hamilton/George Russell/Max Verstappen

“Tell him what you want, Georgie.”

He clenches his hole just as he starts begging, “I need you to come inside me, please, Max, please, I want it so bad.”

And who is Max not to obey such beautiful cries?

positive negatives by @ctimenefic

Pairing: Alex Albon/ George Russell

George doesn’t regret that shoot, exactly.

He had for a long time. After the first high of seeing the rushes wore off; after overhearing a murmured warning in general casting, days too late; after he woke up at three am to reread the release he’d blithely signed without thinking, and spent the next four hours staring at the ceiling hoping to wake up. He’d regretted it then.

For years after, the memory of it could hit like an ice cube sliding down his spine. Always, of course, at the most inconvenient moments. When he was working, or networking, when he needed his wits about him, couldn’t afford to stutter over his words. They’d put him in white silk, or offer him wine, or he’d walk into a room with slow, warm jazz playing, and the whole excruciating mess of it all would come back. He’d learnt how to smile through it, then how not to blink at all.

June is the coldest month of the year by @beabnormal24

Pairing: Max Verstappen/ George Russell

“Just don’t be a stranger, yeah?” It doesn’t sound as empty as George would’ve expected.

Max disappears in Monaco’s breeze with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket and his head turned to the side to look at the coast following him, or it’s him who follows the coast. It’s not that simple to guess when George feels the way he does about him.

He stares at the broad expanse of his back until he’s nothing more than a distant figure just like any other person around and he can pretend that he’s no one in the middle of the world.

The blessing of anonymity, he muses, gripping at the hems of his sleeves.

All of a sudden, his chest feels quiet.

nobody else by ginnydear

Pairing: Alex Albon/ George Russell

The Mercedes garage is almost overwhelmingly busy when Alex walks through the crowds of officials there.

or... what if the world was suddenly plunged into omegaverse and everyone started presenting at once... pt two.

table in the back by @janinaduszejko

Pairing: Alex Albon/ George Russell

“Okay, here’s the offer." Alex says. "I’m going to make you something and if you don’t like it, you don’t pay. How does that sound?”

“So I get a good meal or a free meal?” George asks. “Sounds like a no-lose scenario.”

“Keen eye, George,” Alex grins. “Figured out my terrible business sense on the first try. Alright, take it or leave it.”

all green lights

Pairing: Alex Albon/ George Russell

Sorry mate I think you've got the wrong number

chrome wheeled, fuel injected, and steppin' out over the line

Pairing: OT3 George Russell/Lance Stroll/Fernando Alonso

Lance and Fernando have been together for over two years and it is great. It is great apart from one minor detail. They are both dominant tops and the irritation is starting to grind them down. Enter Lance's ex-whatever, George Russell.

But George is not going to be as easy to get on board as Lance and Fernando think. He will give his whole heart but you have to open it up first.

DISCLAIMER: THE FIC IS NOW ON PERMANENT HIATUS

Very common crisis (series) by crimandclove

Pairing: George Russell/ Lance Stroll

January 2024 - George finds himself single, stressed, with a set of tits & one Lance Stroll in his home.

Calls and Cats by @raewritesf1

Pairing: George Russell/Max Verstappen

Things go awry when George’s video call with the quartet is interrupted by the form of a familiar half-naked Dutch driver wielding a Bengal cat in the background.

spread before you like a picnic by @janinaduszejko

Pairing: Alex Albon/ George Russell

Now, weeks later, he thinks that was probably the reason he’d said it, why when he came back to himself and noticed that Alex had manhandled him on his stomach and was in the process of peeling George’s jeans down, his first instinct was to say, panicky: “You can’t fuck me.”

it's not about having someone to love me anymore by linearity

Pairings: Alexander Albon/George Russell, George Russell/Toto wolff

George is an omega. He kind of hates himself for it.

Brake Balance by @russilton

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton/George Russell

"Why don’t you come dance?” With me goes unspoken, and George is eyeing him with a familiar look, like he’s sure Lewis will brush him off again, but he still wants to try.

Maybe it’s the buzz of alcohol. Maybe it’s the shiny skin of a tanned collarbone showing through George’s three open shirt buttons. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline of the whole day in general, but for once, Lewis thinks that sounds like a pretty good idea.

Stop overthinking, just go with it.

Bono’s words echo pointedly around his mind. Fuck it

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat by @prettydangrotten

Pairing: Alex Albon/George Russell

They’d agreed on friends when Alex had come to collect the last of his things from George’s flat. George had been adamant about it, all uncomplicated smiles, like they hadn’t just spent six months living in each other’s pockets and having some of the most bizarrely intimate sex of Alex’s life.

And friends is a noble intention, but. Alex still only has one friend who’s sucked him off in their driver’s room.

Allow yourself this happiness by Sonnenscheintraum

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton/George Russell

i can barely breathe (when you're here loving me)

When Lewis wakes up he knows he's going into rut. He will be able to get through the rainy and cold race in Spa if he takes enough suppressants.

But what if George by his side is actually making it worse for him to keep the rut in check?

How is he supposed to keep himself under control when George looks and smells like the most delicious way and makes him want to claim him?

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton/George Russell

Lewis Hamilton may be the sweetest person who ever stepped on earth and choose not to see the truth, but he deserves so much more than a broken, thirteen years younger college student.

So George does what is best for him.

See my Vision (tell ‘em) by @russilton

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton/George Russell

“Feeling a little desperate, sweetheart?” It’s clearly rhetorical, but George nods anyway, and bites his lip at the conflicted emotions he sees cross Lewis’ face.

He knows it’s late, closer to Monday morning than Sunday night, but it’s been so long since they’ve had freedom to do whatever they want. He loves racing with his entirety, he even loves the intensive training and strict schedules, but he doesn’t love how the need to keep his body in perfect function for a race keeps him from Lewis.

George and Lewis have three weeks break between Monza and Singapore, and they just can’t wait anymore.

#f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #f1 fic rec #fic rec #gr63 #britcedes #galex #gax

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milla984 · 11 months

Text

And in the Beginning...

Summary: after spending a day at D.C.’s most renowned multifandom convention Spencer and Garcia stop for a coffee. Spoiler alert - our fave Resident Genius dumps their order on Reader.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (Reader is a sci-fi buff)

Category: fluff

TW/CW: swearing, mentions of food, some Star Wars-related talk

Word Count: 2k

Once again, a ginormous THANK YOU to @drgenius-reid for taking the time to beta-read the first draft (aka witnessing the horror)!

The following work is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' CM Meet Cute (or not) Challenge and is also part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“Highlight of the day?! Jamie Hewlett signing my copy of The Cream of Tank Girl! In you face, Mr. 'Superman Can Fly'...!”

The woman carrying a Chinese paper umbrella rummaged through her purse to retrieve a wallet and pay at the coffee truck parked outside the convention center; stylish two-tone glasses matched the army green jumpsuit with a teddy bear patch on her right leg and the blue mandarin collar button-down shirt she was wearing, and her blond hair was tied up in a pair of small side buns.

The tall man beside her chuckled as he picked up two cups. “I don’t know if I should be more impressed or worried.”

“Why?! We made a deal and it’s perfect: he can have Sci-Fi-Gate, I’m keeping WashCon.”

“Sci-Fi-Gate has amazing Star Trek guests, though…”

A long and colorful scarf was wrapped around his neck and a deep red cravat necktie peeked out of the hem of a plaid design vest, combined with a single-breasted brown coat and a pair of grey pants.

“I can't believe you would really choose the Captains of the Enterprise panel over my emotional stability,” she frowned, paying zero attention to the cosplayer in a trenchcoat with a pair of black wings attached to their back she was about to brush past.

When the feathers smacked her cheek she pulled back, the tips of her umbrella almost poking the tall guy dressed as Doctor Who in the eye; the sudden movement startled the cosplayer and a rapid swing of their dark wings created a commotion in the crowd of people waiting for their turn to order. In the confusion that followed, a random shoulder bumped into yours and pushed you out of the line and off the sidewalk, right in front of the Fourth Doctor - who was struggling to maintain his Fedora in place and watch where he was going at the same time.

Needless to say, he ended up failing at both.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” the blond woman asked.

“I’m so sorry, SO SO SORRY—” the tall guy apologized simultaneously and she cut him off, rushing to your side.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

The frantic exchange prompted your brain to whoosh into light speed mode to elaborate and discharge the ‘Ah, shit!!’ and ‘wait… is this iced macchiato?!?!’ inputs in favor of a more suitable reaction at the sight of the considerable amount of caffeine soaking your hoodie.

“... I think I’m okay.”

“First-aid manuals suggest removing all clothes or jewelry near the affected area within moments after the spillage of a hot liquid,” the tall guy said, and the woman gasped in shock.

“Please tell me you didn’t get burned! Once I got this non-fat steamed white chocolate vani—”

“I’m fine,” you growled a bit.

Someone behind you was snickering and, despite the relief of not having sustained serious injuries, the attention was already making you feel uncomfortable.

“Scalds are caused by sources of humid heat and certain types of fibers retain the water, which can be responsible for additional damage to the skin,” the tall guy explained again, speaking faster than anyone you had ever heard.

You tucked your shirt in your jeans and raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Let me guess: you’re a doctor.”

“Well… uhm, yes, this is my…” he faltered, unable to tell if you were referencing his costume as a pun or not. “I am, actually.”

“Not that kind of doctor,” the woman added.

She sighed as soon as she realized you were standing there speechless, drenched in coffee, your gaze wandering back and forth between them. “I’m so sorry…”

“They should be more careful with the lids. I think I got lucky,” you muttered through gritted teeth as you pulled the zip down.

Thanks to the decision to splurge some money on yourself, earlier on, you had something to replace your soiled hoodie with. The Fourth Doctor looked away and focused his attention on the cups he was still holding in his hands; before he threw them in the nearest trashcan he inspected their content, confirming he’d fortunately spilled on you a combination of 98% half-caf iced caramel macchiato and just 2% regular hot americano.

The woman was still clasping the handle of her umbrella. “Listen, we were about to check out this itsy-bitsy lovely Indian place ‘round the corner, maybe you should come with us. You know… to try and get cleaned up a little.”

You dug into the shopping bag at your feet, taking a sealed package out to rip the plastic film wrapped around a brown sweatshirt with a stylized front print of the panoramic view of the desert, Jabba the Hutt’s palace and twin suns on Tatooine, and put it on.

“No offense, but my parents taught me to never follow strangers.”

“None taken,” the tall guy replied, “they were absolutely right. According to the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, about 90,000 individuals are reported missing in the U.S. every year and the National Institute of Justice estimates that approximately 4,400 unidentified bodies are recovered annually.”

For the second time in less than five minutes, you considered the possibility he could truly be from Gallifrey. You also wondered if he was aware of his perfect facial structure: everything about his demeanor indicated he wasn’t too skilled in the art of charming people using his sculpted jawline and lean figure.

“... do you always quote statistics about murders and kidnappings like it’s a casual topic of conversation?”

His eyes got even bigger, showing a hint of gold on the inside. “It was merely an observation—”

“Yeah, he… does that,” the woman came to his rescue, “and even if it sounds bad, trust me it’s- it's part of his job. Our job. Except, I don’t deal with the scary, disturbing, yucky stuff.”

Your question wasn’t meant to come out in such a sarcastic tone. “You’re cops?!”

“FBI. Tech Analyst and Behavioral Analysis Unit,” she explained, and the tall guy waved a silent greeting at you.

Even though the chance of running into the Bureau personnel stationed in D.C., at some point, wasn’t unreasonable, ‘two FBI agents walk into a multifandom convention dressed as characters from sci-fi TV shows’ could have easily been the beginning of a bad joke.

Plus, it was hard to picture the Fourth Doctor as a G-Man. “What’s your Ph.D. in, exactly?”

“I have a Ph.D. in Mathematics. And Chemistry, and Engineering. And I hold BAs in Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy.”

“Google him. Spencer Reid, B-A-U,” the woman suggested after a short pause, in response to your skeptical expression.

Judging by her tone she was daring you to, as if the situation wasn’t already giving off major The Twilight Zone vibes… and yet, instead of bidding them an unenthusiastic farewell, you pulled out your phone to type his name.

A plethora of results popped on the screen seconds later, so you first clicked on the link titled BAU’s newest member.

“With three doctorate degrees from Caltech already, and a staggering IQ of 187 as well as an eidetic memory there is no psychological exam or test the FBI could put in front of him he could not ace,” the piece said about newly-recruited Spencer Reid.

“When I ask why he chose Caltech over MIT and Stanford, he quickly runs down a list of Professors he had a desire to study with. He makes no mention of the weather or girls,” an older article reported.

You skipped through at least a dozen mentions of SSA Reid’s outstanding performances in the field, then a PDF document, property of the California Institute of Technology, caught your interest and you read the title aloud.

“Identifying non-obvious relationship—”

“Non-obvious relationship factors using cluster-weighted modeling and geographic regression,” he recited by heart, “that's my Engineering dissertation.”

He was too prepared on the subject and too adorably peculiar to be an impostor posing as a genius FBI agent for kicks, during the weekend; you picked his Fedora off the ground as a peace offering.

“Seems like you’re a wunderkind, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer lowered his chin so he could mask the rush of blood to his cheeks and his friend giggled, gently linking arms with you.

“Now, there’s something relevant we need to discuss, pronto… how do you feel about veg biryani?”

An hour and a half proved to be all the time you needed to form a solid conviction that Spencer Reid going on a spiel about the original blueprints of a fictional space station was the best thing since sliced bread.

“It’s part of the iconic imagery Lucas wanted to establish, there’s no health and safety. And don’t forget it was originally designed by the Geonosians.”

You snorted at the mention of the classic ‘designed by a flying alien species’ argument. “That’s not an excuse! Even if the Geonosians designed it, they knew it was meant to be used by humanoid creatures.”

After leaving the restaurant, where you had insisted on paying for your share - much to Garcia's dismay, you’d walked back to the convention center’s parking lot and now you were waiting by your car for Penelope to get hers. As you had recently discovered, she loved mugs, old Italian movies and playing the ukulele; Spencer wasn’t as outgoing and chatty, especially about his private life, but Star Wars was for sure one of his numerous areas of expertise.

“TIE fighters don’t have a proper defense system and the original prototype even lacked structural integrity to support atmospheric flight. The Empire doesn't care about casualties, it’s safe to think they never bothered to install a guardrail or other appropriate safety measures because to them the Death Star technicians are expendable.”

“Okay… solid theory,” you admitted, making him smile as he wiped his forehead to get rid of a lock of curly hair.

“Thank you. It’s nice to have a discussion with someone who knows about the Geonosians. Or the Death Star. It only happened twice but I’ve had people asking me what that was.”

When the convertible Cadillac with a plastic Hawaiian lei tied to the rear-view mirror stopped inches from you, Garcia - behind the steering wheel - proudly gestured at the extension of her eccentric personality.

“Meet Esther. Isn’t she fab?”

You wolf whistled your appreciation, gliding your fingertips over the leather upholstery and orange body paint. “Quick question: how much do you think I’d get if I sued two FBI agents for… damages, let’s say?!”

Penelope produced a fluffy pen out of the glove compartment and scribbled something on the back of a PetMAC receipt she handed it to you.

“Sweet pea, if I were you I'd settle for a lifetime of free IT support.”

“I’ll take it,” you said, “I’m kind of tired of being bullied by my own laptop.”

She stared at you for a moment before her face lit up, like a girl on a trip to a four-story candy shop. “... have you ever been to Baltimore ComicCon?!” she asked out of the blue while Spencer plopped himself down on the passenger seat.

You shook your head. “Do you guys—”

“We should totally go together!!” Garcia proposed. Or rather, declared.

In all honesty, the prospect of attending another convention on your own was depressing and you’d given up on the one in Maryland for that specific reason; you turned to Spencer for his approval, too, and he nodded, maybe because he knew there was no way of stopping Garcia if she had her mind set on a specific goal.

“Baltimore it is, then…?!”

Penelope shot you a smug grin. “Keep in touch. We still owe you a nice dinner and ComicCon’s not up until September, I’d hate to run a background check on your license plate to find you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea and saluted them goodbye as they drove off, Esther’s taillights shining bright red.

What a weird Saturday. Meeting a real life genius and the quirkiest FBI agent ever came with a price, and one of your favorite hoodies was most likely beyond salvaging. You needed to know if Spencer Reid was well worth it.

Garcia’s words then echoed in your ears, so you sat in your car and unlocked your phone, scrolling through the most recent Google searches: you had a lot of reading to do.

@matthew-gray-gubler-lover, @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid, @pretty-boys-book-club, @spookydrreid, @f-me-reid, @foxy-eva, @scorpiofangirl1109, @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @cynbx, @reidsbookclub, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @reidmainbitch, @lizzylynch1, @will-grahams-eyes, @padawancat97

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid x reader #my gifs #milla writes stuff #mentioningmargins #there are references from a couple of other tv shows hidden in this work #feel free to let me know if you can find them #quot “i understood that reference”

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weemssapphic · 2 years

Note

ohhh, first of all: HIII i adore your writing. The visions fic in particular? easily one of my faves. ("favs, say favs" [i cannot not hear Gwen say that whenever I say/write faves]) Anyway haha, I was wondering if you could maybe write a female potions teacher/ Larissa fic where you borrow the concept of Amortentia and when they brew it in class Reader realises she's utterly and hopelessly in love with Larissa (and maybe Larissa is also there as extra supervision bc it's such a "dangerous" potion?"... and she also smells smth that reminds her of the reader?)

Amortentia: Fated Attraction

aw thank you so much! favs, say favs hehe that made me giggle :D thank you for the request <3 this was so much fun to write and i hope it lives up to your expectations! ao3 link in title, as per usual.

thank you to @afeatherformills for editing and to @sapphicsbeloved for letting me pick your brain (now you have more context hehe) <3

words: ~2.2k

warnings/content: none really, just kind of fluffy / admitting feelings for each other, kissing

“Who can tell me what we’re brewing today?”

Dozens of arms shot into the air, the students’ curious eyes trained upon the cauldron on your desk. You grinned, knowing the hints you had dropped in last week’s lesson had worked and your students were going to be engaged in today’s little experiment.

“Yes, Bianca?”

“Amortentia. The world’s most powerful love potion.”

“You are correct.” Your grin grew wider. “Can anyone tell me what Amortentia does? Wednesday?”

“Amortentia causes a powerful infatuation to form for the person who drinks the potion. It smells different to each person, according to what most attracts them,” the raven-haired girl deadpanned.

“Someone clearly did her homework. Thank you, Wednesday. Now-” your lecture was interrupted by a loud knock.

The door to your classroom opened a crack and Larissa popped her head inside. “I’m sorry, my meeting just ended. Am I too late?” Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the stately blonde.

“Not at all, we were just getting started. Class, Principal Weems will be joining us today. Bianca was right - Amortentia is the world’s most powerful love potion, which can make it quite dangerous, and we thought it best to have an extra adult to supervise you. Don’t let her presence phase you.”

You shot a teasing wink at your students and waved Larissa into the room. She stalked over to your desk, hips swaying, and somehow you knew it was you who would be phased by her presence, more so than any of the kids.

“Principal Weems,” you leaned back onto the desk, scooting closer to her until you were nearly thigh to thigh, deciding you were going to make the most of the rare occasion of having her in your classroom. “Do you think you could tell the class what ingredients we’ll need for our potion?”

Larissa raised a perfectly sculpted brow, ruby-red lips pursing at the challenge, icy gaze piercing yours. For a moment your pulse quickened, you worried you had overstepped. Then her lips quirked up in a soft smirk and she turned her head to address your students.

“We will be needing rose petals, peppermint, moonstone and, most importantly, pearl dust.”

You shot her a grateful smile, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered when she returned that smile, and turned to the cauldron sitting on your desk where you had already neatly prepared all the ingredients. Normally you would have your students make their own batch of a potion, but you and Larissa had both agreed when coming up with your lesson plan that giving a bunch of horny teenagers the world’s strongest infatuation potion was a recipe for disaster.

Once you’d gotten a small flame burning under your cauldron, you turned back to your class, hyper-aware of the many pairs of eyes burning holes into your skull. Even Larissa was watching you with interest.

“Come on guys, you aren’t normally this engaged in class,” you teased with a chuckle. “Now you can come up here - don’t push each other - just fill in the back there… perfect.”

Once the kids were gathered around your desk and the cauldron was bubbling to your satisfaction, you began to add the ingredients, chatting to the class about the history of love potions.

Every so often, you caught Larissa’s eye from across your desk and she gave you an encouraging nod, a soft smile. She seemed to be hanging onto your every word and it made your heart beat just a little faster than normal, though you couldn’t quite place why.

You did have a bit of a crush on your boss but it was harmless, really. The two of you were good friends. You’d been working at Nevermore together for years now and had built up a friendly rapport, knowing you could trust each other with both workplace and personal matters. You frequently met up for coffee at the Weathervane and shared the occasional bottle of wine in her office to let out your frustrations about students and other staff. So what if you sometimes got lost in her cerulean eyes, or imagined what she looked like under her designer dresses? So what if you pictured yourself holding her hand in the hallways or taking her out to dinner? It was just a harmless crush.

The potion began to develop its characteristic mother-of-pearl sheen and your lips curled up in satisfaction. Spirals of steam rose from inside the cauldron and several students began to push forward, entranced, trying to get a whiff of the concoction.

“‘Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what most attracts them’,” you quoted Wednesday’s earlier words. “Anyone care to share what they smell?”

Tentative glances were shared between the students, many suddenly too timid to speak. It was Enid who raised her hand first.

“Yes, Enid?” You nodded at the young blonde, hoping you sounded soft and encouraging.

“I smell lavender... cool night air… and, um, Wednesday’s hand sanitizer.” A blush crept up her neck at the admission and Wednesday elbowed her girlfriend in the ribs, shooting daggers at her with wide eyes.

“Thank you for sharing, Enid,” you smiled reassuringly at the girl, honestly just grateful that someone had participated in your lesson.

“What do you smell, Ms. Y/L/N?” Wednesday looked up at you through dark lashes, her words an open challenge, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she tried to make you squirm. You rolled your eyes - you should have known this would happen.

“Ms. Addams, I hardly think it is appropriate-” Larissa began, but you interjected before she could finish.

“It’s alright, Principal Weems, what’s the harm in answering a simple question.” You shot her a playful wink and ignored her dangerous look.

You leaned over the potion, closing your eyes and letting out a contented sigh as you took a deep breath, allowing the scent of the potion to wash over you.

“Mmm I smell… fresh laundry…” At first you smelled freshly washed sheets, one of your favorite scents, even since childhood. But then you smelled red wine. Cinnamon. Conditioner - but not your own. Your brows knit together in concentration.

Who was it that you were smelling? You didn’t even really like red wine yourself. The gears in your mind turned as you racked your brain, you were sure the whole class could hear you think. Oh. Your stomach dropped.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” Enid’s voice shook you out of your reverie. Your eyes fluttered open and you swallowed thickly. You realized with a sinking feeling that your students had all borne witness to your internal struggle and were now watching your face flush in real time. The pit in your stomach grew when your eyes made contact with Larissa’s. Sapphire pools stared back at you in concern, brows furrowed in confusion.

It was her. The smell. The occasional Friday night you shared in her office, strictly as coworkers, sipping red wine by the fire. Sitting close enough to smell her conditioner, her perfume, a sweet scent with notes of cinnamon that sometimes, in your tipsy state, made you wish you could bury your head in her neck and stay there forever. You were in love with Larissa Weems.

“You have a crush on someone.” You couldn’t help but glare at Wednesday, who grinned as if she had won a bet. Knowing her, maybe she had.

For the rest of the lesson, you pointedly avoided the gaze of a certain principal, who was watching you with curious eyes, unable to place your reaction at smelling the Amortentia.

When the bell rang, you were grateful to have a free period to collect your thoughts, and you ushered your students out of the classroom as quickly as you could. You shut the door behind the last one and clicked the lock, closing your eyes and leaning with your back against the door, letting out a frustrated groan.

“The world’s most powerful love potion,” Larissa’s voice made your eyes snap open and your heart drop into your stomach - you’d thought you were alone. The silver-haired woman was leaning over the cauldron, face partially obscured by wispy spirals of shimmering, pearl-colored steam.

“Well, technically, a true love potion doesn’t exist. Love can’t be artificially created. It would only cause a strong infatuation for the drinker.” You stepped forward to meet Larissa at the cauldron. This time, you immediately recognized the scent emanating from it, leaning in involuntarily. How could you not have known?

“That’s what makes it so dangerous,” Larissa’s eyes were focused on the bubbling of the potion as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, she seemed lost in thought. You came around to her side of the desk until the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder. As you stepped closer, you saw the loose wisps of Larissa’s silver curls coming out of her usually perfect updo, sticking to her forehead from the steam rising from the inside of the cauldron. Even so, she was perfect to you.

“What do you smell?” You whispered, nudging her playfully. You were playing with fire…

Larissa stole a glance at you, hesitating for a moment, then closed her eyes and sniffed at the swirls of steam rising from the cauldron. Her nose wrinkled lightly and it took everything in you to suppress the sigh of adoration threatening to bubble forth from your chest as you watched her, her eyelashes fluttering against the rosy apples of her cheeks, brows crinkling at the center in thought.

She hummed as the scent of the potion reached her nostrils. Freshly brewed coffee. Okay, so she was more of a hot chocolate drinker herself… The scent of burning herbs. Kind of reminded her of the potions classroom… A flowery perfume. Why did it smell so familiar?

Larissa felt a heat rise in her cheeks as her brain connected the dots. She drew back, opening her eyes but refusing to meet your gaze, instead using her hands to steady herself on the desk in front of her. How had she not realized it before?

“Rissa?” You breathed, ducking your head in an attempt to get the taller woman to make eye contact with you.

Your use of her nickname had the desired effect, but her eyes were filled with uncertainty and fear.

You hoped this meant she had smelled you, just as you had smelled her. Your palms began to sweat, heat coiling in the pit of your stomach. An electricity buzzed in the air, pulling you almost magnetically towards the woman in front of you. You stepped towards her until you had to crane your neck back to look up at her face, your heart pounding erratically in your chest.

Larissa’s pupils widened imperceptibly, her lips parted as she straightened to her full height, now towering over you. Her breath ghosted across your face as she leaned closer, stopping just short of your lips, hesitating as she hovered over you. Her tongue darted over her lower lip, eyes glassy and swirling with emotion as they flickered nervously between the both of yours.

It was you who closed the distance. Your lips met, hesitantly at first. Larissa was still against you and, for a moment, you considered drawing back, now unsure whether the kiss was truly wanted. Just as you were about to pull away, you felt a strong hand grasp your waist, another thread in your hair as Larissa’s lips began to move against yours, soft and wanting.

A soft whimper escaped your throat, causing Larissa to hum in satisfaction and tighten her grip on you, pulling you flush against her. Your hands snaked around Larissa’s neck, raking your fingernails lightly along the skin at the nape of her neck, eliciting a low moan from her.

When you parted, you were both panting. She dipped her neck down to press her forehead to yours and you enjoyed the feeling of her warm breath on your cheek.

You couldn’t help yourself - you let out a hearty chuckle, and Larissa shot you a quizzical glance, gently and almost instinctively running her thumb along your jaw.

“And to think you almost didn’t approve of brewing the Amortentia,” you grinned lazily, leaning into her touch.

A gorgeous blush bloomed over Larissa’s cheeks. “Yes, well, had I known this would happen, I would have approved it much sooner.”

“Sure,” you murmured, capturing Larissa’s lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.

“Any other dangerous potions you’d like to try out, Ms. Y/L/N?” Larissa teased, backing you into the desk, regaining the upper hand.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Perhaps we could discuss this more, tonight over dinner?” You were hopeful.

Larissa’s smile was genuine when she hummed in delight. “7 pm sharp. Don’t keep me waiting.”

A final, bruising kiss was placed firmly on your lips, Larissa nipping slightly at your bottom lip and soothing it immediately with her tongue before pulling away. There was an extra sway in her hips as she sauntered out of your classroom, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you realized you’d just scored a first date with the woman of your dreams.

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #principal weems x reader #larissa x reader

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americaswritings · 2 years

Text

My Tim & Lucy stories

The collection

* my personal faves

Safe place

Lucy realizes that she was wrong; Her safe place is not a place anymore, it's a person.

Trapped

It's Lucy's last day as Tim's rookie. But instead of spending it on the streets of LA fighting crime, they are trapped in an elevator together. This brings some unwanted memories back for Lucy.

Where the heart belongs

"You and I both know that there have been three people in our relationship from the beginning and I can't keep pretending to not notice that your heart belongs to someone else." (Rachel breaks up with Tim & Lucy is the one to read the message to him.)

Losing control

“I think Caleb- he-he put something into my drink”, she stuttered, and she heard Tim take a sharp inhale at the other end of the phone." (What if Lucy realized Caleb put something in her drink and called Tim for help?)

Dream a little dream of me

A familiar song is played at Angela & Wesley's wedding. Tim won’t let it break Lucy.

Found that person in you

Lucy tells Tim what happened with Chris. He finds out she hasn't just watched the video of herself in the barrel, but the body cam footage of her rescue too.

No place I would rather be *

"It's about Lucy. She uhm- she had a bad day. She's not coming out of her room anymore. I don't know what to do." He inhaled sharply, his eyes closing for a second as he swallowed. "I am on my way." (Lucy deals with the aftermath of watching the video, Tamara is worried & calls Tim.)

Can’t help falling in love (multiple chapters) *

Her gaze locked with his, brown met blue, and it was like a wave of calmness washed over her. He was studying her, his eyes fixed on hers, an intensity in them she had rarely seen from him. Why wasn't he looking away? And when had she stopped thinking about the lyrics? (Lucy agreed to sing at Angela & Wesley's wedding and shares an intimate moment with Tim.)

Can Beauty come out of Ashes? *

“You should get cleaned up”, he told her softly, letting his hand fall back to his side as he realized the dirt he had tried to rub away wouldn’t come off. He wondered if she would ever not look beautiful to him. (Tim and Lucy share a moment after the explosion nearly took Lucy's life.)

The Reality of Losing you (multiple chapters)

“Can we talk about something else? About your engagement perhaps. Congratulations by the way.” Her words sounded more forced than delighted and Lucy bit her lip, willing herself to get her emotions under control. (Tim doesn’t directly clear up his proposal is a prank and Lucy has to face the reality that she might lose Tim.)

No regrets

Prompts: "I'm sorry I kissed you" & "I'm not with Ashley anymore"

Head in the Game

"Hey." His arm came up to her shoulder, a firm touch to bring her back to reality yet gentle enough to show her she was not in immediate danger. She startled at the gesture, her head snapping towards him, and he could see unshed tears in them. Shit. If Lucy cried right now, it was over. (Tim & Lucy find out that Rosalind escaped while being undercover together.)

Never Alone With You By My Side *

"Come on, you can't say you didn't enjoy it!" She was teasing, of course, but there was a strain on his face. "Could have been worse." "Wow!" Lucy grimaced mockingly. "Way to make a girl feel special, Bradford!" "You know how special you are." (Now that it's all over the apartment feels too empty. So Lucy calls Tim.)

When will this nightmare ever end?

"Lucy-", he began, but she shook her head. "Don't tell me it's all going to be okay, because it's not! Chris almost died, because Rosalind wants to get back at me. I can't- I-" She closed her eyes, exhaling. "When will this nightmare ever end?" (Lucy waits for Chris to wake up and Tim is by her side.)

I thought you never saw me that way

Prompt: “I thought you never saw me that way."

Some things matter more

“I only wanted space, because I thought that’s what we both needed. Time away from each other to think.” Lucy tilted her head, biting her lip. “And did it help?”, she asked, her voice wavering slightly. Tim closed his mouth again, his jaw twitching. “No.” (Prompt: “Some things matter more.")

Always find you

5x03: Lucy gets trapped. With her radio signal blocked, Tim is left with nothing but his imagination about what could have happened to her.

Where our story begins

“Vegas- it wasn’t just pretend. Not for me anyway and I...I think it wasn’t for you either.” (Prompt: "I can't be your aide anymore.”)

One Good Reason

"Then why are you pushing me away?", Lucy asked. "Don't you want-", she bit her lip. Their eyes met and she saw the question in his eyes, the need for her to finish that sentence. "Me." (Prompt: "Are you afraid to be with me?")

Healing

"It might take a while but eventually it will feel real", Tim told her, referring to her words as she had stared at Rosalind’s lifeless body. Lucy looked at him, a mixture of emotions flickering over her face. "It just- seems too easy." (Tim makes sure Lucy is okay after they found Rosalind’s body)

If Tomorrow never comes

When the nurse had left and Lucy met his gaze again, his brows were lifted. "Boyfriend?" "I said partner." "If I recall correctly, I'm your superior", Tim pointed out. "No sign of amnesia then." (Tim asks Lucy to lay with him in the hospital bed)

Sick Days

Lucy gets sick, but goes into work anyway, because she's already taken a lot of sick days due to what happened with Caleb. Of course Tim notices.

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headingalaxys-spicy · 1 year

Note

Wow, I didin't know you write for 2ptalia! Not complaining tho, how would the countries (just pick your faves) react to darling choosing their 2p counterpart over them? And what will they do in retaliation to being the unchosen one?

Me: Gets 98% writing only to realize I answered it backwards. hahahahahhhh. So here a twofer. Reader being rejecting both original and 2p! Hope you guys enjoy!

2p America: How much Fall flavored shit do you need woman? *Shows pack of Pumpkin Jojo’s, Pumpkin pie flavored Oreo’s, and Caramel Apple creamer* Also the fuck is so funny?

Me: Roast post.

2p America: What?

Me: Shut up and laugh dammit! *throws notebook that ask was written in*

Characters: America (Obivious as fuck I’d pick him), Canada, England, Germany, Italy, Japan, and Russia.

🍔🇺🇸America 🍔🇺🇸 “WHAAAAAAAT? YOU’RE INTO A MAN WHO’D RATHER FUCK HIS NAILY BAT?!?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? ARE YOU CRAZY?” He shouts into the early evening air. He was so loud with that last remark that it took a few moments for passersby to look away from you.

“Alfred! Please keep your voice down! And please release your grip on my arm!” You shrug away harshly to keep space between the two of you. You disliked that he was spouting nonsense.

“Y/N, please….” You avoid his eyes; you know they were a honey-laced trapped that you knew plenty of unsuspecting people fell for.

“I’m sorry, Alfred, but he and I work better together and I don’t have to explain that.” Voice was shaky but you knew you’d be away from him soon. Still avoiding his gaze you say ‘Good-Bye’.

After you’ve left him to be alone with his raw feelings, he will go punch a few brick walls to let off some steam.

He’s going to go home and ugly cry and eat Half-Baked while he��s half-baked himself making him whole again after a few months pass.

(Damn reader, you a savage, we now have a sad burger man.)

🕶️🇺🇸2p America 🇺🇸🕶️: “SERIOUSLY DOLL? You go for a man whose entire fucking shtick is eating a shitload of burgers! That bitch wants to be Nikocado Avacado so bad!”

He’s grinning his teeth. The fury radiated off of him like a heater. He’s gripping the phone so tightly that small indents are beginning to form. He wasn’t interested in prolonging his suffering so he hung up in your face before you even had a chance to try and placate him. The phone meets its demise. The titanium, metal, and nanotech that once resembled a black brick now resembled black sand of sorts.

He goes out drinking and partying for the night. Why not be hedonistic to high hell if he doesn’t have you?

He complains about you to others in the FACE family, saying things like: What was there not for them to like about the blood-dusted roses? They show devotion and dedication or whatever bullshit Oliver was on about!

Oliver: “I heard that, you ungrateful tosser! Pay up in the swear jar!”

Alex: “Fuck yo-” A knife nails his leg and he wails out in pain.

He ain’t giving up though he’s going to attempt time and time again to get the McDumbass away from you and into his arms.

🍁🇨🇦🐻‍❄️Canada🐻‍❄️🇨🇦🍁: Most of you reading this post already know he’s going to cry.

You were kind enough to let him down gently when you video-chatted him. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I’m just really feeling this other guy and I do it with sincerity that you find someone who suits you.” The pregnant silence was deafening but nothing compared to the pipes behind his violet orbs about to burst. He said, “Okay, farewell, Y/N. I hope you and Matthieu will be happy” before he ended the call. God, that was a cursed sentence. The pipe had burst and tears spilled through his darkened lavender pools. It takes him about 45-minutes to get off the floor and he opens his Tim Horton’s app and gets a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and a few Canadian maple and honey crullers. Once it’s delivered, he will devour his meal and sink onto the couch, watching whatever random thing he’s put on Netflix. All while soaking the couch in his copious amounts of tear-soaked Kleenex.

He’s going to stress-bake pastries while listening to some podcasts to do his best not to think about it.

He’s also going to turn off his phone intentionally and put it in a phone jail for 78 hours so he doesn’t accidentally waste 5 hours looking at your cute face and the man that has always gotten in his way ever since he came into existence.

🐻🇨🇦2p Canada 🇨🇦🐻:

His right eye twitched in frustration over the text message being the only thing he got. His anger swelled the more he thought about it. It was like a boiling pot of water that went from a mildly active simmer to raging waters supported by the heat of a recently awoken volcano. He snuffs out his 4th cigarette, only halfway done and just thinking about his sickly sweet 1p receiving your attention and love.

He gets crossfaded for the night, so he can numb the stinging pain of rejection. Once he’s done with being on his drug and booze-filled bender he’s going to get to plotting to get you back.

Even Kuro was high-key annoyed that the snow-colored bear also had your affection. An aggravated growl leaves the beast as his owner reassures him that in time: you will be with them… permanently.

☕️🫖🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿England🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🫖☕️: He’s in his tea room drinking scalding hot Earl Grey. The burn on his tongue felt better than the rejection he received. You picked the pastel palette psychopath with cannibalistic tendencies.

‘Why y/n why? Why in the world would you want to date that Nutter? Is it because I can’t cook for shit?’ Will be some of the thoughts that echo around in his mind as he blankly stares at his tea until the early hours of the morning.

‘Dodgy Oliver’ ‘What the fuck?’ ‘Bloody hell, has the world gone mad!?’

He considers making a love potion to make you love him. (Since this is the normal 1p we’re talking about Arthur’s code of ethics hasn’t been entirely yeeted out the door.)

He will lurk on your social media profiles for a couple of weeks before he picks himself back up again. 🧁🎀☠️ 2p England ☠️🎀🧁 Mans has been sitting in his elegant pastel library while rage, sadness and disgust are spilling from his eyes. His heart crumbled into his stomach. When his shiny bright baby blues darkened in hue after reading your text he couldn’t help it. “Hey Oliver…. I know this will be difficult to read but I’ve decided that I’m going to be exclusive with Arthur. I really do hope you can find someone for you. Goodbye.” After a few minutes of letting the river flow onto the desk and pages of his prized cookbooks his mind wonder about how you came to the conclusion to go steady with Arthur. Were you daft? Were you under a spell? Did Arthur trick you? Regardless, Oliver was beginning to crave a special sweet treat that will require him to pay the tsundere British man a visit.

💪🇩🇪 Germany 🇩🇪💪: He’s going to be dumbfounded that you picked Lutz. Like bro has to stare at his phone for 5 full minutes re-reading your text. He tries to make scientific sense of how in fuck you came to the conclusion to like Lutz. After this, he’s just going to curse in his mind for a few hours while he pets his German Shepards while he has maybe a dozen or so cold ones. Ludwig will stare into the void and be like ‘WARUM!?! Auf keinen Fall! Das gibt’s doch nicht!’

No matter what, it will never make sense to him. He will be despondent for a while but with the help of Prussia, Italy, and Japan (and his two favorite things Beer and Schnitzel) he’ll be fine.

You live rent-free in the back of his mind though. While ‘Why for the love of god would you pick someone like him?’

💤😴2p Germany😴💤While staring at the screen with bloodshot eyes…he won’t shed a tear, whine, or break things to let out his frustrations. He does nothing. He knows it’s not worth it. He knows he’s not what many would call a “catch”. Sure he has a rugged charm of sorts but that doesn’t mean it makes up for his mentally unwell state of working for Luciano. He will simply stare at the text message that read:

Hey Lutz, I think it’s best that we just be friends. Ludwig and I are going steady. I just wanted to be transparent with you. I’m sorry.

Even as empty as the words felt, he stared at them with a mixture of regret, sadness, and self-pity. After a while, he releases the phone to fall onto the bed. Well, if there’s nothing he can do, he may as well just jerk it to someone who looks like you.

🍝🇮🇹Italy🇮🇹🍝 Let's be real he takes your rejection like a champ. He'd been rejected by tons of people before. He’s a professional flirter what do you expect? He’ll go to another bar and snag more bitches.

This doesn’t mean that later he’s going to realize: WHY ARE YOU DATING A DANGEROUS MAN???????

(Yes, I took this angle for him. Feliciano can be baby but ooooooh lawd he can be a player. He got that 🌟✨duality✨🌟)

🔪🇮🇹2p Italy🇮🇹🔪: His favorite switchblade is tossed back and forth like an acrobat during a finale. Rage is spilling through his pores. His ears burn as honesty comes spilling from you.

“Maybe it’s best if we can be friends. I’m romantically intertwined with Feliciano and he’s a really sweet guy and I have to take a chance with him.” Your honesty was charming just as it was brutal. It was horrible for him to think about losing you. Your melodic voice was like hearing a live chorus from the musical Baroque of the 1600s. His dream of having you with him was shattered by the idiotia constantly waving a white flag. He stabs the right arm of the chair that he was seated in and drags the knife backward. Cotton and alligator leather were ruined in the blades' wake.

He was going to give the bastard something to cry for.

Bro is going to be wine-wasted for the rest of the night and become a little violent towards anyone who is within range of him. Kuro and Lutz 100% know to stay the hell out of his way until the storm has passed.

👹👺🇯🇵2p Japan🇯🇵👺👹: Oh fuck. You essentially set off an entity that’s similar to Slenderman. Kuro is silent and brooding and his plans are gruesome, slow, and violate the human code of ethics. You were brave enough to have the conversation with him over tea. The air is tense, filled with discontent, and hate. What a waste you’d fallen the evenly keeled Kiku. He cared too much about cherry blossoms, respect, blah, blah, blah. Why would you ever date someone with a massive tree up his ass? His hand will itch for the blade. He wanted to rid the world of Kiku’s existence right that second.

“Kuro, I’ll be honest I’ve found someone who matches my energy and I’m going to work it out with Kiku. We just work well together.” His eyes shot daggers at his green tea in an attempt not to scare you. He believes he still has a chance he’ll just have to convince you. However, he couldn’t suppress his vibes which could be cut by a plastic knife it was so thick. You bit your lip and gather your nerves. You pull out some yen from your bag to cover your drink and you leave in a huff. You knew from that point onwards that nothing in your life would ever be the same.

It takes Kuro an hour to finally end his staring competition with his tea. He’s never been so bothered in his life. He blocks you on all social media and uses his alt accounts to gather intel. He isn’t going to let you go, nor will he let Kiku win.

He definitely goes home that night to destroy a few trees and maybe even a few of his own men who dared to look at him the wrong way.

🇯🇵 🌸 Japan 🌸🇯🇵 He’s stunned. He will have few words in response.

“Okay, farewell Y/N… and it really was nice to meet you.” he will politely bow and walk away.

his heart will take a while to recover through because you a catch!

☠️🇷🇺 2p Russia 🇷🇺 ☠️Jesus Christ or Holy Fuck are the only phrases that are appropriate for the bitter resentment he has for Ivan. The normally just frigid atmosphere transformed into a bitter frost that could give anyone uninitiated to the cold instant frostbite. Ice on the window appears and freezes over behind him while he grips your written letter explaining to him why you made your choice. He’s nicer, his scarf was warmer and a much more inviting light pink than his confronting red one.

Outwardly he might be tame / measured inwards he’s brooding and plotting revenge on his counterpart….Only to execute none of it. He knows what he wanted is gone and he’s far too depressed to do something about it.

He’ll stay in his office while he writes out a complex seven-point plan placing a dead a dead gladiolus flower next to each. He imagines his rival in a pool of blood to make it easier for him to sleep at night.

🇷🇺🪆🌻Russia🌻🪆🇷🇺He does his best to choke back tears. He won’t lie you sent ice-picks straight to his heart. Thoughts about being lonely swarm his mind. It hurts him because you’re a mortal he’s grown fond of that didn’t have ulterior motives to be around him. He fiddles with his scarf to avoid your lovely (eye color) hues.

“I’m going to leave Y/N, farewell.” He leaves in order to keep at least some of his pride in tact.

‘Why Viktor? He’s even more terrifying than me!’ While he mulls over not winning you over, over some Vodka on the rocks a thought crosses through him:

‘Wait a minute if that psychopath can have a lover so can I! There is still hope!’

-End-

Thank’s for reading ya’ll !

#hetalia fandom #yandere hetalia #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #hetalia imagines #hws #hetalia #ヘタリア #headingalaxys writes stuff #headingalaxys spicy #axis powers ヘタリア #ヘタリア world stars #hetalia x reader #x reader #hetalia x you #dark hetalia x you

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