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hairmetal666 · 3 months

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They start kissing on stage as a joke.

The night before the first time, they're at an afterparty, pounding shots, and Eddie is reading aloud a piece that just came out in Rolling Stone. "'One of the most noteworthy parts of Munson and Harrington's unlikely pairing is their chemistry on stage. It's like these two men--one on his way to being the latest metal god, the other an indie rock wunderkind--are two parts of one musical whole. Their singing, their playing, even their bodies twine and flow with assuredness; where one goes, the other follows without question. They share a single brain-cell and that cell is music'."

Steve giggles, pours some more Grey Goose into the glass. "If they say that now, could you imagine what would happen if we, like, kissed on stage or something."

"What the fuck, Harrington?" Eddie splutters, having just thrown a drink back.

"I don't know, other bands do it!"

Eddie snorts. "I'm cutting you off." He reaches for the bottle and the suggestion is forgotten for wrestling over the liquor.

Steve barely remembers it in the morning. Doesn't think about it at all as he gets ready to go out on stage.

They're playing one of the instrumental breakdowns when it happens. They're leaning into each other, Eddie smiling over his shoulder at him, their eyes locked, bodies moving together. "You wanna?" Eddie mouths at him.

Steve nods before the question actually registers and by then Eddie's warm, soft mouth is against his and he just-- completely forgets what he's doing. His hands still on the guitar strings, and he melts a little, going completely boneless when Eddie grips the back of his head, pulls him deeper into the kiss. t's over almost as quickly as it started, Eddie pulling away and swirling to the mic to start the next verse.

The kiss sinks into Steve's bones, and that's before it becomes a regular feature of their performances. After that night, they're never at the same time during the show, all initiated by Eddie, all over before he can catch his breath; each one chaste and surrounded by people but somehow more intimate than any make out.

He and Eddie, they're friends, bandmates, collaborators. They've known each other since they first started out, forging an immediate connection with they stumbled upon each other hiding out in the garden at some industry bigwig's party. And as much as he loved his friend, never once in that time had Steve considered wanting Eddie.

But now, now he falls asleep with the ghost of Eddie on his lips, goes into each show with a thrum of anticipation, catches himself thinking how beautiful his friend is when he's all rumpled and disheveled from a night in the tour bus bunks.

They've always been easy with physical affection, but once the kissing starts they're constantly in each other's space, idly playing with hair, laying across laps, heads on shoulders, twisting together on the tour bus couch. Steve is ruined with every touch, every moment; he can't get enough.

The first time Eddie uses tongue destroys every last piece of Steve's composure. They've added a new song to the setlist, a remixed version of Eddie's hit "Prince Charming". It's hard, heavy, sexy, one of Steve's favorites. And in the middle of it, right in the middle, Eddie shoves him against a low platform, kisses him like he's trying to own him, tongues twining eager and wet and full of sinful promise. It's like that every show after, Eddie kissing him deep and thorough, like he's trying to lick up every drop of Steve.

He is, unquestionably, fucked. Unquestionably falling. Can't properly fathom how he'd gotten himself here, desperate for Eddie's kiss, as performative as it may be.

They're packing up equipment after a show. Eddie's hair is piled in a messy bun and Steve is trying not to blatantly stare at the curve of his neck, the stray curls against his pale skin. Eddie's gesturing at something, says, "Can you grab those cords, swee--Steve?" He hands them over without thought, notices that Eddie's face is shining red. He's called away to deal with packing the guitars, forgets all about it, but at their next show, Eddie doesn't kiss him.

They don't talk about it.

Eddie doesn't try to kiss him again.

A week after Eddie stops the kiss, they have a night off between shows. He needs to get out of his head, goes out with Robin. He gets back fairly early, but all the lights are off in the bus. It makes him panic in a way it shouldn't; they've always done their own things. Still, he rushes on board, flips on the lights, his absurd heart beating too hard.

Eddie is curled up on the couch, face pressed to the pillows and covered with his hands. The panic kicks up a notch.

"Eddie?" He steps closer, slowly reaching out to grip Eddie's shoulder.

He jerks upright, earbuds slipping free, phone sliding down his hip. "Steve?"

His face is wet, tears actively slipping free from his eyes as Steve watches.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" His hands flutter around Eddie's arms and face, searching for bruises or wounds.

"I'm fine, Harrington," he chokes out. "Though you were out with Robin?"

"Yeah, I was, but Chrissy called. You know how useless she gets. But that doesn't--you--you're crying. What's wrong?"

Eddie's smile is a wobbly little thing, refusing to stick on his face. "Oh, you know, the usual. Fell for the wrong guy."

Steve forces down the gut churning hurt at hearing that Eddie's in love with someone, intent on comforting his friend. He tries to slip his arm around Eddie's shoulders, but Eddie shrugs him off. It jostles Eddie's phone again, slipping it toward Steve and activating the screen. He has a split second where he's looking at the cover of his own first album, before Eddie's snatching it out of reach, scrambling up from the couch.

"I'm fine." He swipes his sleeve over his face. "It's nothing."

And Steve is putting it all together, the being in love and listening to Steve's music, the kissing and how it ended.--

"Eddie." He sounds all wrong, choked and garbled.

Eddie doesn't turn around, is stuffing his feet into his boots. "I'm--I gotta go clear my head."

He walks towards the door and Steve just--"I've been obsessed with you since the first kiss," he says. Eddie stops, hand curled against the door. "We've been friends all this time and I didn't--I never realized. And then we kissed and--it's all I've been able to think about."

Eddie turns then, facing him, expression unreadable."Steve, what are you--"

"I love you. I'm in love with you." It comes out fast, all jumbled, but he can't stand Eddie leaving, not now.

"You--?" Eddie blinks, bites his lip. "That's not possible."

Steve smiles, can't help it. "It is, though. Turns out, I can't get enough."

Their eyes lock; neither speaks. Steve's heart pounds so hard it might spring free of his chest. Eddie moves first, crosses the small distance between them to pull Steve into his arms.

It's not a kiss, but Steve buries his face against Eddie's neck, breathing him in, feeling the echo to the pound of his own heart. "How long?" Steve asks.

Eddie's soft laugh vibrates through him. "Since I saw you walking in that garden and thought, 'jesus christ, Prince Charming is real'."

Steve pulls away to stare at Eddie in disbelief. "But that's--your--the song?"

"They're kinda all about you, Stevie. But that one most of all." Eddie whispers. His eyes glisten.

"Fuck, Eddie." He doesn't mean to whine, but he's not in control of his voice anymore. "I'm sorry I didn't--" He shakes his head. "I'm all yours, Ed. Whatever you want."

Eddie's thumb catches against Steve's bottom lips, eyes transfixed on his mouth. "Everything, sweetheart. I want it all."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #bandmates steve and eddie #musician au #fluff #angst #eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington #oblivious steve harrington #eventual mutual pining #kissing on stage #it's a joke. until it isn't #this is because boygenius won a bunch of grammys #all award shows are fake and the grammys are the most fake of all but still #if the tour bus is rockin' etc etc etc #grey goose got your girl feeling loose

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canisalbus · 7 months

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What if I told you that RoobrickMarine went and wrote an entire novella starring my 16th century dog couple? It's very canon-adjacent, well researched and thoughtfully put together, has inspired me a ton during these past months and it's now publicly available at AO3. I highly recommend it.

✦ Separation ✦

#content warnings for sex violence self harm and general angst #six chapters 41K words #people who have asked for longer stories of these two please give this one a look #I've watched this unfold since late may? early july? and it's been an exciting experience #I'm not a writer I think it's better than what I could've come up with #honestly though the way he managed to get inside Machete's and Vasco's heads was uncanny their mannerisms and thought processes are spot on #some of the events aren't canon but they might as well be #and most of the background details and backstory tidbits are accurate believe me he's very well versed on their lore #big history nerd so the worldbuilding is intense #you get to meet the dog pope #there's saint sebastian #roommate hijinks #it gets kind of bleak at times though so be mindful of that #it's not all fluff and good feelings #Separation #Heinaven #RoobrickMarine #own characters #own art #artists on tumblr #CanisAlbus #Vasco #Machete #anthro #sighthound #dogs #canine #animals #if you end up reading the whole thing it would be really sweet if you left a little comment as a thanks for his hard work

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sheikfangirl · 8 days

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Blade Runner 2049 redraw with a angsty Zelink twist, dedicated to @rottencandyapp1es! She also drew her take on that iconic scene, check it out if you haven't already! 🔥

I am obsessed with the idea of toxic Puppet Zelink haunting and torturing Link all the time😭 HDGDNGDHS !!!!! Like....REALLY OBSSESSED!

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 5 months

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Hii! I love love love all of your finnick fics! Could I please request a fic where reader is also a victor from an earlier game and she is in an established relationship with Finnick. They both get reaped (not the same district) for the 75th games and reader gets critically hurt in the part where the cornucopia spins. Like she falls into the water after maybe being injured and she can’t swim, so Finnick has to risk everything to save her life.

I’m really looking for like a hurt/comfort with a seriously injured reader and Finnick going through hell to save her because he cannot imagine a life without her in it.

Thank you so much if you’re willing to write this or something like it, feel free of course to change anything to your liking!

two souls, one heart | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick refuses to lose the love of his life. your inability to swim complicates things, especially when the cornucopia begins spinning.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, heavy angst, drowning, death, bone fracture

notes: thank you so much!!! i really enjoyed writing this, shed a few tears but still enjoyed it lmao. listen to 'beginning of the end movement v' by the newton brothers on repeat for the full experience <3

A quiet nursery rhyme was being sung by the water's edge.

The calm waves around the Cornucopia lapped at the rocks, the blistering sun causing the surface to sparkle. Wiress' voice interrupted Peeta as he mapped out the arena's clock-like wedges in the dirt. Everyone was focused on the map; you should have been too.

Dark blue ripples had your eyes captivated. So tranquil. So hauntingly beautiful. Loving the sea was in your blood, as your District Four was your home. You would think coming from a fishing district would mean your swimming abilities were mastered. In reality, they were practically non-existent. No matter how many times Finnick had attempted to give you lessons, they never stuck.

Neither of you seemed to care though, always too enraptured by simply being in each other's company—feeling Finnick's hands support your body as you floated on the surface...

"Don't you let go of me, Finnick Odair, or I swear to god I'll drown you."

"Will that be before or after you drown first?" he chuckled, though ultimately tightening his grip on your body in an attempt to reassure you.

....hysterically laughing when he got wiped out by a sudden wave...

"No way! I can't—" You broke into a fit of laughter— "I can't believe that just happened!"

"Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?" Finnick asked, trudging through the water towards you, his hair drenched and swept across his forehead.

"Yes!"

You doubled over, knees buckling as you struggled to contain your laughter. Despite trying to put up a serious front, Finnick too let a few chuckles slip at the hysterical sight of you.

"Oh really?"

Just like that, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down into the cold water, earning him a squeal just before you crashed together below the surface.

...and washing up on the sandy shore in each other's arms, salty lips capturing one another.

"I'm covered in sand," you murmured against Finnick's lips.

He gave you another kiss before pulling away. "It's okay," he said, pecking your lips again. "I'll help you wash off in the shower when we get back." And then sent you a stomach-flipping grin.

Even though you wouldn't trade those memories for the world, if you had known your life would soon depend on the ability to swim, you would have paid much more attention to the lessons.

Finnick stood closely beside you, his trident digging into the dirt as he gripped it tightly in case of an attack. He had noticed your drifted attention, observing the way your eyes stared at the rippling water, like death was lurking just beneath the surface waiting to drag you down to the murky depths.

He could protect you from most things in the arena, but fear was something entirely different. A trident couldn't defeat the darkness in your mind.

A hand slid onto your lower back, rubbing gentle strokes to gain your attention. Your gaze tore from the blinding blue and settled onto Finnick's face beside you, watching his mouth curve into a light smile. You knew the silent words he was trying to convey: 'You're okay, sweetheart. I've got you.'

For a fleeting moment, the anxiety had disappeared. How could anything ever go wrong with Finnick by your side? The corners of your mouth quirked, preparing to send him a smile in response. But it never came. Something new had caught your attention. The woman by the water was no longer singing.

Wiress had been murdered.

The second Katniss let her arrow fly into Gloss' chest, everything around you seemed to explode into action. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong—Murphy's Law. And it did.

The Careers had initiated an attack.

Charging forward from the waterside was Cashmere, determined to avenge her brother's death. Instinct quickly kicked in and the spear in your hand was sent barrelling through the air and into her chest. As you watched her body slump to the ground, an enraged yell came from the side.

Finnick was fighting Brutus.

With your only weapon lodged within Cashmere's chest, aiding Finnick was impossible. Enobaria revealed herself beside Brutus, displaying her vicious fangs and throwing a dagger that sliced a small cut across Finnick's shoulder. Though the wound was minor, your heart lurched as he cried out in pain.

Before a single thought in your brain could form, your legs were moving. Not towards Finnick, but after Enobaria. Remember who the real enemy is—screw that. Finnick could have died. Your Finnick. He called out your name, his voice hoarse and frayed, but you continued on, hatred fuelling each step. It seemed Katniss and Johanna had the same idea, following behind you with their weapons bared.

Salt water sprayed onto your face, but you paid it no attention. Nor did you notice as the jungle surrounding the island began to blur into one overwhelming hue of green. Only when your body was thrown to the harsh rocky terrain did you realise what was happening.

The Cornucopia had started to spin.

Nothing could compare to the terror you felt as gravity's merciless force dragged your body toward the violent waves surging against the rocks. Just as your lower legs breached the edge, a hand grabbed onto your own. Katniss. She too was hanging onto Johanna whose only lifeline was an axe buried in the rocks.

A moment—that was all you were given to scan your surroundings. Supplies and sharp-edged weapons were flying everywhere. White water was spraying into the air. Finnick, who was thirty feet away, was gripping onto a rock ledge whilst keeping Beetee from sliding into the furious waves. His head turned to the side and even from a great distance, your eyes met.

It was at that moment you knew, you just knew the odds weren't going to be in your favour. God forbid you lived a simple happy life with the man you loved, days spent together on a calm beach. God forbid the Gamemakers gave you one last chance to be in his arms. God forbid you survived.

And with that sudden realisation, the universe, sick as it was, decided it was time.

Your hand began slipping from Katniss's; an unseen tear fell from your eye, and you smiled. A smile of goodbye sent to the love of your life. His face contorted into one of agony, lips moving but you couldn't hear his voice over the roaring waves. Still, you knew exactly what he was shouting.

"NO! NO!"

There was nothing he could do but watch your body disappear into the waves, repeating over and over "no, no, no," and praying his cruel eyes had deceived him. They hadn't.

Dark blue was in every direction you looked. The undertow tossed and rolled your body like a ragdoll in a washing machine and despite your attempts to swim, the surface only seemed to be slipping further and further out of your reach. Darkness engulfed you, so thick that you couldn't tell which way was up or down. That was when the panic set in.

Your arms and legs thrashed frantically, struggling against the water's force, desperate to reach safety or an air pocket. Cold water flooded your throat as you gasped uncontrollably. You screamed as every attempt at breathing felt like fire burning in your lungs. Finnick. Where was he? Where were you? What was happening? Why wouldn't it stop?

Thoughts submerged your mind in terror, and you were powerless to stop them. All you could do was feel. Pain. Fire. Burning

At some point, the Cornucopia had ceased its spinning and your body came to a rest in the water. An eerie calm suddenly washed over you; a sense of clarity stilled your wild movements. This was the end. There was no future. No hope. The world above wasn't yours to call home anymore. You now belonged to the sea.

Of course, your water-logged mind had forgotten that home was where the heart was, and your heart was still beating... above the surface, in the aching chest of another.

Tendrils of hair floated around your face like fronds of seaweed. Rays of sunlight penetrated the surface, turning the surroundings a vibrant sparkly blue. As you sank further down, the water, now a comfortable lukewarm, cradled you in its embrace. It felt safe, like being in Finnick's arms again. Like home.

You gazed at the sun's rays; they looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. But time was running out and the bright light soon began shrouding your entire vision, though not before you witnessed a dark figure dive beneath the waves.

**********

Finnick loved the ocean. He spent most days in District Four down by the beach, swimming, spearfishing, and watching the sun rise and set on the blue horizon. If he believed in reincarnation, he would have imagined himself to be a lionfish or dolphin in his past life, living in an underwater world, free from tyranny and oppression. He loved the ocean.

But that love was incomparable to what he felt for you. So, when he dove into the rocky waters to save you and felt the currents fighting against him, he determined there was nothing he hated more than the ocean. Not as he watched its strong grip drag your motionless body further down below him.

Your back had just touched the soft seabed when he swam far enough down to envelope you in his embrace. He should have swum you back to the surface immediately, but in his distressed state, he couldn't help but foolishly stare at your lifeless appearance. Your skin was blue. It's just the water's colour, he told himself. Your eyes were closed. She's just asleep. Your neck didn't pulse under his touch. She's... She's...

He had no justification for that. Feet planted firmly on the sandy floor, he propelled both himself and you back up to the surface. As Finnick paddled back to the Cornucopia, the others reached down and helped lift your limp body onto the rocks.

"Is she...?"

"Peeta," Katniss quietly reprimanded him.

Finnick paid them no attention. He said nothing but trauma screamed in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling as he frantically checked your pulse again—in both your wrists and your neck; he even pressed his ear to your chest. All he heard was the waves lapping against the rocks.

"No," he whispered again.

It seemed to be all he could say anymore. No. No, this couldn't be happening. You were just standing beside him a few minutes ago; your eyes were just looking into his. However much he tried to deny reality, it didn't seem to make it any less true. You were gone.

He choked out a rough determined breath, interlocked his hands over your chest, and began pressing repeatedly over your heart. Wet strands of tangled hair were strewn across the rocks like dead seaweed. The usual soft pink accompanying your cheeks was nowhere to be seen, devoid of any life.

"Come on, sweetheart," he muttered before pulling down your chin to blow air into your lungs. The kiss of life. And when nothing happened as he pulled away, he restarted the chest compressions. "Oh, don't do this to me," he begged, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Breathe."

Any moment now. Any moment, your eyes would flutter open, the colour would return to your glowing skin, and your heart would beat with life beneath his hands. Your lips would whisper his name and he would pull you into his arms, where he would keep you safe until the end of time.

"Breathe."

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Nothing. He did it again. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Silence. Maybe he should've just ripped his heart out and replaced yours with his own. Death would come for him within seconds but hearing something beating inside your chest would've made the sacrifice worth it.

Life would flash before his eyes and your beaming smile would be the last thing he'd get to see. His last thought would be of relief that you were alive.

Johanna rested a tentative hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Finnick, she's—"

"No, she's not!" he exclaimed, continuing his movements. "She's fine. Aren't you, baby? You're fine." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your soft skin before he pressed his lips to yours and blew twice. "You're fine."

The golden bangle around his wrist glimmered in the sunshine as he pressed on your ribcage. All he had to do was keep you alive until Plutarch rescued everyone. One simple task and he failed.

"Finnick, we have to go," someone said. Who? He didn't know nor care.

Leave me, he wanted to say. Leave me here to die. Let the Careers mutilate my body, take my life, my last breath, but let it be by her side.

Something cracked beneath his palms and he knew one of your ribs had fractured. His arms stilled, half-expecting you to cry out in pain but then he remembered. And with that sickening crack came a devastating realisation—you really were gone.

A sob erupted from his throat and his head fell to your chest, drenching your already-soaked wetsuit with hot tears. Everything else seemed to disappear. The arena, the Careers who could attack again at any moment, the spectators who were avidly watching. Everything.

It was just him and you. He didn't care that his screams and deafening sobs could bring unwanted attention or jeopardise the group's safety. Any tribute with half a mind would know crossing him in such a state would be a fatal flaw. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had meaning.

Finnick pulled your lifeless body onto his lap and cradled you protectively in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. His forehead rested against your own, cold and damp. You always were the cold one, needing his touch to light a fire beneath your skin. He loved having you rely on him for warmth, but not like this.

"Come back to me, baby, please," he begged almost inaudibly. Tears were running down his cheeks as he brushed pieces of hair away from your face. His lips were on yours once more, heartbroken and painfully delicate; not to fill your lungs with air, but to fill your heart with his love in the hopes it would be enough to bring it back to life. "Don't leave me."

Pleas, prayers, begs, and wishes flew past his lips, over and over. And then they stopped and Finnick simply stared. Silence fell across the entire arena. The birds didn't chirp, the other tributes remained quiet, and the trees stood still. Even the water had calmed, resembling a perfectly flat mirror.

Finnick only had three words left on his tongue. Three final words to give you, wherever it was that you were. He slowly leaned down, squeezed his stinging eyes shut, and pressed a long farewell kiss to your forehead. His eyes remained closed as he parted from your skin, unable to take another look as he whispered his final goodbye.

"I love you."

And then, for the first time since he had rescued you from the blue depths, he felt his heart beating again. Just like yours was.

**********

There was a voice, distant yet reassuring—a lifeline to consciousness. Black was all there was. Coldness was all that was felt. It was desolate. But that voice... that voice was so anguished yet so familiar and encouraging that it lit a fire inside your chest, warming you from the inside out.

In the distance of the dark void was a figure, their body made entirely out of a pulsating golden light. Each word the voice spoke enhanced the light's brightness. "Come... me, please..." Brighter. "Don't leave..." And brighter.

The light was warm and comforting, just like the voice attached to it. Whoever's voice it was that brought the light resonated deep in your mind, tugging at the strings within your heart.

Your heart.

The thumping in your chest was weak, almost non-existent, but it was still there. Though it seemed time was running out. Pitch-black darkness outweighed the golden light ten-to-one; you could feel its cold breath creeping onto your back. So, you started running towards the figure. Sprinting. Until all that surrounded you was golden.

"I love you."

Water. At first, it came trickling out in two fluid streams from the sides of your mouth. Then suddenly, it was spraying into the air as choked coughs forced the liquid from your burning lungs. Light flooded your vision—not golden and inviting, but vivid and overwhelming.

There was something warm beneath your legs, against your arm, rubbing at your back, holding you in an upright position. While you heaved, dry-retched, and gasped, that soothing warmth remained.

As your airways began to clear and the expulsion of water ceased, your half-lidded eyes rolled around the area. Still dazed and disoriented, you struggled to make out what surrounded you. There was immense rippling blue, vibrant hues of green in the distance, dark rough grey beneath you, and elongated blobs of colour that stood a few feet away.

"Just–just keep breathing, sweetheart." That voice. The one belonging to the figure of light that brought you back. It was madly repeating the same words over and over. "You're okay", "Deep breaths", and "You're alive."

Shaky fingers brushed the stray wet strands of hair from your face. So warm. With the little energy you had, your head turned to seek out the golden light again. And you found it.

The blinding sun shining down reflected off his bronze hair, turning it a divine golden hue. His brows were raised and scrunched together as though he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. Deep lines were etched into his tear-streaked skin, evidence of his previous turmoil. Those sea-green eyes stared at you, afraid that if he so much as blinked, you would fall lifeless in his arms once more.

"You're here," he whispered.

Finnick. YourFinnick. Your light.

When your eyes met, a splitting grin lit up his face, made up of an inconceivable amount of raw emotion. You weren't sure what to do—smile, laugh, cry, kiss him? Your mind was scrambled, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful golden-haired man in front of you.

Without warning, your face scrunched up and the tears began flowing. You weren't sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because you had just been brought back from the brink of death; maybe it was because you couldn't believe someone actually cared so deeply about you.

Finnick cradled your face in his hand. "It's okay," his voice trembled, tears now cascading down his cheeks. His smile, however, never disappeared. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'm not letting you go."

He took your face into two large hands, brought you to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss to each tear that rolled over your skin. One of your hands rested over his; the other was placed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall so you could synchronise your breaths.

His arms moved to pull you tightly against him, almost like he was trying to merge your body with his. Or perhaps, it was your soul. You didn't care about the pain aching in one of your ribs. You wanted to tell him that his soul was already intertwined with your own, but words couldn't describe the sentiment as profoundly as you felt it.

In the simplest of terms your water-logged brain could muster, you whispered, "You're my light, Finnick."

Brows scrunched together, he looked down at you, fighting back the urge to start sobbing in your arms. If he had been anywhere else, if there wasn't an entire country watching, he would've gone on for hours, explaining how stupidly, selfishly, and incredibly in love with you he was.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. So, he placed his hand over the one you had resting on his chest and readjusted its position. He could feel the thumping, even through your palm.

Your eyes were full of emotion as you stared up into his. You already knew what his next words were going to be and for the first time since you were thrown into the water from the Cornucopia, you smiled.

Rhythmically, your hand and his pulsed together. Finnick's gaze flickered across your face and he grinned. "You're my heart."

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actual-changeling · 8 months

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a continuation of this post

Demons do not need to sleep, and yet he does, mostly because time spent unconscious is not time spent crying, which demons also do not do, and yet.

A deep, crushing pain resides in the middle of his chest—a heartbreak not entirely unfamiliar; he never forgot the smell of burning books and the lack of his angel's presence anywhere on earth. He never forgot what it felt like to lose Aziraphale, and the reminder he received was entirely unnecessary.

If anyone were to ask, he'd deny the crying, arguing that technically not a single tear has left his eyes in the last three months, sixteen days, and seven hours—not that he is keeping count—although there is no one left to care. Except Muriel, who adjusted surprisingly quickly to living on earth and having a demonic snake curled up by the window.

Crowley sleeps and endures a never-ending series of nightmares for about two months, and while he wakes and slithers out of his chair, he decides to remain in his serpent form.

The most surprising development is perhaps how easily he bonds with Muriel. They offer up a steady arm, having switched the uniform for a sunshine-yellow pastel jumper and a simple black skirt, and to hell with it all, the warmth, the touch, the soft breaths, and the regular heartbeat pulsating next to him do not heal the wound, but they stop the bleeding; for a while, anyway.

So they go about their days, Crowley coiled around their shoulders while they read or do inventory, reorganise books, and then organise them differently as soon as they're done, never selling a single copy. They sing, too, having apparently discovered a lot of earthly pleasures during his nap, low and quiet, soothing in a way he did not expect.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, the Serpent of Eden wrapped around an angel's shoulders was a familiar sight. The serpent remains unchanged, although if you were to ask anyone regularly passing by the shop, they'd tell you it seems sadder now, somehow.

The angel has changed, however.

As time passes, Crowley waits not in a garden but in a bookshop, longing for a thunderstorm and a white wing above his head. He watches the sky, he watches the door, and he waits and waits and waits.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #muriel #crowley and muriel #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #sorry if you expected fluff angst is all i can offer at the moment take it or leave it

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celestialwrites · 6 months

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saying ‘i love you’ without saying ‘i love you’ dialogue prompts

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ “to me, you are perfect.”

♡ "don't you realise? you are my world."

♡ "you brought me back to life."

♡ "the only way i know how to describe what i feel around you is home. i feel at home."

♡ "it's as if my entire life i have been sinking in a storm and you came and pulled me out."

♡ "you know i stayed for you, and frankly, i don't regret it one bit."

♡ "with the whole of my heart, i believe that together we are infinite."

♡ "i never intend on leaving you. you hear me? never."

♡ "thank you for being the shoulder i always needed, even when you hated me."

♡ "i can't live without you!"

♡ "never leave me, my heart couldn't bear it."

♡ "i've spent my whole life waiting for you."

♡ "consumed in darkness, you darling, were my light."

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS!!<3

#when i tell you guys im so sorry i haven’t posted much recently - i really am so sorry!!#writing and reading slumps suck and i’ve been so busy #thank you all for your patience !#writing prompts #writing prompt #creative writing #angst prompt #angst writing #writing fluff #fluff prompts #domestic fluff #writing inspiration #story prompt #dialogue prompts #dialogue prompt

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cupid-styles · 6 days

Note

bodyguardrry x stripper!y/n?

pink pony club

in which harry is a bodyguard at the club y/n dances at

word count: 2.8k

content warnings: spicy content, minor violence, a small unwanted touching scene, smut (thigh riding, spitting, dirty talk, breast play, one "sir" mention, minor slapping......I think that's it gkdfjgkjd)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Harry doesn’t care much about his job.

He’s not all that interested in working night shifts that start at 8:30 p.m. and don’t end until 4 a.m. He’s not tempted by the constant flow of alcohol, the endless lines of powder that decorate the bartop and booth tables, and the half — and sometimes fully — naked girls that make their money by twirling around oiled up stripper poles and sweet-talking businessmen.

His job as a bodyguard is simply a means to an end. A paycheck. A way to survive.

Unless Y/N is working.

The second she started at Pink Pony Club, it felt as if his world brightened up. She emitted an effervescent pink hue everywhere she went, bathing Harry in it with her bright smile and sweet eyes. He’s always kept a special eye on her — while he didn’t care for the logistics of his job, he took the safety of the dancers seriously, and Y/N was no exception. In fact, maybe she was the exception.

He was the only dancer he watched. She was the only one he spoke to. His pretty, shy, pink girl.

When she took one-on-one dances in the Red Room, he was the guard she asked to accompany her. He never minded. No, he dropped everything to be there with her, even if it meant standing there stoically, watching as she grinded on the lap of a man that would tip her too little.

If it were him, he would never take her perfect presence for granted.

He would sit back and let her take her time. Shower her in every compliment his brain could churn out. He’d comply with the strict no touching rule, but god, if his hands wouldn’t tremble at his sides. He’d have to sit on them to stop himself from doing something stupid.

Sometimes, it’s what he wished those grimy men would do. Like this piece of shit, who’s been shelling out hundred after hundred dollar bills to keep Y/N locked away in the Red Room all night. It’s been hours and the guy can barely keep his head up straight. From Harry’s spot in front of the door, he can tell Y/N’s tired and in need of a break. And when the song comes to a crawling end, he’s ready to step in and tell the guy to get lost, but he’s already digging in his pocket for his wallet. Harry grits his teeth as he watches Y/N’s shoulders fall.

“Another one,” the idiot mutters, stuffing three hundred dollars in the waistband of her panties. Y/N jerks away from his touch and the man stills, flashing her a confused expression. “What? I’ve paid you your entire yearly salary tonight and I can’t put some fuckin’ money in your panties?”

Harry’s fists ball up at his sides, already taking heavy strides towards them as Y/N’s mumbling out, “you’re not allowed to touch the girls.”

“Oh, give me a fuckin’ break,” he wails, sending a look of disbelief to Harry, as if he should agree with him. “This girl’s a cocktease!”

Harry snorts and Y/N shuffles off the man’s lap. He stands in front of her, creating a physical barrier between the two.

“You heard her, you’re not allowed to touch any of the girls. Doesn’t matter how much money you’ve paid.” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you gonna get lost or are we gonna have a problem?”

The guy rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me you’re always here watching over this one and you’ve never once copped a feel? She’s out with her fuckin’ ass and tits out and you—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish whatever disgusting sentence was coming out of his mouth because Harry’s already pulling him up by the shirt collar. The guy yelps as Harry’s strong grip yanks him off the couch and he scoffs, resisting the urge to spit in his face.

“Disgusting piece of shit.” he mutters, throwing him up against the maroon velvet wall. “You know that? You think you can fucking talk about her like she’s some kind of object?”

“She’s a stripper!” he exclaims, raising his hands up in mock defense.

“I don’t fucking care,” Harry growls, “She could be an escort for all I care, but you don’t touch anyone without their fucking permission. Especially her. Do you fucking hear me?”

“Yeah, man, whatever! It’s all good, I promise!”

“Oh, it’s all good?” he mocks, keeping him pushed up against the wall with his hand up against his chest. His other arm cocks back and his hand forms a tight fist, his knuckles white as hot adrenaline courses through his veins. He’s ready to beat this guy until he’s unrecognizable — until he hears it.

A small, quiet whimper of his name.

Immediately, he turns around. Y/N stands behind him, looking small and helpless with glassy eyes. Again, she repeats his name. “Harry,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not worth it, I don’t wanna lose my job. Just let him go.”

And just like that, he does.

He lowers his fist, his hand unfurls around the cheap fabric of his button-up, and he’s free to go, scrambling out of the Red Room before Harry has the chance to tell the other bodyguards to escort him out. But he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the teary eyed girl with trembling fingers.

“Baby,” he breathes, fear surging through his chest as he wraps a tender arm around her waist. He sits onto the crushed velvet bench and pulls her into his lap, keeping a soothing hand placed at the small of her waist. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She quickly shakes her head, allowing the tears to flow a bit more freely now. “I-I’m okay. Just scary.”

“I know,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “Was it— did I scare you?”

“No, no. I know you were just… trying to protect me.” she says softly, blinking her eyes at him.

“I was, sweetheart. I promise. I would never do anything to hurt or scare you.”

She nods. “I know.”

“How much longer do you have left of your shift? I can take you home. You shouldn’t be working when you’re upset.”

Y/N glances down at the watch around Harry’s wrist, nibbling on her bottom lip as she thinks. It’s already 2, which means the club closes in less than three hours.

“Just another hour. I can make it,” she replies as she straightens her posture in his grasp. “I’m just… I don’t think I’m ready to go back out there yet.”

“That’s fine. We can stay here as long as you’d like.” And he’d certainly knock out anyone who threatened to give her shit for it.

They sit in silence for a bit and Harry keeps a protective arm looped around her waist the entire time, drawing soft circles into her exposed hip. He feels relief at knowing that she doesn’t express discomfort at being in his arms and frankly, if it were up to him, she’d never leave them.

Harry’s torn from his thoughts when she runs her fingers over the expanse of tattoos that cover his arms. Glancing down, he watches as her manicured nails slowly float from the anchor on his wrist all the way up to the ship on his bicep. He swallows, staying impossibly still as she analyzes the ink. Eventually, she lands on the cursive A on his shoulder.

“Girlfriend?” she asks, peering up at him. He shakes his head.

“Mum,” he murmurs, “Do you have any tattoos?”

Y/N nods. “One.”

Harry’s tongue peeks out to moisten his lips as he maintains heavy-lidded eye contact with her. He’s seen nearly every bit of her skin and prickles form in his stomach, thinking about where her hidden tattoo could be.

“What is it?”

Slowly, she shifts off of his lap to stand in front of him. Using deft fingertips to peel the waistband of her lacey lingerie down, she reveals a simple red rose inked into her skin, just above where her mound begins. Harry swallows harshly at the sight.

“Do you like it?”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Gorgeous.” he mumbles.

“I was thinking about getting another one,” she breathes as she shimmies the fabric just a bit lower. She taps the small patch of skin across from the rose. “An H, maybe.”

“That would be a silly decision, sweetheart,” he says lowly, leaning back against the bench and spreading his legs a little wider. “You don’t want an initial for the guy who beats up idiot losers.”

“I do, though. I love knowing you’re there to protect me.” she replies. Briskly, she climbs back into his lap, this time straddling his waist and placing her knees on either side of him. As if on instinct, he wraps his arms around her to steady her, pressing one palm to the back of her thigh.

“I’ll always be there to protect you,” he mumbles, chest tightening as she leans closer. Her lips are centimeters away and it makes his breath catch in his throat. His throat bobs as he swallows, angling his head ever so slightly to minimize the small gap between them, and then he whispers: “Stop me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” she’s so close to him that her breath ghosts over his plush lips, “Kiss me. Please.”

That’s all he needs to seal their lips, her shaky hands finding purchase at the back of his neck. It feels so special to have her hands on him as their lips meld; slowly at first, and then she’s straightening her back to push her chest forward, desperate to be closer, closer, closer.

It feels like their only source of oxygen is coming from one another. Harry’s hands grip her ass firmly, squeezing the plump skin in his palms. He’s content with keeping things here at a steady PG-13 level until her wet mouth breaks away for just a moment, only long enough to murmur, “touch me, I need it.”

A groan oscillates from his throat as his hands travel down to her neck, her shoulders, her chest, and then finally her breasts. His hands find the covered peaks of her nipples and she inhales sharply, shuddering beneath his touch. He smirks as he settles on the right side of her chest, using his thumb to gently brush over her nipple. She straightens her spine and leans into the sensation as he slowly rubs it back and forth.

"Always gonna keep you safe. You know that?” Harry mumbles into her mouth, licking at the seam of her lips. Her eyes squeeze shut and her thighs threaten to close around his wide, spread legs. “Uh-huh,” she nearly whines. He swallows as he watches her, noticing her quick descent into desperation. He gives her nipple a soft squeeze before quickly pausing to unhook her bra and toss it to the floor. He resumes his teasing just a moment later, leaning forward and attaching his lips to the hard bud. A quiet, shaky mewl falls from her swollen lips. He parts with a pop but only to spit messily onto the peak. She gasps when he takes her nipple into his mouth again, hissing as he bites the skin. It’s not hard or long enough to elicit any real pain, just a sweet sizzle in her stomach that makes her tug at the curled ends of his hair. He chuckles softly at her reaction before licking over the bite and tucking the bud back between his lips. Once he’s gotten his fix, he removes his hand from her breast and moves it up to her mouth. "Open." he commands. As if under a spell, her bottom lip drops open and Harry pushes two of his fingers inside, pressing them down against her tongue. "Dirty little mouth, hm?" He murmurs. She nods submissively and he grins, "Suck." She closes her lips, encasing his long fingers in her mouth as she begins to slowly bob up and down, taking them further. His fingertips make contact with her throat, eliciting a short gag as the muscles contract slightly around them. Quickly, he removes them. "Did I hurt you?" She shakes her head and reaches up to wipe away some of the drool that had escaped her mouth. "No. I like it." "Are you lying, baby?" He asks, moving her hair over her shoulder, "This isn't fun for me if you're just doing what you think I want." "I'm not lying, I promise. I like it." Harry's lips curl into a smirk. "Tell me what else you like, then." As she opens her mouth, he shifts his thigh between her legs, the muscles flexing firmly against her core. She gasps, though Harry pretends like he hadn't done anything, instead nodding at her shortly; an encouragement to follow his directions. "I like gagging on your fingers." She whines as he begins to move his thigh back and forth, just slow enough to create some friction between their bodies. "Yeah? What else do you like?" "You," she whimpers, gently rocking her hips against his jean-clad thigh, "When you keep me safe.” "Ah, my pretty baby likes feeling protected?” She nods as she begins to quicken my movements. He stills her hips but before she has a chance to whine about it, he mumbles out a "budge up, baby" so he can slip her panties off her legs. She resists the urge to hiss at the contact, her stomach tightening at the feeling of his thigh muscle against her. For a moment, he inspects the sodden underwear, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You made quite the mess in these, baby. What got you so turned on?” She swallows harshly, her chest shaky. “Y-you. Seeing you threaten that guy for me.” He smirks but decides to leave it at that, feeling the desperate warmth radiating from her core. "Go 'head," he mumbles, leaning back. "Let me see you use me." She feels her hole contract at his words, mentally cringing as he chuckles. He feels how needy she is and he absolutely loves it. Slowly, she starts to grind against his thigh, holding in pathetic whimpers at the solid surface making contact with her clit. Harry tsks when he notices her roll her lips into her mouth. She looks down as he moves his hand towards her lower half, momentarily excited that he’ll pet at her the way she’s craving. The dream is short lived when he parts her pussy lips instead to look at the wet mess between them. "Don't hide your sounds," he scolds, pressing the pad of his fingertip to her clit, rolling it in small circles. "They're too pretty.”

She nods, prepared to continue her movements when she gasps out in surprise. Harry had delivered a swift slap to her clit — not painful enough to ask him to stop, but just enough to deliver a sizzling sensation to her core. "Tell me you'll moan for me." "I will, sir," she whines, rutting helplessly against his hand. He smirks and pinches the skin at her inner thigh before nodding again, a wordless order to continue. Hesitantly, she rocks her hips, building up a slow and intentional pace that hits her clit at the perfect angle. She’s dripping now, embarrassingly so, and making a mess both between their legs and on Harry's, but she’s too turned on to care. There’s something about knowing he’s watching her get off and doing exactly what he asks of her that sends her to another dimension. It’s not long before she feels a familiar tightening in her stomach. They’d built each other up and up and up, teasing one another until they could barely stand it, so she’s not surprised when her muscles started to clench, pathetic gasps falling from her swollen lips. "Is my good girl gonna cum?" Harry teases from beneath her. She nods jerkily, her nails digging into his stomach. "Let me see. Cum all over my leg, baby. Make a mess." Harry's dirty talk is finally what does her in. With a few more rocks of her hips, she’s in heaven, whimpering out calls of his name as she peaks. He holds her hips to keep me on his leg as she bounces helplessly through her orgasm, her eyes slowly blinking open to find a smirk on his face when she finally begins coming down. "You're heaven sent, y'know that?" he mumbles. Y/N laughs breathily as she shakes her head, her blushy gaze falling to his lap. He thumbs at her bottom lip and gently nudges her chin up. “Lemme take you home tonight,” he whispers, cupping her cheek in his palm, “I wanna take care of you.” She nods. “Yeah, okay. You’ll wait for me to finish my shift?” “Of course,” he murmurs as he presses his forehead against hers. “Always.”

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talaok · 7 months

Text

Needy

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Joel needs his fix of you, and he doesn't care if it makes you late.

Warnings: smut| oral sex (f receiving) and coming untouched. Joel is a little more sub in this one and he's obsessed with eating you out.

a/n: guys, i have a confession to make, i do not know what this is, i wrote it tonight and boy i'm so tired that i'm honestly not really sure about what i typed, but i was in the mood and i like this thing of Joel tuesdays im doing so... hope you'll enjoy.

"you look gorgeous, baby"

It didn't take a genius.

The way he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his body to yours, the way he whispered in your ear, the way he didn't break eye contact, looking at you from the mirror as he kissed your neck...

Joel Miller might have been a hard man to understand many times, but not when it was about sex.

"Joel" you stopped him immediately, neglecting the shimmers of pleasure he had ignited inside of you from such a small gesture "We don't have time"

If he heard you, he didn't show it.

His kisses only grew hotter and lower down your neck.

"Baby I'm serious" you breathed, feeling one of his hands travel down your sides "We're gonna be late"

Even with a bad ear, he should have definitely heard that, but his only response was a low groan and an attempt to hike up your dress.

"Baby-"

"just a peek" he murmured, sending a shiver up your spine "Just wanna look at her"

Even if your natural response was to roll your eyes, hearing him so desperate was doing things to you.

"please" he breathed "I'll be quick"

And after a moment of silence, as you considered what he'd just said, you finally huffed out a "fine"

It's just one peek after all, what could go wrong?

He had turned you around and was on his knees before you had time to blink, and your dress was pulled up to your belly before you could take a breath.

You watched him as he held your waist like you were a long-lost treasure he'd just found, and as his eyes trained on your clothed core with so much hunger and lust to turn them completely black.

And then slowly, oh so slowly, his right hand came to help, removing that torturous piece of fabric obstructing his view of (as he referred to it) "the most perfect pussy on the planet"

"fuck" he groaned, his pupils dilatating so much they were one with his iris.

You let out a small chuckle at his amazement

"There, you saw it, can we go no-" you tried to speak, but were quickly interrupted

"just a kiss"

He didn't even sound like himself, but like he was in a trance.

"just one" he breathed, leaning closer

You sighed, before agreeing

"one"

And he didn't even answer you, he just went straight to it, groaning loudly as he kissed you right on your clit.

"Joel..." your hand found his hair, as a shock of pleasure coursed through you.

"just another one" he murmured, not giving you time to protest before his lips were on your core again, this time forcing a whimper out of your mouth.

"baby-"

But another groan of his interrupted your train of thought

"fuck you taste so fucking good" his eyes glanced up at you "I could eat you for every meal"

"Joel we're gonna be la-"

"let me taste you a little better" he growled, "just a bit, ok?"

But again, before you had time to give him a half-hearted excuse, he'd dived in, taking your pussy in his mouth like it was his lifelong duty.

His tongue was now swirling over your bud, your hole, and along your slit, making you forget all about your plans and the people waiting for you at the restaurant.

"shit baby" you moaned "f-fuck"

His hold on your waist got tighter, and soon, you realized his definition of "a bit" was much different from yours, as he didn't look like he had any intention of stopping, and to be honest, you were more than happy about it.

His nose was rubbing against your mound, you could feel his mustache tickling your skin and the way his tongue was tasting and savoring all of you was making you ascend to another universe, one where you didn't fall for Joel Miller's stupid tricks every time for example.

"J-Joel"

And usually, he was very talkative during sex, for being such a man of a few words he really loved to talk when he was inside of you, but not when his mouth was busy, never, when his mouth was busy.

Eating your pussy for him was like a drug, I’m not kidding, you'd never met any other man who loved giving head like Joel did, most mornings than not you'd wake with him between your legs and go to sleep the same way, and when he didn't get his fix... well, you ended up arriving late at the restaurant.

"oh my god" you moaned, gripping his locks with more strength as his lips closed on your clit, sucking it deliciously "Joel fuck I-"

And that's the other thing, not only was Joel obsessed with going down on you, he was also amazing at it. Sometimes you didn't even last a full minute.

"f-fuck baby I-"

And with one final stroke of his tongue, you were pushed over the edge and left wailing and crying as the orgasm took over your body.

He drank every single drop of your pleasure, not stopping to lick your pussy until you literally pulled him away by his head because you couldn't do it anymore.

"fuck" you exhaled, as your breathing tried to get back to normal.

He fixed your dress for you as he stood back up

"you're perfect" he murmured, a smile from ear to ear plastered on his face before he kissed you, letting you have a taste of yourself "fucking perfect"

You chuckled as you wrapped your arms behind his neck and kissed him again"We don't have time for me to take care of you too baby"

His lips pulled into a more shy smile now "yeah, that's not really necessary anyway"

You frowned, looking at him, before you let your eyes fall to his crotch.

A dark stain covered the front of his jeans.

"oh my god" you huffed out a laugh "go change"

"right away m'am" he nodded, giving you another quick kiss

"and wash your mouth a little bit"

And at that, he smirked

"not a chance, sweetheart"

Your head tilted as you rolled your eyes at him.

"You, Joel Miller" you cocked an eyebrow as you looked into his hazel eyes"are a gross, gross perv"

A lazy smile pulled at his lips

"Only for you darlin'"

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vanteguccir · 1 month

Text

All Too Well | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Chris misplace his priorities.

Warning: Fighting, crying, cursing. ANGST with a happy ending.

Requested?: Yes, by anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N felt her heart sink as she watched Chris frantically scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention to her. The silence in the living room echoed the tension that had been building between them over the past few weeks, the memory of the previous day's event still fresh in Y/N's mind.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N sighed contentedly as she set the dark wooden table carefully, placing the plates and cutlery impeccably. She had spent the entire afternoon preparing Chris's favorite dish, with fresh ingredients, for the romantic dinner they had planned to have after the triplets recorded the video that would be posted next Friday. Everything was perfect, except for the emptiness that began to settle in her chest as the hours passed and Chris didn't appear.

At eight sharp, Y/N sat at the table, her heart filled with anticipation and anxiety. She watched the stairs leading to the front door with every sound she heard, willing him to come. But as the minutes dragged on, anxiety turned to despair.

Nine o'clock passed, and Y/N was still sitting alone at the table, her stomach churning with hunger and worry and her eyes staring into space, small tears burning her cornea. She tried calling Chris several times, but every call went to voicemail, as well as her messages going unread.

At ten o'clock, Y/N couldn't take it anymore. Thick tears began to stream down her face as she looked at the still untouched plate in front of her. The romantic dinner she had so lovingly prepared now seemed like a cruel reminder of her dashed hope.

With a choked sob, Y/N got up from the table, feeling completely desolate, her belly hurting from the weight and sobs that made her body shake. She carefully put the food away in the fridge, her hands shaking with disappointment.

That night, Y/N fell asleep in her boyfriend's room with a heavy heart and eyes swollen with tears, wondering if she would ever have the courage to take some initiative, before it was too late.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N was standing in front of the cinema, her heart full of expectation as she held a bucket of popcorn in her hands. She looked from side to side nervously, trying to spot Chris among the crowds rushing along the sidewalk. Time was running out, and her nervousness increased as the clock on her phone showed just ten minutes until the start of the movie, and her boyfriend still hadn't appeared.

And then, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over her, Y/N's phone vibrated, indicating a new message. She grabbed the device anxiously, hoping to see an apology or explanation from Chris for the delay. But what she heard was something that made her shake with rage.

"Hi, baby." Chris’s voice sounded through the voicemail, but instead of an apology, there was a note of indifference in his words. "I know we planned to go to the movies today, but a last-minute party came up that I really need to go to. Do you remember Tara Yummy? It's hers! Well, I'm sorry for canceling like that at the last minute. Maybe we can meet up later, okay? Bye."

Y/N felt her world collapse upon hearing those words. Chris's betrayal, his indifference to her feelings as he sent her the message just to break her as if it was some kind of promise, cut like a sharp knife. She clutched her phone tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Anger and sadness consumed her, bubbling inside her chest like a volcano about to erupt. With a cry of frustration, Y/N threw the bucket of popcorn and the tickets into the nearest trash bin, tears streaming freely down her cheeks as she felt suffocated by disappointment and pain.

And that night, Y/N walked away from the cinema, her heart broken and her confidence destroyed.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Chris." She began, shaking her head gently to shake the memories away, her voice trembling with the anguish she carried. "We need to talk."

Chris looked up from his phone for a moment, his tired eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to the bright screen in his hands.

"Not now, Y/N. I'm busy."

Those words hit Y/N like a punch in the stomach. She felt increasingly isolated and neglected, while Chris's world revolved around his career and his influential friends.

"You're always busy, Chris." Y/N murmured, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape her eyes. "There's never time for us."

Chris sighed, irritation rising across his skin like a shiver. He closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking up at the girl again, giving her a look full of hatred, which she had never seen before.

"I have responsibilities, Y/N. You know that. I can't just ignore my work to pay attention to you."

"I'm not asking you to ignore it." Y/N snapped, her voice rising in desperation. "I'm just asking for a little time for us. For our relationship. Yesterday you-"

Chris shook his head quickly, interrupting her, the traces of frustration deepening on his face.

"I already said I'm sorry! You always do this, Y/N. You're always trying to change who I am and what I do. You always try to change my priorities, like my world has to revolve around you. That's not how things work!"

Those words cut Y/N like a sharp blade, knocking all the air out of her lungs. She wasn't trying to change him. She just wanted to feel like he cared about her as much as he cared about his fame, but instead, he made her feel like a random crumpled up piece of paper.

"I just want you to include me in your life." Y/N whispered, her voice shaking with pain as her eyes blinked repeatedly, her eyelashes slowly becoming wet with tiny droplets from tears. "But it always seems like there's something more important."

Chris snorted, throwing the phone roughly onto his lap and turning abruptly to face her, an expression of disdain filling his eyes.

"You know what? Maybe it would be better if you took some time to think about what you really want, because it seems to me that everything I do isn't enough, and if you're not genuinely happy in this relationship, maybe you should evaluate your preferences!"

Chris' words echoed in Y/N's mind, leaving her stunned. She felt as if she had been hit by a train of conflicting emotions.

With a lump in her throat, the girl stood up from the couch abruptly, her legs shaking under the weight of her grief as her chest burned intensely, anguish gnawing at her insides.

"Maybe you're right." Y/N muttered, shrugging, her voice cracking with pain. "Maybe I need some time to figure out what I really want... Right?"

Chris watched in silence as Y/N walked away, her tears finally spilling freely down her cheeks, her lips pressed into a thin line tightly in an attempt to stop the sobs that wanted to escape.

The brunette frowned, watching his girlfriend's wet cheeks against the cool light of the room, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten, begging to call her back, and apologize, but the words seemed to get stuck.

And so, Y/N left the triplets house that night, taking with her a broken heart and a soul full of uncertainty about the future of their relationship.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The frigid night air bit into Chris' skin as he walked through the empty streets of LA, his body shaking not only from the cold but also from the anxiety and remorse that consumed him. He couldn't bear another night without Y/N by his side, without feeling her comforting touch and hearing her soft laugh filling the silence.

His steps were heavy and slow, each carrying the weight of days of loneliness and regret that piled up on his shoulders. The memory of Y/N's desolate and disappointed face haunted his thoughts, an image that haunted him incessantly, preventing him from finding peace even at bedtime.

Chris knew he had done wrong, that he had hurt the person he loved most in the world with his negligence and misplaced priorities. He blamed himself for his actions, for putting his work and his friends before her, for leaving her alone and helpless at times when she needed him most, or just wanted his company and love.

The mere memory of coming home on Thursday before everything fell apart, and finally seeing all the lost messages from his girl, along with a plate full of his favorite food neatly packed in the fridge made his heart ache as if human hands were squeezing it.

As he made his way through the deserted streets, the silence of the night was deafening, a cruel metaphor for the loneliness he had caused himself. Each step brought him closer to the home that had once been his refuge, the place where he found comfort in Y/N's arms and where he hoped he could right the wrongs he had done.

Finally, the brunette arrived at the door of the small, simple house, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he hesitated to ring the doorbell. He knew he didn't deserve Y/N's forgiveness, that his empty words and broken promises couldn't erase the pain he caused.

But he had to try. He had to show her that he was sorry, that he loved her more than anything in this world, and that he would do anything to have her back by his side.

With a shaky sigh, Chris finally pressed the doorbell and waited, his heart hammering in his chest as he crossed his arms, shifting his weight from one leg to the other in an act of nervousness, the cold of the night penetrating his bones.

On the other side of the door, Y/N hesitated, her heart beating wildly in her chest as she tried to gather the courage to face the stranger that was there. The last few days had been a storm of sadness and loneliness, her mind spinning in circles of anguish as she struggled to understand what had happened between her and Chris, where everything went wrong.

When she finally mustered enough courage to turn the doorknob, what she saw made her freeze in place. Chris was there, standing in front of her, his eyes red and swollen from crying. His face was contorted into an expression of pain and regret, and Y/N felt her heart tighten even more at the sight of the person she loved so much in a deplorable state.

"Chris." Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to process the scene before her eyes.

Chris didn't say anything, he couldn't. He just sobbed, thick tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he fought to contain the overwhelming emotions that overwhelmed him. His body shook violently, each sob a painful reminder of all the mistakes he had made in the last few weeks.

Y/N felt tears in her own eyes as she looked at him, her heart breaking at the pain she saw reflected in his eyes. Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped Chris in a tight hug, letting him cry on her shoulder as she gently stroked his hair, her own tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

For long minutes, they stayed there, lost in each other's arms that transcended the words and hurts. It was as if, in that moment, their wounded souls found a refuge in each other, a source of comfort and peace amid the chaos their lives had become.

"Baby! B-baby, I'm- I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry-" The boy's words came out in broken sobs, his words almost incomprehensible.

Y/N closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her heart clenching by her own pain. With a sigh, she pulled away lightly, holding his hand firmly and gently guiding him into her house, closing the door behind them, the warmth of the walls enveloping their cold bodies.

Y/N led Chris over to the living room couch, keeping a cautious distance as he sat down next to her on the cushioned seat. Uncomfortable silence hung between them, filled with tension and unspoken emotions, as Y/N waited patiently for Chris to find the words to express what was in his heart.

Finally, after a long moment, Chris broke the silence, his voice still cracked from his recent crying.

"Baby, I... I know I was wrong. I know I hurt you deeply with my actions, and I never wanted to make you feel that way."

Chris sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he tried to find the right words, his right leg bouncing up and down in anxiety.

"I was so obsessed with YouTube, with my success, that I ended up neglecting the most important thing in my life: you. I got lost in the cool lights and the adrenaline of fame, and I forgot how much you mean to me. And I'm so fucking sorry for that." His lower lip trembled slightly, making him trap it between his teeth.

The boy's words cut deep into Y/N, reigniting the pain and hurt she had kept inside. She felt tempted to step away to protect her heart from the possibility of being hurt again. But something in Chris's eyes made her hesitate, something she recognized as genuine regret and love.

"Chris..." Y/N began, her voice shaky and filled with uncertainty. "You don't understand how much it hurt me every time you kept me waiting, every time you put your work and your friends before me. I felt so alone, so unappreciated."

"I know, Y/N. And I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I would do anything to make things right, to prove that you're my real priority." Chris lowered his head, frowning and fixing his eyes on his legs, guilt weighing on his shoulders.

Y/N raised her right hand, taking it to his chin covered with the beard he had let grow in the last few days, pushing it up so that she could look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and desperation reflected there.

She wanted to believe him and wanted to open her heart to forgiveness and the possibility of a future together again. But the pain of everything that had been done brought her such insecurity that she knew she needed time to heal.

"I don't know, Chris." Y/N murmured, the hand that was holding his chin falling with a thud onto her lap. "I'm still hurt, I'm still trying to process everything that happened. I don't know if I can just forgive and forget."

Chris swallowed hard, fear evident in his eyes as his mind screamed at him to do everything, anything. Even if he needed to kneel in front of his girl to get her back.

"Please, Y/N. I promise I'll do everything to make this right, to be the boyfriend you deserve. Just give me a chance to prove that I can change."

Y/N looked at him again, seeing the vulnerability in his gaze. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but there was something about Chris, something she couldn't ignore, something that gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to the way they were before.

With a resigned sigh, Y/N reached her hand out to Chris again, taking his and intertwining their fingers tightly, her heart warming with the touch she had missed so much.

"I forgive you, Chris." She murmured, her voice sounding soft but her eyes carrying an indescribable firmness. "But know that things are going to have to change. Your priorities are going to have to take the right path this time."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @bellasfavbisexual @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @sturnolio-luvs @sturnsjtop

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bloodsuckingfiends · 23 days

Text

Cuddling up to Astarion in his tent, curled up against his side with your head on his chest while he reads. The soft rumble of his voice in his chest, and the long fingers of his free hand softly playing with your hair, lulls you to sleep.

#Pleaseeeeeee it's all I want #I'm gonna write a one shot of this #I just needed the brain worm out #baldurs gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader smut #astarion x tav angst #astarion angst #astarion smut #astarion fluff #astarion x tav fluff

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rafeandonlyrafe · 6 months

Text

live like a kook

words: 5.2k

the camerons take you in after your house is destroyed in a hurricane, giving you a month to live like a kook

warnings: enemies to lovers, lots of pogues vs kooks dynamic, rafe being mean to reader, reader is john bs cousin, food insecurity/mentions of going hungry, cursing

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs

“dad, this is fucking ridiculous. no way am i sharing my home with a fucking pogue.” rafe argues, his voice raising higher and higher as the fight goes on.

“well, get over it rafe. we are doing our part for the community, this girls house got destroyed in the hurricane, she’s staying here for the next month. end of story.” ward says firmly, hoping to temper his sons anger before you arrive.

“bullshit, you don’t care about helping the pogues, all you want is to look like a good guy.” rafe runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “it’s not safe. we can’t trust them, what if she steals from us?”

ward pauses. it’s something he did think about, which is why he went through the house and hid the most valuable items, locking them away in a secret safe. “you keep an eye on her then, rafe.”

it’s the end of the conversation as ward walks out of the room, even after rafe continues after him, not accepting his dads solution. wards patience with his son is about to bubble over when the doorbell rings.

ward gives rafe a pointed look to calm himself down, or at least be quiet about his disdain as he opens up the door to reveal you standing there, only carrying a backpack, fitting all of your belongings after losing almost everything in the hurricane.

“hello, mr. cameron, i’m y/n.” you stick your hand out, accepting the firm but friendly shake ward gives you.

“y/n?”

you look around ward into the house, making eye contact with a shocked rafe.

“you didn’t tell me it was- her who was going to be staying here.” rafe spits, looking at his dad, nostrils flaring in anger.

“rafe, watch yourself.” ward warns, stepping back from the door and beckoning you over the threshold.

“hi rafe.” you say quietly. you had foolishly hoped that rafe wouldn’t mind you staying here. it’s not like you ever really interact, but you know that he doesn’t get along with your cousin john b.

ward gives you a tour of the house, introducing you to rose and wheezy, and the whole time rafe stalks behind you, silent and domineering.

“thank you again for letting me stay here.” you say when ward shows you what is to be your room for the next month, situated between rafes and sarahs, who is currently out, probably with your cousin.

“of course.” ward says. “i’ll give you some time to unpack, we are serving dinner in around an hour.” “okay.” you nod, heading into your room, shutting the door carefully behind you. you glance around the opulent bedroom, so unlike what you are used to, large sweeping curtains covering the windows, sturdy wooden furniture, and best of all, the huge bed covering most of the floor.

you drop your backpack, letting yourself flop back onto the bed, letting out a laugh when you realize that even the ceiling is beautiful.

you weren’t sure what to expect when you got told that there were some people opening up their homes for those who lost theirs due to the hurricane, but you certainly never expected it to be the camerons, or any other rich kooks.

you’re still smiling to yourself when your door bursts open. your eyes widen as rafe takes up the entire doorway, not asking permission before barging into your room and slamming the door forcefully behind him.

“hey!” you shout, swinging your legs to the side of the bed and turning to stare at rafe.

“shut up.” rafe warns, quickly crossing the space between the door and the bed, hovering over you. “i want to make one thing very clear.” he holds up his pointer finger, pausing as you flicker your eyes from his hand back to his face. “do not touch anything in this house. if you steal like your loser pogue cousin, i will know. i will be watching you.”

rafe doesn’t say anything more, he doesn’t need to, turning and walking out of the room, leaving your door flung wide open, not bothering to even shut it behind him. you shiver at the warning, not that you planned on stealing, but you did plan on a peaceful stay here, and it seems like rafe is committed to the exact opposite.

you stand and shut your door, this time making sure to lock it.

“that’s screwed into the wall.” rafes voice suddenly rings down the hallway, making you jump away from the painting.

“i wasn’t going to steal it.” you grumble, crossing your arms. you were still familiarizing yourself with the house, spending some time wandering alone, but around every corner, rafe is there.

“then what were you doing staring it?” he questions.

“admiring the art, if that’s so hard to believe. yes, rafe,” you say with a sigh “even a dirty dumb pogue like me can appreciate a painting.”

“well then you don’t mind if i stand here and watch as you appreciate it.” rafe crosses his arms, muscles bulging. you turn back to the painting, looking over the landscape scene, but rafes eyes are drilling holes into you, and just like he wanted, you quickly get too frustrating, groaning and stomping away.

you head out into the garden, needing a breath of fresh air and to look upon the ocean.

“he’s an asshole.”

you jump, not realizing wheezie was in the hammock you stopped next to.

“what?” you question.

“rafe. he’s an asshole.” “you said it, not me.” you sigh, taking the hair tie off your wrist and pulling your hair into a ponytail as the wind picks up.

“just try and avoid him when he gets in his pissy moods. he’s not like this all the time.” wheezie gives you a piece of advice as she swings her legs over the side of the hammock, heading back inside.

you watch her until she’s all the way in, before glancing up and realizing that rafe is watching you as well. your brow scrunches in anger and you turn, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you angry again.

you head towards the expansive dock, marveling at how far it stretches out into the ocean as you plop down on the wood, swinging your feet over the edge. your eyes are on the horizon as gray clouds roll in, probably a cell from the recent hurricane that broke off.

you keep your back turned to the house, not wanting to retreat yet as you watch the storm roll in, scenting the air change as the temperature drops. you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm as the wind picks up, but the rain still hasn’t reached you yet.

you daydream about living in a house like tanneyhill. not for a month, but for your whole life. of getting out of your small cottage, now being rebuilt by your deadbeat dad, and living a life of luxury like the camerons.

strong hands grab onto your upper arms, pulling you to a standing position like you weigh nothing. “what are you doing?” rafe asks, shaking you slightly, his eyes wide with what you think might be worry.

“get off of me!” you shout, pulling yourself out of his hold.

“do you want to get yourself sick? it’s cold, and there’s a storm coming in. get inside.” rafe stares at you expectantly as the first sprinkles of rain starts to fall. you want to fight, to push back, but you also don’t want to get soaked, walking past rafe without acknowledging him as you both head into the house just before the downpour hits.

rafe doesn’t even glance at you as he pushes past, heading to his room.

“y/n, you wanna come with me?” sarah asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder, probably going to spend another night at john b’s. she’s been away from tanneyhill more often then she’s been here ever since you arrived.

you glance at rafe who is sitting on the couch, phone in hand. you’re not sure if he’s even paying attention to whats going on.

“sure.” you reply, “just give me a second to get changed.”

“alright, john b will be here in 5 minutes in the twinkie.” sarah heads outside to wait as you move up the stairs, taking off your leggings and opting for a pair of shorts instead, slipping your tennis shoes on.

you gasp in surprise when you open the door and run right into rafes wide chest.

“i heard you’re going to hang out with the dirty pogues.” rafe says, taking a step back when you push against his chest. you know he’s choosing to let you by, and if he wanted to he could have stood firm.

“in case you forgot, rafe-” you shoot him a pointed look as you head down the stairs. “i am one of those dirty pogues.” rafe stays put as you head outside, and you’re thankful to get some time away tanneyhill as the twinkie pulls down the street.

“hey, it’s my favorite cousin!” john b shouts when he sees you getting in along with sarah.

“john b, i’m your only cousin.” you roll your eyes, turning to watch out the window as tanneyhill disappears from view.

it’s nice to catch up with your friends and cousin, spending the afternoon relaxing and talking around a campfire. you are especially happy pope is here, always getting along so well with him.

“there they go again.” pope sighs when kiara starts to fight with jj, both of you rolling your eyes at each other, wishing they’d just work through whatever repressed feelings they have for each other.

“hey, john b, can you give me a ride back to tanneyhill?” you ask, noticing it’s start to get dark.

“aw, can’t you just stay here?” john b asks, his tongue obviously loosened by the beer he was sipping on. “i hate that my cousin is there, taking the kooks charity.” “just because you don’t want any help doesn’t mean that i can’t accept it.” you say, raising your voice. “besides, you knew our house got destroyed and you didn’t even reach out. you were too busy with sarah.”

you stomp away from the chateau, heading down the dirt driveway, determined to walk back to tanneyhill if john b wouldn’t give you a ride.

“y/n! wait!” if it was john b calling for you, you wouldn’t have stopped, but you turn to face sarah.

“listen-” you interrupt her before she can speak. “i’m not mad at you. i’m not even mad at john b. i’ve just been through a lot and want to go ho- back to tanneyhill.” “i’m sorry.” sarah pulls you into a hug, one that you didn’t realize you needed that much. “john b’s probably too drunk to drive. i texted rafe to come pick you up.”

you sigh, trying not to let your disappointment show on your face. you really don’t want to spend time alone with rafe, but you thank her and tell her to tell rafe that you’re starting to walk so to keep an eye out on the way, figuring it would be better to distance yourself from the rest of the pogues before he got to you.

you spot rafes truck after walking for a few minutes, watching him slow to a stop before you climb into the passenger seat.

“thanks.” you whisper, not sure what else to say as rafe presses down on the gas. you expect him to turn back towards tanneyhill, but he’s driving you in a different direction.

“where are we going?” you ask.

“i doubt you ate anything good while you were with the pogues. you need to get some real food.” rafe pulls into town, finding a parking spot that would fit his truck.

“rafe, it’s okay, i’ll eat at tanneyhill.” you say, but he just gets out of the truck and walks around to your side, yanking the door open and gesturing for you to get out.

“i see what you eat at tanneyhill. it’s never real meals unless it’s what rose makes, and she’s out tonight with my dad. just come on.”

you slide out of the truck, watching rafes back as he walks away, expecting you to follow. you stay a few feet behind him until rafe turns into a restaurant, again holding the door open for you as you duck inside. it’s not one you’ve been to before, probably because it’s out of your price range.

“just the two of you?” the hostess asks. rafe nods in response, and you’re quickly shown back to a table.

“rafe, i-i can’t afford this.” you say when looking at the menu. you can’t even afford just an appetizer.

“you don’t think i know that, pogue?” rafe rubs his brow. “i’ve got it, just eat, please.”

you study the menu, opting for a simple chicken and fries, along with mozzarella sticks. afterall, rafe is paying. he orders a burger for himself, not even glancing at the waitress who took your orders, like she's beneath him.

“did ward put you in charge of me or something?” you ask after sitting in an awkward silence for a few minutes, waiting on your food to be brought out.

“i don’t want to be sharing a house with someone who is sick because they refuse to eat right.” rafe says. “i don’t want to find you passed out because you didn’t get enough food.” rafe leans back in his chair, glancing over you. “that would just be an inconvenience.”

“ah.” you nod, keeping your eyes on the empty place in front of you until your food is brought out. your stomach growls at the smell, not realizing how hungry you truly were, so used to going all day without a true proper hot meal, surviving on snacks and whatever else you could find.

you dig into your food, moaning when the melted cheese enters your mouth after biting down on the mozzarella stick.

“hey!” you shout when rafe reaches across the table and takes one of the sticks, biting the end of it off.

rafe just grins at you while chewing, making you shake your head in laughter. you continue eating your meal, not even realizing that you just had a nice moment with rafe until later that night when you’re laying in bed, reflecting on your evening with rafe. he didn’t make a big fuss when paying for the bill, simply sat his credit card down and didn’t mention how you were broke, then drove you back to the house and bid you goodnight upon entering tanneyhill.

you press your cold fingers to your cheeks, willing them to settle down as you shift underneath the covers, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, reminding yourself that one nice thing doesn’t mean rafe doesn’t hate you, afterall, like he said himself, he just doesn’t want you to be an inconvenience.

“mr. cameron, i really don’t want to impose!” you say, but ward just shakes his head. “nonsense, y/n. you’re coming with us.”

“let me help you with your hair, dear, come on.” rose ushers you towards her bedroom. you give wheezie a pleading look, but there’s nothing that she can say to get you out of going to midsummers, not now that ward is determined to have you come with them, showing off how generous and charitable he is by taking you in.

you sit still as rose patiently straightens your wavy hair, only to recurl it, pinning sections up until it’s mostly swept out of your face besides for a few face framing strands, then cascading down your back.

“rose-” you breath catches in the mirror. “you did amazing, thank you.” you turn to look at the woman. “i’ve never had my hair done like this before.” “you look beautiful, y/n. it’s a pleasure to have you with our family tonight. i think sarah is in her bedroom doing her makeup, maybe she can put some on you too.”

you nod and head towards sarahs room. you didn’t want to go at first and be surrounded by kooks, but now that you have no choice, you might as well enjoy feeling beautiful for one night. sarah already leant you a dress, but she agrees to do your makeup as well, keeping it light and fresh before helping you sort out putting on the dress.

you look in the mirror at yourself, unable to resist twirling, the fluttery skirt of the dress billowing up on the bottom.

“girls, it’s time to leave!” you hear ward call, and you finish off the outfit with a flower crown of pale pink flowers to match your dress before rushing out of the room.

you head down the stairs, gripping the railing so you don’t stumble in your borrowed heels.

rafe looks up, ready to chastise you for taking so long, when his breath catches in his throat, eyes going wide.

“not too bad for a pogue, huh?” you question.

“you look…” rafe trails off, his soft expression quickly being replaced with an angry one, stomping out of the room without finishing his sentence. you resist the urge to chase after him.

you don’t see rafe until hours later. you’ve been paraded in front of all of ward and roses country club friends, but you just put on a smile and boast about their generosity. you’re not sure if anyone can see through the fakeness, but ward seems pleased, and finally lets you stop mingling to rest your tired feet.

you watch the crowd from the camerons reserved head table, feeling like such an outsider, knowing this isn’t where you belong, and if you weren’t scrubbed clean and dressed like them, the kooks would be turning their nose up at you. at least rafe is decent enough to not try and hide his hatred behind a nice face.

you spot rafe in the crowd, whisky glass in hand as he talks to his friends, a bright smile on his face that gives you a funny feeling in your chest. you rub the spot with your hand, willing it to go away as people clear out from standing on the dance floor as the music starts, a few brave couples being the first one to begin swaying to the music.

you watch as ward and rose dance, eyebrows raising up when they turn their attention to you. “y/n, come on!”

you consider ruining having a place to stay and sleeping on the street tonight, but you’ve put on a good act so far, you can continue it for a bit longer. you smile and walk over to them, expecting to be shoved into the arms of some random kook boy, but instead you’re ushered to rafe.

“dance, you two!” rose calls, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

rafe holds his hand out, looking at you expectantly. you hesitate to place your hand in his, making rafe sigh.

“you don’t know how to dance, do you pogue?” he questions.

“maybe i just don’t want to with you.” you place your hand in his, letting him tug you closer, his other hand resting against your waist while you grab onto his shoulder. you follow rafes lead, matching your footsteps with his as he sways you around the floor, glad the song is soft and gentle so you can just move slowly.

“see, this isn’t so bad.” rafe says, looking down at you.

“could be worse i suppose.” you hum, keeping your gaze straight forward at rafes chest as the song comes to an end.

the lights dim, and a romantic song comes on. you go to pull away from rafe, but he keeps you close to him, wrapping both arms around your waist and leaving you no choice but to put your arms around his shoulders.

you look to see all the other couples pressed close together, women with their head against their mens chest, some even kissing in the low lighting.

“just relax.” rafe whispers. “you’re so tight you’re gonna snap.”

you let your body relax in his hold, not realizing that you were clenching almost every muscle in your body. your head falls against rafes chest as you dance, letting yourself close your eyes and be swept away in the loving lyrics of the song, once again daydreaming about if this was actually your life.

the song ends far sooner than you’d like, and the lights brighten again. the crowd claps for a moment, but you’re locked into rafes arms, both of you now standing completely still. you can hear his steady heartbeat against your cheek, his breathing slow and deliberate.

“you look beautiful tonight.” rafe says, making you jump, almost forgetting who you are, and who he is. “that’s what i didn’t say earlier.” rafe clarifies, face falling when you look up at him in horror. you pull away from his arms, instantly missing his warmth as you run as fast as your heels can carry you out of the crowd, needing to get away from the music and the man.

you look down at your borrowed dress. you would rip it off or roll in dirt if you didn’t have to give it back to sarah, hating that this is what rafe finds beautiful. when you’re primped up to look like one of them, not the real you.

you find a dark corner to sit in until the party starts to disperse, and when you find the cameron family again, rafe isn’t with them, and no one mentions it as you pile in the car to head back to tanneyhill.

“are you sure you don’t want to come out on the boat with us, y/n?” wheezie asks you, but you shake your head.

“i’m okay, i’ll just stay back and read. i don’t want to impose, enjoy some time as a family.” you can tell already from being at the camerons for three weeks that they rarely do things as a family, at least one person, usually rafe or sarah, being left out.

“alright, i guess it’s you and rafe staying home. lets go!” ward calls, ushering the girls out of the room.

“wait, what?” you call, but they’re already out the door. you thought for sure rafe was going with him. you haven’t spoken a single word to each other in the past three days since midsummers. he’s barely even been around, you’ve just caught glimpses as he left for the day or came home.

you make a late breakfast for yourself, deciding since you’re basically home alone to fry up some bacon. you’re too nervous to use the kitchen for anything more than grabbing a quick snack when rose or ward are home.

you hum to yourself as the oil sizzles in the pan, finishing cooking your meal when you hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

“rose, is that bacon?” rafe calls, entering into the kitchen with just a pair of basketball shorts on, freezing when he sees you.

“they all left.” you say, swallowing and resisting the urge to let your eyes track all over his torso. “but um, i made extra if you want some.” “yeah, let me just put a shirt on.” rafe walks away and you take the opportunity to fan your face, dividing the bacon up between two plates and sitting down at the counter, starting to eat when rafe rejoins you in the room.

you both eat side by side in silence, and you’re glad to not be talking. you finish your food, going to put your plate in the dishwasher when rafe takes it from you and does it for you.

“thanks.” you say under your breath, going to turn away when rafe clears his throat. “what is it?” you question, voice coming out harsher than you meant it to.

“i’m going to golf today. did you want to come with me?” rafe asks, not meeting your gaze.

“i- i don’t know how to golf.” you say as your way of refusal.

“right.” rafe nods, letting his shoulders drop.

“dirty pogue, remember?” you question.

rafe doesn’t say another word, he doesn’t even look at you as he leaves the room. you watch him walk away before closing yourself in your room, only moving to peek out the window when you hear his truck start up, watching it speed away from the house.

“y/n, you have a visitor.” ward says, ushering you towards the front room. you stand up, confused, not sure who would be visiting. it’s not like you have any friends who would come to tanneyhill.

“dad!” you shout in surprise, seeing him standing in the foyer, looking out of place in his dirty shorts and tank top.

“hey, y/n.” he says casually, like it hasn’t been four weeks since he saw you last, shipping you off to stay with a kook while he fixed up the hurricane damage on your house.

“what are you doing here?” you question, looking to the base of the stairs where rafe is stood on the bottom steps, arms crossed and watching the interaction with a scowl on his face.

“i finished fixing up the house enough for you to come home.”

“oh.” you nod. you’d completely forgotten in your time here that you were only staying for a month, and that of course your dad would be here to collect you. “let me just get my things.” you force yourself to turn away and rush up the stairs, letting a few tears slip. you don’t want to go back to staying in a broken down house, and you especially don’t want to stay with your dad, having to fend for yourself completely while he spends all your money on drinks at the bar, not even leaving you enough for food.

you head into your room, wiping away tears as you shove things into your bag, including some clothes sarah was going to donate but she gave to you instead.

you control your breathing and stop your tears before you head downstairs, making eye contact with rafe as you walk down, unable to read the emotion on his face.

“thank you again, mr and mrs cameron for letting me stay here.” you say politely, and the both pull you into awkward hugs.

“and bye, wheezie.” you squeeze the teenager against you, whispering a promise to come back and hang out.

you turn to rafe as your father walks out the door. you can’t find any words, so you simply turn and leave.

“dad, i need to buy food.” you argue. “i’m starving!” “you just want to pig out on fast food! we have things here you can eat!” your dad slurs his words, gesturing to the broken down kitchen. there wasn’t as much done in the month that you were gone that you were hoping for. he’s cleaned up the hurricane damage in most of the rooms, but tree that fell onto your bedroom is still there, simply hidden by a closed door, relegating you to sleeping on the old couch.

you curse as your dad stumbles into his bedroom, opening the kitchen cabinets to look for something edible before landing on a packet of saltine crackers.

you take the packet outside along with a water bottle, needing to get away from that house and your father. you sit down on the swing hanging from a high tree branch, crunching on the crackers as you listen to the birds chirping.

the mockingbirds song is interrupted by the rumble of an engine, and you turn towards your driveway, shooting up to stand when you recognize the truck getting closer.

you walk towards the truck, confused at why rafe is here, wondering if maybe you left something at tanneyhill, but it’s already been two weeks since you left. maybe he only just now bothered to return it.

rafe gets out of the truck, his eyes wide as he takes you in.

“how are you already so skinny?” rafe questions, taking the saltine cracker out of your hand and looking at it with disdain. “is this all you have to eat?”

“rafe, what are you doing here?” you question, snatching the precious cracker back.

“i-fuck!” rafe runs both his hands through his hair, “i was worried! and look at you! is he feeding you at all?” “rafe, calm down. you’ll wake him up.” you try and shush him, but it just makes rafe angrier.

“wake him up? does he hurt you? y/n.” rafe grips your upper arms, staring you straight in the eye, needing to know if what he suspects is true.

“what? no, rafe. he just drinks then passes out, he’s never hit me.” you’re still confused why rafe is even here.

“get in the truck, i’m getting you food.” rafe demands, and your mind says no, but your rumbling stomach has your feet moving. you climb into the passenger side, looking at your broken down home thats truly no more than a shack. you wonder what rafe must feel seeing it as he gets in and starts the truck, backing out of the driveway.

you bring your knees up to your chest, letting your head fall as you sob silently. rafe doesn’t realize that you’re crying until your body starts to shake. he stops the truck in the middle of the dirt road, not caring if it blocks anyone else.

“y/n?” rafe questions, unsure how to get you to stop crying, worrying that it’s his fault.

“i don’t wanna go back there.” you admit, looking up at rafe, letting him see the messy state you’re in.

“fuck it.” rafe sighs, unbuckling both of your seatbelts and pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his strong arms around you as you press your face into his shoulder, letting your tears run free, not caring about the wet stains you’re making on his clothes.

“it’s okay.” rafe rubs his hand up and down your back. “you don’t have to go back there. you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. i’m here.”

you cry harder, wrapping your arms around rafes waist, keeping yourself close to him, letting yourself find comfort in his arms.

“i’m here, y/n.” rafe whispers, pressing a kiss to your head.

you look up at him, tears still flowing down your face. “why? why are you here?” “i told you…” rafe cups your cheek, trying to wipe away the tears but they just keep flowing. “i was worried. i had to come check on you… please stop crying.”

rafes words do nothing to stop the deluge, and he’s starting to freak out, hating seeing you so upset, knowing you need some sort of distraction as your breathing speeds up, starting to hyperventilate until rafes lips are pressed against your own.

you’re momentarily confused, hesitating for a split second before kissing back, letting rafe dominate your mouth as you concede, the tears slowing to a stop as he keeps kissing you.

“rafe!” you gasp when he pulls away. “you just kissed me.” “i know.” rafe wipes his palms over your cheeks, and this time theres no fresh tears to replace it. “i care about you y/n. it’s why i came. i missed you.”

“oh, rafe.” you lean forward, letting him hug you tight, squeezing your bodies together.

“i’m here.” rafe whispers again, not letting you spiral, reminding you as many times as it takes that you’re not alone, that you have him now.

“now,” rafe gives your forehead a kiss, “we need to get you some real food. what are you hungry for? pizza?”

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

Text

By the grace of Robin Buckley, Steve gets into college.

She's his first real friend and it's because he knows her, loves her, learned to be a better person from her, that he's able to smile politely and take the hand of his new roommate. His long-haired, tattooed, dressed in all black roommate, who has already put up dark and menacing posters of bands Steve has never heard of and a bedsheet banner with the words "Corroded Coffin" painted on the fabric.

"Eddie Munson," his roommate says.

"Steve Harrington."

"Good to meet you, roomie." Eddie smiles so big it makes dimples pop. It's a good look. "Parents on the way with the rest of your stuff?"

"Oh, er--just me, actually."

Eddie's smile doesn't waiver. "Need some help?"

Normally, Steve would say no, but he just spent the last hour unloading Robin's stuff. "That would be great, thanks."

So, they work together to get Steve moved in, and as they work, he learns more about his roommate. He is a weirdo, an oddball, fundamentally strange, but Steve can't help but be charmed.

Eddie puts on music, something aggressive with loud guitars and drums, and Steve unpacks. He pulls out a picture of himself with the kids during one of their game nights, displaying it carefully on his desk.

"Wait," his new roommate says. "You? And the dnd children?"

Steve laughs. "They're the kids I babysit. You play that nerd game?"

Eddie's nose wrinkles. Something in the back of Steve's mind notes that it's cute. "Nerd game? Dnd is So. Much. More. It's--it's storytelling and strategy and--" Eddie stops, blinking at Steve. "You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Little bit," Steve smiles.

"I can't believe you know dnd. That you babysit nerds. You look like such a jock," Eddie shakes his head in disbelief.

"I am a jock," Steve agrees. "And I love those dorky little shitheads. I tolerate the game."

"Steve Harrington. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Guess so." The smiles they share are wide and sweet, bringing out Eddie's dimples in way that makes Steve long to touch.

After that, they're inseparable. Robin and Eddie and Steve. They study, eat, go to parties, hangout; anything, as long as they're together.

---

Three weeks into the semester, as Steve gets dressed after swim practice, he pulls a shirt out of his bag that doesn't belong to him. It's a black tee, Metallica logo front and center. He chuckles, puts it on. It's soft from wear and smells of laundry detergent and Eddie--cigarettes and leather and some kind of sweet musk. The scent puts him at immediate ease.

He meets Robin and Eddie for lunch. They were early, already have their food and seats, so he walks over to drop off his backpack. Eddie gives him a bright, dimpled smile, but within seconds his mouth is falling open a little, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

"You alright, man?" Steve asks.

Eddie startles, grabs his cup, jamming the straw into his mouth to chew at the plastic."You're--my shirt?" he says.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. Grabbed it by accident. I'll wash it for you."

His roommate flushes pink. "N--no, you don't have to worry about it."

He wants to question Eddie further--he's being so weird--but Robin interrupts. "Dingus! Go get food. Hurry up!"

He does as he's told, but when he comes back, Eddie is even redder than before, and Robin has a wide smirk across her face.

"What is going on with you two?" He asks as he puts his tray down.

Neither of them answer, andEddie launches into a passionate re-telling of some music student drama, so Steve let's himself be distracted.

---

It's mid-October and Steve's coming home from the gym, the one place that Robin and Eddie refuse to accompany him. As he nears his room, he hears music. It's not heavy metal, but something soft and slow and acoustic.

He tries to be quiet as he unlocks the door and enters, doesn't want to disturb Eddie, doesn't want him to stop playing. He never practices when Steve is home, says he doesn't want to be a bother with the noise.

Eddie's sitting on his bed, guitar in hand. There's a battered notebook open next to him, a pencil held between his teeth. He hums a bit, pauses to jot something down, and goes back to playing.

He looks beautiful, Steve thinks, bent over his guitar.

Steve is just about to announce himself when Eddie stops playing again. He writes something in the notebook before resting his head in his head. "Pathetic, Munson. Get it together," he mutters.

"Hi!" Steve says. It startles Eddie, who jumps and almost drops the guitar.

"Stevie!" Eddie stumbles to his feet. "I--uh--you're home!" His face is crimson.

"You're really good, man," Steve says. "I'd love to hear more sometime."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Eddie nods his head, grabbing for the notebook and slamming it closed. "Sure thing." He stuffs his feet into his Reeboks. "I gotta--I gotta go. Back soon."

Eddie stumbles out their door, notebook clenched firmly in hand.

He is so weird.

---

In mid-November, Robin gets invited to a party by a cute girl. They all go.

Steve isn't trying to hook up. He hasn't slept with anyone since they started school, too caught up with Robin and Eddie. But there's a girl, wavy brown curls and wide green eyes (he has the fleeting thought that they should be deep brown, that it's wrong that they aren't), and she's smiling at him.

Flirting with her is easy.

He doesn't know what breaks his concentration, but he turns to face the rest of the room, eyes falling on Eddie. Eddie who is watching him, his deep brown eyes swimming with hurt, with anger.

It sends a shock of pure panic up his spine. "Eddie!"

Eddie turns on his heel, disappearing in the crowd. Steve follows, but by the time he navigates through the partygoers, his roommate is nowhere to be found. He hurries back to their dorm, heart pounding in his ears, mouth dry.

It's dark in the room, though, and for a second he thinks Eddie isn't home, after all. But he turns on the light, illuminates the rigid lump under Eddie's quilt.

"Eddie?" Steve says, voice soft.

He doesn't respond, though Steve can tell he's awake. He tries again, but Eddie curls deeper under his covers.

Steve spends the night wondering what he did to hurt Eddie so bad.

---

They're back to normal after Thanksgiving. Steve is so relieved he doesn't even ask.

They stay up all night every night studying for finals. By the time Steve's last test rolls around, he's giddy and frantic. He grabs his textbook, shoves a notebook into his backpack, gets to the English building with just enough time to take a last look at his notes.

Only, he flips the notebook open and it's not his English notes. It's song lyrics.

Steve should close it. Put it back in his backpack. It's private. But he's already reading the lyrics written there. They're sexy. The song's about a guy, one Eddie seems to be totally gone for.

A line catches his eye, "need you on every surface in our room." He reads it again and again until the only thing he can see is the phrase, "our room." His whole body is warm, heat pooling, and he's chubbing up in his jeans in the middle of his English class.

Steve flips the pages, anything to get his mind off of that song, and that's when it hits him like a ton of bricks. All those weird moments--the t-shirt, the song, Steve flirting with a girl-- Eddie likes him.

Steve wants to rush to the dorm, wants to confess everything, even starts to stand, but--he has a final to take.

He makes himself close the notebook, but catches sight of another song as he does. It's a love song. It's plaintive and yearning and wanting. And every lyric is for him, about him, about things they did together. It's also unfinished, breaking off mid-way through the second verse.

He doesn't know how he missed it before, but as the professor hands out the test paper, Eddie is all he can think of.

---

When he finally gets back to the room, he finds Eddie's frantic, hair frizzed around his skull. All his bedding is on the floor, the drawers of his wardrobe pulled open.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

"Have you seen my notebook?"

"What?" Steve's heart drops.

"The black one? It's kind of beaten up?"

"I--uh, yeah. Sorry, Eds. Accidentally grabbed it on my way to class." He pulls his backpack from his shoulder, unzipping it.

"Did you--did you read it?" Eddie's voice shakes, his face painfully red.

Steve doesn't know what to say, what to do. He wants Eddie. Has for a long time, just hadn't been able to put it together. And he doesn't know how to fix what's spiraling out between them.

"Eddie," he says. Can think of nothing else, hopes his desperation is clear in his voice. "Please." He closes the distance between them, slowly, carefully. Cups Eddie's chin in his hand.

They stare at each other, Eddie's eyes wide with shock. Steve can feel the other man's breath on his face, smell the tobacco and sweet musk scent of him.

"Every surface of our room, huh?" Steve asks.

Eddie's cheeks flush. He turns away, bashful. "Something like that."

"And if I want it too?" Steve whispers.

The words hang between them for several beats, before they both move to close the lingering distance between them. Their mouths slip together, like it's nothing, like they do this all the time. Steve grasps at Eddie's curls, fists a hand into his t-shirt, totally lost to the rhythm of the kiss, the easy slip of Eddie's tongue in his mouth.

Eventually, the come up for air, both pink cheeked and panting.

"You're full of surprises, Steve Harrington." Eddie breathes.

"Just wait," Steve smirks, moves in to nip at Eddie's bottom lip. "We have so many surfaces."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #ficlet #oneshot #college au #best friends to lovers #fluff #eddie has a terrible crush #steve is oblivious #platonic stobin #a little angst #misunderstanding #they're all besties #eddie writes songs about steve #secret crush #and they were roommates

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cobrakaisb · 2 months

Text

ballad of a homeschooled girl

summary: a new arrival at camp half-blood is anything but extraordinary, but your attachment to the broody head counselor and claims of a mother who supposedly has no children cause suspicions to arise

word count: 3.9k

featuring: broody!luke who is somewhat soft for reader, angst, reader seems delulu (but she’s not trust 🤞), mostly primer for my upcoming luke series

series masterlist ||| next part

the air is humid, causing the sheets to stick to your already clammy skin. you shift in the small cot, peeling the bedding off your skin, relaxing when the cool breeze caresses your arms and legs. it’s peaceful, and your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. just as you’re about to cross back into dreamland, a girl’s voice causes your eyes to open.

“she’s waking up! look!” she yells, and you know that she’s pointing at you.

you sigh, propping yourself up on your elbows. you look around drowsily, trying to make sense of your surroundings. it’s when you make eye contact with a girl who has light pink hair, that you realize you’re no longer walking down a busy city street, hustling through the crowd. confusion settles in, and you wonder how you ended up in this infirmary, and whatever happened to that crazy lady who was trailing you. you open your mouth, trying to speak, but the girl just shoves a cup with a straw in it towards you.

“drink,” she demands.

you hesitate, uncertainty clear on your face. how can you even trust this girl? she seems to sense your emotions, because her hand rests gently on your forearm, pushing the drink closer to your chapped lips.

“drink,” she repeats, and you nod.

a small sip can’t hurt, you decide, and your lips wrap delicately around the straw. as you drink the liquid, you realize that it tastes like the pina coladas your dad would make with the fresh pineapple from the farmers market over the summer. you smile fondly at the memory, relaxing further into the uncomfortable mattress. you sigh in relief, feeling the throbbing in your head diminish. the tranquility, however, doesn’t last for long because the girl with the pink hair returns.

“i’m anna,” she starts, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. “how much do you remember before you got here?” she continues.

“where is here exactly?” you ask, shifting in the bed to put some distance between the two of you.

her eyes widen, and something along the lines of confusion and distrust cross her features. she doesn’t say anything, just spending a few minutes analyzing you. a wave of self-consciousness washes over you; do you really look that distraught?

“you have no idea what you are, what we are,” she mumbles. there’s both amazement and sympathy in her voice.

“i’m a girl, if that’s what you’re asking,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

she laughs at you. “you’re in for a rude awakening,” anna replies between giggles.

the next day, you're walking out of the infirmary with strict instructions to go see chiron. you have no idea who this guy is, but all the med staff assure you that you’ll know when you see him. it’s only when you come face to face with a half-horse, half-human -- a centaur -- that you understand exactly what they meant. he smiles at you, and you assume that he’s trying to be comforting, but you still feel so uneasy.

“come. we have a lot to discuss,” he says, resting a firm hand on your shoulder as he leads you towards another room in the old victorian house.

you nod, walking along the veranda towards an open-aired room. the walk feels like a thousand years, as other campers point and whisper in your direction. you want to shrink in on yourself, but you don’t. miraculously, this air of confidence envelops you, and you march into the room with steady and sure strides. the other person in the room looks at you and chiron. he’s older, adorning black sunglasses and holding a diet coke. he rolls his eyes at the sight of you, getting up from his adirondack chair, grumbling about how much he hates kids and wishes he could have a drink. you raise your eyebrows, looking to chiron for an explanation, but he just shakes his head.

“sit, then we’ll talk,” he promises, gesturing to one of the empty seats.

once you’re both seated, it’s quiet. you don’t really have anything to say to the older man in front of you. you’re still confused by anna, and all the cryptic comments she made these past two days. you have no memory of how you got here, or why. nothing makes sense to you.

chiron seems to know that though, as he says, “i understand this can all be very confusing. so let’s start with the basics. you’re at camp half-blood, a safe haven for demi-gods. for people like you.”

he pauses for a moment, probably expecting you to say something, but you don’t. instead, you turn to the left, staring out to the water. it’s so serene, completely contrasting your inner turmoil. when chiron realizes you don’t have anything to say, he continues on:

“here you’ll prepare for battle, complete quests, make friends, and live your life free of worry. at the end of the summer, you’ll have the option of returning home, or remaining as a year-round camper. for now though, i’ll have one of our older, more experienced demi-gods give you a tour. unless of course, there’s something else you’d like to discuss?”

the way he’s looking at you suggests that you should have more to say -- some deep dark secret waiting to be revealed -- but you don’t. he waits, but once you don’t acknowledge his words, he sighs, rising from his seat. you follow, moving towards the door with him. as you hand grasps the handle, it tumbles open, and your body moves forward. thankfully, you don’t crash to your feet, or collide with the person in the doorway, but your cheeks flame in embarrassment.

when you look up, you’re surprised to see a boy. he looks to be about your age with his tall stature and muscular frame. his face is blank, almost bored looking, except for the hints of anger and annoyance in his brown eyes. his jaw is firm and locked, as he crosses his arms and gives you a once over. he hates me already, you think, and while you wish you didn’t care, it stings just a bit.

“this is luke, our head counselor. he’ll show you around camp, and help you settle into the hermes cabin, your temporary home,” chiron explains.

you nod towards luke, but don’t comment on anything chiron says. without another word, he turns on his heel and marches down the steps of the front porch. his pace is brisk, and his long strides make it hard for you to catch up with him, but you manage. once you’re walking side by side with him, it’s quiet between the two of you. he doesn’t point out any of the details, and his speed makes it hard for you to actually absorb anything.

“if you’re gonna walk so fast, the least you could do is explain what everything is,” you snap, annoyed.

he stops walking all together, huffs, and turns to face you. in the bright light of the sun, you notice his scar. it’s pale white and risen above the skin, alerting you that it’s still fairly new, and runs from the corner of his eye to his jawline. he should look scary or intimidating, but you only think that he looks angelic. you gasp softly at the realization, lips parting. his eyes dart down to your mouth, and there’s something almost sinister in his gaze when he finally starts talking.

“archery range, lava wall, and training arena,” he grumbles, pointing out all the spots closest to you.

instead of looking at all the places, your gaze is still focused on him. he rolls his eyes, facing forward and continuing on his walk.

“if you’re going to ask me to point stuff out, at least pay attention when i do,” he snaps.

now it’s your turn to roll your eyes as you follow him towards a horseshoe of cabins. each one is different and seems to represent their own thing. as you’re walking past the center, you notice that there are two lone cabins in the middle. you freeze. your head tilts as you observe the cabin on the right. you feel a strange pull towards it, and start following the invisible string tying you to the building.

“what are you doing?” luke asks, and from his tone you know his arms are crossed.

“i need to go there,” you explain, looking over your shoulder at him.

“the hera cabin?” he questions, following you.

you nod, continuing on your path towards the cabin. you climb up the stairs, and tentatively touch the door handle. it creaks open, daring you to come inside. you turn back to luke, who’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs with an uncertain look in his eyes.

“i have to go in here, but i have no idea why,” you explain, feeling something close to bashful.

he nods, swallowing an imaginary liquid, before climbing up the stairs after you. he waits patiently behind you, his left shoulder grazing your right as the two of you stand on the porch. you want to go inside, need to go inside, but the rational side of you is preventing you from doing so. it all feels like a trap.

luke, noticing your unease, mumbles, “there’s a barrier. nothing can hurt you here, not like they could out there.”

he doesn’t clarify what the other there and in here are, but you know exactly what he means. the creepy, often imaginative figures you’d see out in the city aren’t present here. you haven’t felt their presence since you woke up in that tiny bed in the infirmary. whatever is drawing you to this cabin, is something else, a higher being. before you can continue to deliberate, you push open the door and step inside.

it doesn’t look much like a cabin, rather a temple. the entire thing is made of marble, complete with large columns from floor to ceiling. on the walls, there are several engravings, and when you look closely, you recognize them as peacocks. your fingers trace over the intricate design, and your sense of anxiety quells tremendously. when you look towards the center, at the giant statue, you feel somewhat relieved.

“this is my cabin,” you announce. the statement shocks both you and luke.

“what? no it’s not. hera doesn’t have kids, that’s zeus’s job,” luke says.

“c’mon, time to go,” he continues, grabbing your shoulder and trying to push you out the door.

you dig your heels into the floor, refusing to move. you know everything you’ve said so far sounds crazy, is crazy, but you have to be here. you try to come up with an explanation, anything to make sense of the situation, but remain empty handed.

“you’re right. let’s just go. sorry,” you reply, letting him lead you back out the door and down the stairs.

it isn’t until you step foot in the hermes cabin, his cabin, that you realize your duffle bag is missing. all the other kids, which is a surprisingly large number, have various personal belongings scattered around their sleeping area. some of them have comic books, others have small trinkets, and a couple even dare to show off their stuffed animals. luke walks further into the cabin, the crowd parting like the red sea. they’re quiet, and watch eagerly as he opens a closet door and pulls out a well-loved sleeping bag. the whispers don’t start until he waves you over, and places the item directly next to his bed.

“you sleep here,” he mumbles, pointing to the spot on the floor.

“what? i told you about the other cabin,” you shout, frustration present in your voice.

the hermes cabin is quiet, all of them listen in on your conversation with their head counselor, their older brother.

“and i told you to drop it,” he replies, and there’s a subtle warning in his voice. you can’t decide if he’s trying to say this isn’t the time or place or if he’s insinuating that you’re fucking crazy and he wants nothing to do with it.

“where’s your stuff?” he asks, completely changing the subject.

you notice he does that a lot, but answer, “i don’t know. my duffle’s missing.”

his eyebrows furrow at your words, and he crosses his arms again. he throws his head back, gritting his teeth.

“alright! who took her stuff? cough it up, let's go!” he shouts.

luke’s met with silence, which irks him even more. he turns away from you, facing the swarm of pre-teens and teens. he flashes them his most unamused look, one he’s been carrying with you all day, but continues to wait patiently.

“somebody better own up to it, or i’m taking away dessert privileges,” he announces.

the room immediately grows noisy with everyone whispering to each other. some kids are trying to determine who it could be, while others are fully putting the blame on their siblings. there’s even one girl who whispers about how luke never does this for anyone, so you must be special.

you try to come up with an answer to luke’s question. who took your bag? but you can’t seem to figure it out. you know you had it with you when you left your dad’s house, but then things turned messy extremely fast. you remember the strap when that weird dog thing followed you into the alley, and how you grabbed it by the handles to shove it in the overhead compartment of the amtrak. but after that, everything gets kind of blurry; days melting into one. finally, you decide that it must not have made it to camp.

you tap luke’s bicep, and he turns away from the crowd to meet your eyes. “i don’t even think it made it here,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip.

luke sucks in a breath, nodding his head before turning back to the crowd. “never mind guys, as you were,” he dismisses.

you crouch down, hoping to set up your sleeping bag and take a nap, but he stops you with a hand on your arm. he gestures for you to follow him with a tilt of his head, and you agree. he leads you towards the back of the cabin, outside a supposedly hidden door. when you step out into the bright sunlight, you stop and let your hand cover your eyes, but luke is already walking towards a forest. you follow, easily catching up since he’s walking slower, and match his strides. once the two of you are far enough into the woods, out of the earshot of nosey campers, he sits down in the grass, beckoning for you to follow.

“tell me everything you remember,” he says, a serious look on his face.

you look down, fingers twiddling with the strands of grass. you pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your right arm around your kneecaps as you continue to braid the grass with your left hand. from your observations, you know luke is anything but patient, but he doesn’t push you to say anything. he just sits there, palms splayed on the grass as he leans back on them, looking at the fluffy white clouds and clear blue sky.

“i don’t know how i got here. i keep replaying everything in my head, but i wasn’t even near the woods. then, i was just here,” you whisper, finally looking towards him.

you find that he’s already looking at you. intense brown eyes meeting your lost and confused gaze. he nods his head, signaling that he’s trying to process your words; looking for a meaning in the code, one that even you can’t decipher.

“why’d you leave?” he asks, and you stop fiddling with the grass. “your house i mean…why leave?” he continues.

he’s looking down at his bright red converse, and there’s a certain vulnerability in his gaze that you’re all too familiar with. you raise your eyebrows at his expression, thinking about what his question reveals about him. maybe he doesn’t have a family. and that thought just makes you sad, so you decide to answer him honestly.

“i love my dad, but there were too many odd things happening, things he couldn’t explain, and stuff my therapist didn't believe. there were winged horses, their manes the color of the pitch black night. or dogs the size of a dumpster, and then that brunette lady who follows me around everywhere. i just wanted to keep him safe, so i left,” you explain, meeting luke’s eyes for the second time.

“i get that, wanting to protect your family, i mean. i’d do the same for my sisters,” he replies.

you hum in acknowledgment, leaning back on your elbows and extending your legs in a straight position. you tilt your head back, enjoying the warm sun on your exposed neck, and the soft rustle of the flora around you. you turn your head, eyes squinting to look at luke, and your gaze is immediately drawn to the scar on the left side of his face.

“what happened to you?” you ask, tentatively.

luke sucks in a breath of air. his jaw clenches and anger swarms around in his already dark eyes. his hands ball into fists at his sides, and you realize that maybe that was too personal of a question.

“you don’t have to answer,” you backtrack, “it just seems like a story worth telling.”

he laughs bitterly, “it’s not. my dad sent me on a fucking joke of a quest, and this was the result. all pain, no glory.”

you frown at his words. you don’t want to pity luke, because you know that luke doesn’t want that from you. he wants people to understand him; to listen to his feelings of resentment and disappointment, and despite only knowing him for an hour max, you decide that you’d do that for him.

“don’t beat yourself up about it. the gods are stupid anyway, my mother’s cabin doesn’t even have a bed for me to sleep in,” you say.

there you go again with the mother thing.

“your mother can’t be hera,” luke announces, finality in his tone.

“i know that. but i know that she is. she’s the one that’s been helping me; the one who brought me here,” you explain, finally making the connection.

luke shakes his head in disbelief, “i think you’re going crazy from lack of food.”

you open your mouth, ready to protest his accusations, but luke cuts you off with a fierce look and wave of his hand. he stands up from the grass, holding his hand out to you. you huff, but wrap your hand around his, as he helps life you off the ground and to your feet. once you’re on your feet, you go to remove your hand from his, but you find yourself face to face. he’s already looking at you with a mix of admiration and curiosity. no one’s ever looked at you that way, and you can’t fathom why he is.

“what? is there dirt on my face?” you ask, pulling hand from his to wipe at your chin.

he laughs, loud and joyous, then answers, “no. you’re just different.”

you huff, again, and cross your arms defensively. “my therapist says i’m just unique,” you say.

luke laughs again. his shoulders shake and he has to stop walking to gain his composure. you wait the few minutes it takes for him to collect himself, and feel the smile taking over your features. there’s something enchanting about his laugh, you think, and that thought scares you. you shouldn’t be getting this attached. not yet.

“can we go to lunch, please? i’m so hungry,” you complain, breaking the aura of radiance and joy.

the sound of your voice sobers luke up, and he nods in agreement. he doesn’t even acknowledge you any further, just walks through the path in the woods, towards the center of camp. his strides are back to being quick and long, and you struggle to keep up with him. but you chose to ignore it; you shut him out.

the walk back feels infinitely longer, and you’re relieved to see the dining pavilion. it’s a large mess hall, with picnic tables inside the building as opposed to out. each one of them holds various campers, and you notice how there is a giant fire pit burning in the middle of the room. it seems counter intuitive; no need for the warmth of the fire in the stifling summer heat, which becomes more apparent now that luke’s cold nature is back.

you chance a look at said boy, and find that he’s already watching you. without saying a word, his hand comes to rest at the small of your back; palm splayed on the region between your jean shorts and the hem of your bright orange camp shirt. he gently pushes you forward, and you comply, following his lead. as you walk, you hear the campers whispering. they’re not subtle.

“that’s the new girl.”

“anna says she’s crazy, has no clue what a demigod even is.”

“i heard she’s not even a real demigod, just someone to bewitch luke.”

“oh he’s bewitched alright.”

you clench your jaw at their words, an angry fire in your eyes. you hate when people talk about you behind your back, and you’re not afraid to let these thirteen year olds know that. you whip your head around, so fast you’re surprised you don’t whiplash. as your mouth opens, ready to spew out insults, luke pushes you forward and away from the culprits. your anger only shifts from them to him.

“what’s your problem?” you demand, stopping in your tracks to face him head on.

“i’m not the one with the problem here,” luke mumbles.

for some reason, that statement hurts you more than it should. you laugh bitterly, blinking back the tears that are threatening to come out. it’s been a day and everyone already hates me.

“right, i get it,” you reply, stepping away from him when he tries to reach out for you.

“no that’s not what i meant,” luke says, desperation in his voice.

“fuck this. i don’t even want to be here anyways,” you announce.

before he can say or do anything, you’re out the door.

you wander through the camp grounds, fighting off tears. there’s no reason for you to be acting like this; people have always hated you, so why would camp half-blood be different? because it was supposed to be different, you thought. the path you meant to take, back to the hermes cabin, veers off course until you’re standing in front of the hera cabin. you don’t hesitate this time, to climb the steps and take refuge inside.

once the door closes, and the lock clicks, you come face to face with the looming statue. her eyes pierce your soul, and you sink back in on yourself. it’s a statue, you remind yourself, and that boosts your confidence somehow. you look her in the eyes, and swear her gaze meets yours.

“why would you bring me here?” you ask, voice wobbly from the tears.

“i hate it here! and i hate you!” you shout, stomping your foot like a child. you feel like a child.

you sink down to your knees, forehead coming to rest on the ruffle of her toga. the marble is cool and smooth against your hot skin. the temperature change grounds you, and slowly, your tears subside.

you decide, in that very moment, that these people won’t see you cry. ever.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan angst #luke castellan pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #cobrakaisb writing #all american bitch series

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