Lindsay Atherton, Lillie-Pearl Wildman, Clarice Julianda, Imogen Bailey, Kamilla Fernandes, And Bobbie

i will admit, i’m on the art donaldson train rn

Spontaneous.

Art Donaldson x Reader

oops. it’s gonna be a series. i’m developing Lore. let me know what you think and where to go next.

warnings: 18+ please, drug use mention, drinking (underage), kinda sexual content.

Fancy parties were loathsome. [Y/N] thought so, at least. She hated being told to stop calling them fancy parties and shindigs and to call them by their proper names: galas, benefits, balls, whatever. It was exhausting. Her feet weren’t meant to be elegantly jammed into spike heels. [Y/N] liked the height she was, thank you very much.

Did supporting charitable causes have to feel so degrading?

Capitalism at its finest.

[Y/N] had been attending these things since she was a little girl. Seven or eight years old. So young, in fact, that she now can’t remember what demographic or ailment-research, or political party this goddamn yearly spring shindig was for. Mr. and Mrs. Zweig were always nice to her when she was a child. She wasn’t just a family-friend, she (and her parents) felt like friends that were family.

What made the lavish Zweig parties tolerable was Patrick Zweig. She had known Patrick as long as there had been parties to get dressed up for. He had scraped her off a marbled staircase step as a little girl when her polished pleather mary janes didn’t have the traction to keep her upright. She had cried when she fell. He had said: “you’re really loud, you know that?” And she had laughed. So they were doomed to spend eternity hiding in coat rooms and getting tipsy together at these things.

Patrick was never one of those boys that felt the need to turn his back on [Y/N] during the cooties years, or the so-she’s-your-girlfriend? years. The pair of them always managed to be simply themselves and that was enough. He was merciless and unapologetic, but he made a hell of a best friend.

[Y/N] was two months older than Patrick, and had been taller for their first two years of friendship. When his shift in stature occurred, it happened fast.

Patrick went away to boarding school and came back a gangly beast. [Y/N], though they hadn’t spent every waking moment (weekends and school days) together since he had left her for a racket and a tennis ball, was always pleased to see Patrick was still himself every time he came home. Louder and stupider each time, but still Patrick.

Though, one spring break was different. Eleventh grade, if [Y/N] recalled correctly. Patrick came home, tall and stupid as ever, toting a boy named Art Donaldson.

Art Donaldson was considerably smaller, and debatably less stupid than Patrick Zweig. [Y/N] understood that day why all the girls in her grade giggled about boys. [Y/N] could never tell Patrick that. He would have been insufferable about it.

Actually, [Y/N] felt jealous. That was also a secret. Because Art, unlike she and Patrick, was nice. Everybody liked him. Nobody ever talked shit about him. Adults loved him and his small-town boy manners. He actually was a rambunctious little jerk, but nobody else saw that. Everyone else got yes sir, yes ma’am, I’m well, how are you? He could turn that charm on and off like a faucet. Infuriating, right?

[Y/N] was also jealous because it was clear she had been replaced.

Patrick lit up like a Christmas tree when he was with Art. He never looked at her like that. Art must have been a better friend to him then she was. Patrick called her once a week to talk for years, but Art slept, like, six feet away from him. It simply wasn’t fair.

Because of that, [Y/N] remembers spring break was really hard. [Y/N] was acutely aware she had lost something she didn’t know she could lose to the human version of a fucking beagle.

[Y/N] couldn’t remember the grade they were in exactly, but she did remember the dress she wore to the Zweigs’ party that year. It was light green and had spaghetti straps. It was longer and more form-fitting than what she was used. Most of the girls her age had settled for lots of tulle and cheetah-print so [Y/N] looked more mature by comparison. It was the first time [Y/N] remembered feeling grown up at all.

To think she thought that all her excitement and contentment was wasted. [Y/N] sat in a plastic pool chair in the backyard curled up with her cork wedge platforms resting dangerously close to the water. She nursed a bottle of vodka she had swiped two months ago from her parents liquor cabinet to surprise Patrick. Meticulously, she had waited for them to be out of town and found the key to the liquor cabinet. A whole bottle just for [Y/N] and her best friend. [Y/N] had barely managed to keep it a secret that she had taken it. She had been so proud of herself and thought Patrick would be too.

Now, she was the only one around to drink it.

Patrick had put his warm, familiar hands on her shoulders and told [Y/N] to wait right there and that he and Art would be back in a sec. The two boys had vanished upstairs presumably to Patrick’s room with laughter spilling from their mouths. [Y/N] sat at the base of the stairs alone for twenty minutes.

According to the garish clock on the wall, at twenty-one minutes, [Y/N] disappeared to the pool. She officially hated Patrick too. He had left her alone at parties plenty of times, and she him. They’d dance with others, or sneak off for a makeout session with a pretty stranger. It had never been a big deal either way. This felt like deliberate abandonment for no good reason. That was a first.

“Whoa, save some for the rest of us.” A reedy voice called out. Art Donaldson. [Y/N]’s head glanced over her shoulder so fast at the sound that she almost made herself dizzy. It took little time to realize there was no Patrick with him.

[Y/N] pulled the bottle closer. “That was a really long one sec,” She replied. She planned to say that eventually in the wasted minutes she waited, but it sounded less cool now than it did in her head. [Y/N] sounded plain mopey and that was a shame. “What’d you guys do anyway? Where’s Patrick?”

Art shrugged and walked further into view. He looked a bit sheepish. “Being Patrick,” He didn’t answer the first question she asked. There was a half-smile tugging at his lips. Art looked nice. Brown dress shoes, navy jacket, white shirt. No tie. She could have sworn that had been a tie at some point earlier. His shaggy blonde hair was mussed, but she had yet to observe it being neat. It was fustrating how effortlessly nice he looked. [Y/N] thought that everyday from day one. “It’s getting kinda cold. You wanna head back inside? I was looking for you—“

“I’m alright here, but thanks,” she slurred slightly. “You head in. I’m not here to ruin your fun.” It had sounded bitter. She hadn’t meant for it to.

Art sighed and glanced away from her. He paused a moment and sighed. “I’m not here to ruin yours either, y’know.”

“You don’t have to make this into a thing. It’s fine.”

“Well, too late. Patrick’s being an ass. I don’t want you out here feeling like I’m some homewrecker. I’ve been on the receiving end of shit like this from him, too. He’s not trying to be nasty to you, ‘promise. Come on, I’m not gonna let you freeze out here.” Art said, stepping in a bit. The glow from the pool left green and white wiggly lines across his cheeks.

“It’s spring, It’ll warm up. Get back up to that party, man. Patrick’s waiting for you.”

“You’re being impossible.”

[Y/N] set the half-empty bottle down beneath her chair. “Nuh-uh.”

“Jesus… if you’re gonna be a jerk about it, at least take this.” Art frowned, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He seemed disappointed.

“Oh, Art, please—“

“No, no! You made your choice. Don’t let me spoil your fun with you and the… the vodka,” Art said, making a show of taking the jacket off and throwing it over to [Y/N]. The balled up lump of fabric landed in her lap with a soft thud. Her stomach churned. “All hunky dory now,” He said, holding his hands out to show he was no threat. Art’s brows were lowered protectively close to his eyes in what [Y/N] thought was an effort to mask slight hurt or rejection. He turned to walk away as [Y/N] clutched the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. Art turned back to to look at her for a moment. [Y/N] didn’t know what that expression was meant to mean. “Be careful, okay? For what it’s worth, you—you look lovely tonight. It would be a shame for such a, uh, such a pretty girl in a pretty dress to end up face down, stuck in the pool drain. ‘Night [Y/N].”

[Y/N] was glad for the dark because she felt her face heat up and dopey smile start to form at the compliment. Maybe she was drunk, but that had to be flirting. In the most fucked up way possible, but still. Why? Art Donaldson didn’t even like her.

Art had only managed to take a few steps into the dewy grass when [Y/N] begrudgingly called out: “Art, wait!”

She hated that she liked the smirk on his face when he turned around. He could tell what she wanted by her tone. What kind of fucker takes no for answer happily and still sets himself up for a yes in the end. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to smile.

“Listen, you’re right—“ [Y/N] stood up confidently, sliding Art’s jacket around her shoulders. And she stood up too fast and knocked her sandals into the pool. “Shit!” She cursed. She was still an age where cursing felt cool and unfamiliar. [Y/N] stood on her unsteady feet and watched her sandals bob out to the middle of the pool, propelled by her kick. She was embarrassed now as well. The stakes of everything felt so much higher than sandals in the pool of her best friend’s backyard. Booze will do that to the sanest of folks. [Y/N] dropped her face heavily into her hands. Great.

Quickly, Art cut his eyes between her and the shoes and back again. “Where do they keep the pool net?” Art asked calmly, without missing a beat.

“The shed.” [Y/N] said miserably and pointed a few feet away. Art bounded across the pavement around the pool to the shed. He tugged once, then twice.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “It’s locked,” He reported to [Y/N] from practically halfway in the pruned hedges. Art started the walk back to her. Once he was beside her, Art placed a hand gently at her elbow. “Come back inside with me. Please. Patrick may be able to get us a key and we can…”

But [Y/N] looked so sad from behind her hands. Even though all of this was so childish. She was also wearing Art’s jacket now and that did things to his brain. Her dress wasn’t not low cut and he froze for a second. All he could do was stare.

“Just do what I would do,” Patrick said. “It’ll be fine, man. She’s already into you, I can tell.”

“Well, if she’s into me, why would I do what you would do? That’s an awful suggestion, Patrick.” Art protested.

Patrick spun around in his desk chair to face Art as he rolled a joint. “I’ve known her since before I knew you. Just, like, be spontaneous. That’s what I mean. Spontaneous. She’s into that because she’s like that too. And she’s… wicked mean, so don’t start shit. She’ll surprise you, but like, in a good way. What I said before makes me sound like a jackass,” Patrick paused to laugh. “Be in the moment. Don’t get in your head about it. Which you’re doing right now— I can tell, Arthur…” Patrick drew out Art’s full name (which he hated) to get under his skin.

Art stood up from the floor in frustration. He glanced at his watch. Too much time had passed. The window was metaphorically closing. Hastily, Art dashed to the door. “I’m going down there. Poor girl’s been waiting all this time because you, my friend, are a shitty advice-giver.”

“Spontaneous!” Patrick called after him with a grin.

Art stared at [Y/N]. Then he blinked. Then tilted his head to the side. Spontaneous. Before he knew it, he was tugging his shoes and socks off and diving into the pool. Art had been right, it was getting decisively cold and the pool water reflected that. Art swam out to where the wedges had floated too, which had actually been fairly far. He wasn’t sure if the net would have gotten them that easily. Art nicked the shoes by the ankle straps and shook his wet hair out of his face. As he paddled back, he glanced at [Y/N]’s expression. She smiled wide with joy and surprise at Art’s sacrifice.

“Art! Thank you so much!” She said when he flopped the waterlogged shoes onto the concrete. Art looked up at her from the water and he only looked up her skirt a little bit.

“It’s no trouble. Repayment’s in order, though.”

“Repayment…? What do you—“

Art wrapped his wet, callused hands around both of [Y/N] ankles and flipped her into the pool. She screamed as she splashed into the pool. Then laughed hard. Art wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

“Wait, fuck, you can swim, right?”

Fortunately, [Y/N] could, and that’s the move that won Art Donaldson his wife.

—

“Honey, you have to get up so you can get ready…” Art’s mouth moved against the shell of [Y/N]’s left ear. His arm was tossed over her middle. Normally, it was Art that dreaded getting out of bed, but clearly they enjoyed switching roles once in a while.

A nap had turned into two-and-a-half hours of [Y/N]’s soft snores while Art held her. He couldn’t sleep much, but luckily he had something beautiful to look at. She ripped into him about his staring problem all the time. Art couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. “No.” She mumbled.

“Please…” Art’s hand trailed under her shirt and climbed up, up, up.

“No,” she sighed. Art’s hands groped her left breast and [Y/N] didn’t particularly mind. She shivered at the contact. Art had known every inch of her body over years. Neither was bored yet, though.

“It’s one night. One party. We don’t have to stay all night… He’s not going to be there, Lenora told me when I RSVP’d.”

They had an unspoken rule. They did not name Patrick in conversation when sober. The wound was too fresh still.

“Don’t talk about him, or his fucking mom when you’re touching me like that,” [Y/N] all but moaned as Art’s left thumb circled her nipple. “‘Thought we had to get up…”

Art smirked. “We do. At least you’re awake now.” He teasingly withdrew his hand entirely from out of her shirt and scampered out of bed in one agile zip of a motion.

“Art!”

She groaned. Rolling on her back to look at the ceiling, she glanced over at Art walking through the master bathroom doorway in his briefs. What an incredible ass that man has. “Motivation to leave the party early.” Art said and popped off into the shower.

Maybe it was selfish. Patrick and [Y/N] and Art hadn’t spoken in almost a year. It was no surprise to the Donaldsons that Patrick was an addict. He had been addicted to almost everything and everyone that crossed his path. What they hadn’t expected was him becoming so out of control that he missed the wedding of his two best friends and was sent into rehab once he was declared medically stable. The one person that both Donaldsons had fought to have in their own personal half of the wedding party. And he wasn’t there. And the wedding was expensive enough to go through with it amid all the bad feelings over Patrick.

Still, they were invited to the Zweig family’s charity or whatever gala. They would go like they always had, too. But it would be their first time alone, so to speak.

[Y/N] regretfully got out of bed while Art showered. She moved to the closet and unzipped her paper thin dress bag. The gown itself was beautiful, but not all too expensive. The year had been tight in terms of money. The wedding and the honeymoon were pricey enough before you added in rackets and competition entry fees and coaching. Art was an expensive husband to have. He made up for it. He was playing at his best too, so [Y/N] hardly cared. Who could put a price on seeing Art smile like that?

[Y/N] cringed if she had to pay more than two-hundred dollars for shoes or a dress anyway.

The dress was green. She’d worn a lot of green since she met Art. [Y/N] dreaded wiggling into shapewear and spending too long on her hair. Art had it easy. A tie, a jacket and trading his nasty watch for his nicer one. It wasn’t fair. It never was with Art.

She got ready all the same. The straps rested on her shoulders, thicker than the early 2000s straps she had been dumped into the pool in. It was longer than that dress. Almost floor length instead of mid calf. It was elegant for its price tag.

Once the dress was on, [Y/N] tumbled into the bathroom to do her makeup. The shared counter was way too small for both of their shit to sit nicely on. She would complain about that when there was more money in the bank account to do something about it. Art was taking longer than normal in the shower. Boner, [Y/N] thought.

As she started to put her face on, she could see Art’s face in the foggy mirror behind her. The sound of the water stopping and the shower curtain being tossed back had gone unnoticed. He was smiling slightly. “You look nice.” He said softly. Art toweled off his shaggy hair harshly behind her. He kept looking at her.

This is how Art was. He made these remarkable heart eyes at her every time he saw her. [Y/N] could be wearing a potato sack and she would feel beautiful. That look, that staring problem, was worse a hundredfold when she was dressed up. He kept glancing at her. She could see him in the mirror. He wanted [Y/N] to see. The blue and brown of his eyes cast further and further down her body.

“Staring.” [Y/N] said simply. She didn’t even look away from her own face in the mirror.

“Yeah. And?” Art smiled cheekily. His face was bright red not from the warm shower water. He wrapped his towel around his slim waist. [Y/N] applied too much concealer and less blush. “I, of all people, am allowed.”

“Idiot.” [Y/N] said. Art dried his hands profusely on his towel, knowing she would squawk at him if he left wet handprints behind on her dress.

Art’s hands wrapped around her waist. Great pains were taken to prevent other wet spots from splopping up her dress. So, so gently, he kissed the left side of her neck from behind. “I was thinking—” Art was always gentle in his own way.

“Ooh, dangerous.”

“Shut up. Y’know, this is the first Zweig party where your placecard is going to say Donaldson on it…”

[Y/N] nodded softly. “Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” She said, smiling a bit.

“I’m really, really excited about that. On the seating chart, we’re the Donaldsons. Isn’t that so crazy…?” Art whispered into her plush skin. “Plural. Two of us.”

Teasingly, she nudged him back with her elbow. The smile was still wide on her lips. “You’re being such a girl about it.”

Art didn’t let go or relent. He pressed feather-light kisses between [Y/N]’s ear and collarbone. “Am I? Hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re going to be late to this thing you want to go to so bad, Mr. Donaldson, if you don’t stop.” [Y/N] whispered, incapable of doing more. She did set down her makeup sponge and pot of foundation with a clack.

“Would that be such a bad thing? Only a couple minutes, right? We could-we could cut out some of the boring small talk and…” Art said, daring boldly to drag his tongue up her throat as the steamed up mirror cleared some. He never finished his sentence verbally.

[Y/N] gasped at the feeling. That was a brave move for Art. “You drag me out of bed early so we can be late anyway. You don’t make any s-sense, babe.”

He huffed impishly. Art spun [Y/N] around to face him. His face and shoulders were damp from the water collected in his hair, which desperately needed a trim. Carefully, Art brushed [Y/N]’s hair away from her face. “You’re right… I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you?”

“How?”

Then, Art’s mouth quirked into that crooked smile she loved so much.

“Please.” Art said in a hushed voice and boosted [Y/N] smoothly onto their rickety counter. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You can do better than ten.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Clock’s ticking.” When she said it, she heard Art’s knees hit the tile in front of her.

Hiii can u do a Luke or Clarisse (either one) x child of Dionysus! Reader and like they sneak off to make out or SMT AND DIONYSUS catches them AND GIVES THEM THE TALK and it’s funny and embarrassing for them

(Thank you if you do make this!!)

THE TALK

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pairing: luke castellan x daughter of dionysus!reader

summary: your father gives you the talk, after he catches luke and you sneaking around

warnings: innuendo?, making out, dionysus dramatics

a/n: let’s pretend ep 8 of pjo didn’t happen. ngl brainrotting to luke and swan lake op 20 act 1

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Dionysus paced around in front of the two of you. His Hawaiian shirt catching wind. Luke was trying (and failing) to hide the grin. It was quite amusing to see a God worry about something like this.

Dionysus was muttering something to himself. You caught wind of your father talking about “Chiron” and “the talk” and he was so confused on where to start.

You grimaced just knowing this wouldn’t end well. “Dad, please…” You helplessly plead not to even start this conversation.

“No, no! I must.” Dionysus spoke and put his hands up in discontent. He leaned against his little desk in the Big House.

“Do you know how betrayed I feel!?”

Luke smiled as he helped you down the steps of Cabin 12. A stupid lovey-dovey grin on both of your faces as you interlaced hands and ran across camp. It was as if you were normal mortal teenagers rather than half-bloods.

You trek through the forest used for the Capture the Flag, running along the river which lead to the lake. Every so often, Luke stopped to steal a kiss from you. You two had not seen each other all day because of counselor duties.

“Luke—!” You giggled after he stole yet another kiss.

“You’ve deprived me of affection, love.” Luke joked and held your hands. He walked backwards into a clearing. You reached the lake. It was usually used for canoeing, swimming and Capture the Flag (as well as romantic rendezvous). “How was I supposed to sleep without seeing you?”

Luke took of the jacket he was wearing so you could sit without getting sand on your pajamas. The waves of the lake seeped into the sand by your feet. Luke and you sharing portions of his jacket so you both won’t get dirty.

“I did retire to my cabin without giving you a good night kiss.” You joked your hand came to rest on Luke’s cheek.

“What a terrible girlfriend.” Luke hummed and lips in to kiss your lips. You breathed through your nose. Fireworks exploded in your stomach as you and Luke kissed, pushing each back ever so slightly, but not letting go.

Your other hand went to cup his face fully. Sweet nothings heard here and there as he pulled back for air just to dive back in.

You can’t help but lose yourself in him.

It’s always him.

You can’t help it. When he looks like that, treats you like this and has a reputation of that— you can’ help it.

“Luke…”

“Mm…”

“Hi!” Mr. D shined a flashlight on both of you. His hand on his hip. Luke and you break apart and block the shiny light from your eyes. “So…you both get bathroom duty for…three months—”

Before Mr. D could even dish out punishment, he gasps. He gasps so dramatically you think he sucked all the oxygen from the world.

“I know.” Your dad stated firmly. His flare for dramatics makes you want to roll your eyes. “I know that is not my daughter kissing a boy.”

“Betrayed?”

You exclaim. Your face contorting into disbelief and surprise. You leg stopped bouncing as you stare at your father.

“Yes. Betrayed that my own—” Dionysus feigns his tears. A hand over his heart as if he is going to a parental crisis. “My own daughter!” His voice shaky.

“With all due respect Mr. D—” Luke spoke up.

“I’m not talking to you!” Dionysus exclaimed and crouched to his knees in front of you.

He turns on the fake waterworks. “You’re growing up! Which means…you’ll be discovering things that make you—”

Luke and you cringe. “Dad!” You cried out, disgusted with what he was trying to imply. Mr. D’s act drops. He stood up and leaned on his table. “Look, you two are young and Chiron was telling me to man up and have like a sex talk—”

“Dad!” You stood up, grabbing Luke’s hand. You storm out of there, listening to your father yell phrases like “be safe when you’re with him!” or “That’s four–no five months on bathroom duty!”

You face was as red as the strawberries growing in the field. Luke laughed quietly at your embarrassment, though he himself was embarrassed.

“Hey. You heard your father. Be safe with me.” Luke teased and grabbed your waist. He turned you around to face him.

“Luke—please, that was already embarrassing enough.” You spoke flustered.

“So…” Luke dragged out with a small smile. He leaned in towards your face, lips centimeter away from yours. “Next time. We won’t get caught. Can’t suffer another talk again, can we?”

Luke pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

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lorenzo berkshire x reader? where it is just fluffy and both of them are hopeless romantics and the slytherin gang is getting annoyed with how much they are pining?

BTW LOVE YOUR WORKS!! SERIOUSLY YOU WORK SO INCREDILY HARD YOU DESERVE A LOT MORE THAN HEARTS ❤️❤️

'like nobody else' - lorenzo berkshire

masterlist

To be a Slytherin is to simultaneously want for everything and give up nothing. You wish for the top grades of your classes, but skive off studying to hang out with your friends. You desire glory, but ignore the burden of playing by everyone else’s rules. And, most pressingly of all, you want Lorenzo Berkshire to love you, but never want to say a word to him about it. 

It is the wanting, you think, that will finally do you in. You want Lorenzo more than you’ve wanted anything before. Every conquest before this, every clutch at a legacy, all fades to grey in the face of a boy like that. And what a face indeed– you’ve seen it smile at you, wink across a crowded room, whisper your name under a caught breath, and you never want to stop looking at it, at him. You have known Enzo since you were small. If all goes well, you’ll be with him until you’re old and grey, too.

The problem with Lorenzo is that he’s your friend. It would be easier if you had never known him at all, you think. If he was a stranger, you might never have fallen for him in the first place. You could have seen him walking down the street, admired him momentarily, and then been able to move on with your life. Once you met him, though, you couldn’t help but love him. You were trapped from the day he introduced himself.

If he was a stranger, even if you did love him at first sight, you wouldn’t have been afraid to lose him. You could have offered up a pickup line like Pansy or Astoria on any boy they thought halfway decent, knowing that the price of rejection would only be a lost opportunity with someone they didn’t care about. Your friends can laugh in the face of boys they would normally ignore, but you can’t pretend you don’t think about Lorenzo. That would be even more impossible than being able to give him up.

This, in the end, is what stops you from confessing your feelings. If Enzo liked you back, he would just smile at you like he does when you get a perfect score on a project you did together for school, or when you choose to walk next to him instead of anyone else in your emerald friend group. He would love you, and you would know it, and for once in your life, the thought of Enzo hooked on a girl wouldn’t cut you to the core because that lucky girl would be you.

If, however, Enzo didn’t feel the same, that would change everything, and make what had once been glorious a terrible thing indeed. Everyone says that you can ‘just be friends’ with someone even if a schoolgirl crush is one-sided, but they’re lying through their teeth. Lorenzo would slowly but surely drift away from you, and instead of running to him on bad days and long nights, your only comfort would be the ghost of the time when he used to trust you unconditionally.

Telling Enzo you loved him could destroy you. Lorenzo is your best friend, your favorite. He knows you better than anyone here, holds more of your secrets locked away in his chest than even the girls in your dorm. All of your secrets, that is, except one, the worst of them all:  even when Enzo offered you the best friendship in your life, you only ever wanted more. Call it a Slytherin’s fatal flaw, call it greed or ego or anything you please, but in the end, no amount of self reflection will save you from the fact that you have finally craved more than you could ever have.

Enzo may not know, but your friends apparently caught on a long time ago. They say it’s insane how he hasn’t picked up on it yet, then pause and look at you with these know-it-all stares. You’re aware that you’re rather hopeless, as Blaise put it one day after getting sick of you daydreaming about the boy you’ll never have instead of working on the Transfiguration essay the two of you were supposed to be completing together, but if you could cut off your feelings, you’d do it in a flash.

The only problem, of course, is that it’s impossible to get your heart unstuck from Enzo. He’s ridiculously charming, always offering you his coat or scarf whenever there’s even the slightest hint of snow, or just so happening to take you by the hand whenever he needs to show you something. He’s flirtatious, but never insufferable. Confident, but never cocky. He walks the fine line of being larger than life and coming off as far too much, and he does so perfectly. You’ve never met a boy like Lorenzo Berkshire before, and at this point, you doubt you ever will.

This does, unfortunately, tend to mess with your head more than a little. It’s one thing to dream of floppy dark hair pushed back to reveal a brilliant smile, or deep brown eyes that always search the crowd for you, but it’s another thing entirely to have to deal with all of his charm turned towards someone else. You’re not completely unrealistic, you know all too well that Lorenzo is perfectly capable of falling in love with any other girl at this school, you just can’t seem to convince yourself that such a thing would be okay.

For instance, just this morning at breakfast, you walked into the Great Hall with your friends to find Enzo already there, avidly talking up a girl from one of your classes. His eyes were alight with enthusiasm, and when she made him laugh with what was no doubt a terrible joke, your entire body felt consumed with desperate jealousy.

You must have lost track of what you were saying, because Pansy had followed your line of sight to see Enzo still locked in conversation with the girl. She had sighed dramatically, and turned to you with an exasperated expression that is slowly becoming quite familiar the more you vex her with your inability to get over your feelings. “Don’t tell me you’re lovesick again. Are you physically capable of going more than five minutes without thinking about Enzo?”

You feel your face heat up and swat her on the shoulder. “Feel free to say that any louder, maybe he’ll hear you.”

“Good,” Pansy mutters, “Maybe then the two of you could finally talk to each other about this.”

Theo swings by, grinning. “Are we making fun of Y/N for her crush on Enzo again? Good, let’s do it some more.”

You turn to him, eyes wide with surprise. “Theo, you insufferable git–”

Theo leans away when you try to swat him, too. “Don’t shoot the messenger! I’m just trying to help you two, I swear it.”

“You’re doing a right awful job of it,” you tell him, pushing closer to him so you can exact your vengeance.

“Hey, hey,” Theo complains, “Don’t hit me too hard now, your loverboy is looking.”

You whip back around to see that Theo is right, Enzo has gotten up from where he was sitting to walk over to your group. This time, though, he looks distinctly annoyed, and whatever good mood he was in while he was talking to the other girl has evaporated from his face. His eyes keep cutting between you and Theo in quick, curt movements, and his hands are tight at his sides.

You move away from Theo unconsciously, like you’ve been pulled into Enzo’s orbit. Lorenzo manages a weak smile to you, then allows Draco and Blaise to coax him into a discussion of the upcoming Slytherin Quidditch game. You’re left to stumble back to the Slytherin table with your friends, constantly glancing over your shoulder in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he might look back at you even one more time.

Pansy and Theo take seats on either side of you, exchanging hopeless glances over your head. “At this rate, I don’t think they’re ever going to make it,” Theo says gloomily.

Pansy snorts. “Have some faith, Theo. A miracle might happen.”

A miracle would be lovely indeed. Forget turning water into wine or getting all of your end-of-term exams cancelled, you think your brightest hope for a miracle would be Enzo actually feeling even half as strongly about you as you do about him.

You end up floating through that day much as you do any other, zoning out in lecture to think about the boy seated just next to you. Although your little group of Slytherins tends to sprawl across the back rows of any classroom, Enzo always seems to pick the desk right next to you, no matter who he walked in with or what conversation he’s in the middle of entertaining. It’s like all thoughts of sports or other friends go right out of his head the second he gets the chance to sit by your side.

By the time the last class of the day rolls around, you feel just about ready to give in. Whoever scheduled History of Magic in the late afternoon was absolutely insane. In the dark room, lights dim and windows half shuttered, the overwhelming urge to sleep presses in on you, unavoidable and all too compelling. You try to pay attention, really you do, but the material is so dry and Binns is so boring that closing your eyes even just for a few seconds is far too tempting.

The only thing keeping you from passing out is the uncomfortable desk in front of you. You’d think that decades of students falling asleep in this class would have worn down the surface at least a little bit, but the hard edges of the desk keep poking into you, keeping you from relaxing completely.

Enzo laughs quietly after you rearrange yourself for what feels like the hundredth time that class period. “Trouble falling asleep? I thought Binns would have knocked you out half an hour ago.”

“I’m almost asleep, I just can’t get comfortable,” you complain. “This desk is harder than a rock.”

He grins, then shuffles closer to you. Both of you share one long table meant for two students, so Enzo isn’t barred off from you by individual desks. Sitting together on one bench as you are, Enzo can reach out and pull you against his side. “You can fall asleep on me,” he says, “I’d like to think I’m much more comfortable than a desk.”

You giggle faintly. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he tells you. “One of us should be able to get some rest, at least. I’ll wake you when it’s over, don’t worry.”

“Never,” you assure him, but already sleep is coming to claim you. Leaning against him, your head tucked against his shoulder, the last barriers to your slumber have been removed. You can just sense his arm curling around your waist, keeping you close, and then you’re asleep at last.

It feels as if no time at all has passed before Enzo is gently shaking you awake at the end of class. “Sleep well?” He asks, grinning.

You sit up slowly, absentmindedly rubbing one hand against the side of your tired face. “Very.”

Enzo smiles, then adjusts your tie, which has become slightly lopsided during your slumber. “You still look tired. It’s cute,” he tells you, then freezes slightly, as if he hadn’t meant to give that little detail away.

You arch a brow. “You think I’m cute, Enzo?”

“Very,” he admits. “Cuter still when you’re cuddled up beside me. You’ll have to do it again soon, I’m afraid.”

You laugh. “I think I can arrange that. Only if you call me cute again, though.”

Enzo’s smile broadens. “Sweetheart, I’ll tell you’re pretty and gorgeous and anything else you want to hear. It’s all true, anyway. Oh, and to answer your question, I feel the same way.”

You frown as you reach down to grab your bag, ready to leave this class at last for something a bit more exhilarating. “Huh? What question did I ask?”

Enzo winks as he helps you pick up your books. “You might want to be a little more careful what you whisper when you sleep. And if I wasn’t totally clear, I like you too.”

You stand stock-still. Of all the things to admit when you’re asleep on Enzo’s shoulder– but from the way he’s still smiling at you, you realize at last that he doesn’t mind it, not at all. In fact, judging by his little confession just moments ago, Enzo actually likes you back. It’s not something you had allowed yourself to fully contemplate before, but maybe you should reconsider. After all, the two of you have kept your feelings secret for long enough. You certainly have a lot of missed opportunities to catch up on now.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

Hellooo helloo!! Could I have a request please for Luke Castellan x reader where idk just something really angst where she joins him betraying her own half brother Percy (yess she’s a Poseidon kid) but it’s just that their love is too precious for the world 🥺🥺

Thank youu so muchhhh mwahhh 💖🌷🎀

TOO LATE

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pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: love triumphs when your dad claims your half-brother and you.

warnings: not proofread, tlt spoilers, angst, frustration, revolves on reader’s emotions rather than the relationship

a/n: I feel like i twisted this request wrong. lmk how you like it, but i thought it’d be nice to have the reader’s emotions be the focus instead of the relationship.

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Wherever Clyde goes, Bonnie follows.

You’ve found yourself to be a permanent resident of Hermes Cabin. Another year goes by which meant another year of being unclaimed. Multitude of wishes and prayers are wasted: at this point those wishes, offerings and prayers look like pathetic begging.

You’ll forever be an unclaimed camper.

And you’ve accepted that. If you had been claimed, then you wouldn’t get the privilege of Travis and Connor stealing ice cream when you cover them or the privilege of Chris coming to you about his girl problems or the privilege of sharing a bunk with Luke Castellan.

What Chiron and Mr. D don’t know won’t hurt them.

It is a nice turnout because while you share a bed with the love of your life, another kid doesn’t have to sleep on the crowded floor.

Besides the fact you weren’t claimed, everything at camp was great. You didn’t feel alone or isolated anymore. You felt at home at Camp. You had a wonderful boyfriend and even greater friends (as corny as it sounds).

Until, Percy Jackson arrived at camp. Now, don’t twist this in the wrong way—Percy is just the sweetest kid and you were sympathetic to him losing him mom.

It was during Capture the Flag when you realized everything you knew was gone. You couldn’t resent Percy for that. Only your dad.

Luke triumphantly held the red team’s flag as the blue team retreated to the lake’s beach. Celebration paired with cheers and hollers. A proud smile as one of the campers hooked their arm around your shoulder, screaming your ear off.

Some of the campers were making a list of demands that the Red Team had to accommodate to when Percy’s shouting interrupted all of that.

You took off your helmet to see Percy in the lake. The culprit, Annabeth. Athena’s daughter was always two steps ahead of everyone, in Luke’s words. She seems to know something everyone else didn’t.

Luke looked distraught and shocked when it happened. A glowing trident hovering over Percy’s head. An outward statement claiming he is Poseidon’s son.

Yet, that same glowing trident was above your head. You felt your throat close up. So long…so long and now your dad claims you when Percy arrives.

It was common knowledge that Hades, Zeus and Poseidon made a pact to not father any more half-bloods due to destruction and war and whatever. But, what now? Poseidon claimed his son and daughter. For what? To boast? To showboat?

Questions kept ringing in your head. The life you knew gone. No more ice cream from Travis and Connor. No more information of Chris’ recent crushes. No more…sharing a bunk with your boyfriend.

“Poseidon.” Chiron trotted over to Percy. He gave you a smile. You were claimed! It’s what you always hoped and dreamed for. You should be ecstatic. Right? “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, your godly parent.”

It was inevitable. You weren’t destined to destroy or aid the world because you weren’t sixteen anymore. You doubt you were destined for anything.

Was this some fucked up way of your pops telling you he still cares? He still sees you? That he’s there for you?

It took him so many fucking years to claim you as his.

And the fact he did it when his son arrived at Camp Half-Blood. Did he want a boy to be the prophetic savior of the world?

Oh, so he wants to say he’s been there for you this whole time? Luke has been there. Cabin Eleven has been there, not your deadbeat pops. It wasn’t a surprise you joined Kronos so quickly.

You knew Luke was succumbing to the nightmares that plagued him every night. The voice in his head to revive the Titan. Now, you didn’t have anything against the other gods or Percy. It really was just some ol’ rebelling against your dear old dad.

Percy was tense staying still. The scorpion on his knee. He looked at it wearily. Luke was explaining his reasoning for betraying Camp. You couldn’t blame him. After so many years of neglect and the spirals his mother went through, you felt he had every right to be angry. As did you.

“The gods are my enemy, Percy. Poseidon made a mistake—he made a mistake by neglecting your sister.” Luke pointed Backbiter at the boy.

“Luke…” You placed a hand on his shoulder. His tense shoulders seemingly relaxed.

He let his arm fall to his side. He looked over his shoulder at you. A mix of a soft and intense gaze. Luke only wanted to defend your dignity, your honor, your glory. He thought it was unforgivable that Poseidon would claim you that day of all the days you prayed and wished and begged.

He’s seen how desperate you’ve gotten. How many tears shed. How many times he’s had to comfort you because you don’t feel like you belonged. Kronos would provide a New World. A new Golden Age where you didn’t have to suffer with a shitty father anymore.

Your palm held his scarred cheek. He met your lips in a soft kiss. Everything would be okay if you were with one another. Love is a very powerful thing to wield after all.

“I’m sorry, Percy.” You apologized, looking over at your half-brother. The pit scorpion on the back of his hand. “It’s…it’s nothing against you.”

You attempted to find the words to explain your situation. Luke’s calloused hand held yours gently. It was time to go. To flee from Camp.

“It’s our father that I hate, not you. You—you have to understand.” You hastily explained. “He left me neglected for year. I was content staying at Hermes Cabin and—he decided to claim me when I finally had a place here.”

“The world will remember us, Percy. Olympus will remember not to fuck with us—our dads will remember not to neglect any other half-blood.” Luke stated and twisted Backbiter in his hand. A determined glint in his eyes. Kronos’ calling him away to revive him already.

“Goodbye, Percy. This is the new Golden Age. You won’t be apart of it.” Luke slashed an arc with Backbiter, creating a rip through time and space to travel. The scorpion lunged.

You hesitated a moment, seeing your half-brother in agony. Luke told him sixty seconds. He’ll make it. He’s Percy Jackson after all.

You couldn’t delay your departure any longer. Luke needed someone by his side. To keep his sanity with Kronos calling out to him so often.

Wherever Clyde goes, Bonnie follows.

You departed from Camp, not knowing that would be the last time you see your beloved home.

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hey!! sorry for the small hiatus. i wanted to get school and exams done before i could focus on writing “feigning for ya’ “ and other one shots/drabbles.

hopefully next post is soon! thank you for being patient!

ROMEO AND FAIR JULIET

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pairing: biker!luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: luke loves his bike, a present from his father. it allows him to get out of camp fast as well as take him on late night rides. luke loves his bike, but he loves you a lot more.

warnings: ooc luke, rushed ending, no specific parent for reader, chris shows up!

a/n: the creative juices are not flowing right now, i’ll try to revise it. and I’ll hopefully revise the ending later 😭

requested: yes!! (don’t have og request)

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“Look who showed up.” Your friend grinned widely. Her head sticking out the window of your dorm room. You get off your bed and joined her.

A couple floors down was Luke in gray sweatpants, black compression shirt and a black jacket. His mischievous smile brightened when you popped your head out the window.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He called out. Your boyfriend snuck onto your college campus. You knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Late night rides on his motorcycle.

The motorcycle was a gift for Hermes, an apology. It could take Luke anywhere he wanted. He just had to go 88 mph, like the DeLorean from Back to the Future.

“Stay there, Romeo!” Your essay could be done later. It’s been a bit since you hung out with Luke. He just got back from a quest recently. Thankfully—he didn’t fail this time, nor get any scars.

“Please cover me.” You begged your friend, tugging on your jacket and sliding some pajama pants over your shorts.

Before she could answer, you’re out the door and racing down the stairs. You completely disregard the need to be sneaky and secretive.

“My fair, Juliet.” Luke smiled as you ram into him. A tight embrace. He quickly broke the hug he and looked around, excited to be reunited.

The Romeo and Juliet nicknames started since you started to go to college. He would always show up and stand under your balcony at night. It was quite cute really.

Luke grabbed your hand as you both ran out of your college campus, fleeing away in the cover of night. His trusty steed parked a little away from your dorm building.

“Up and at it.” He held your hips as your mounted the motorcycle like a horse. Your ears turned red (luckily hidden by your hair).

“Where are we going?” You asked, flipping the visor up and down on his extra helmet.

“Just you wait, my sun.” Luke smirked and put on his helmet, prompting you to do the same.

(You swear he’s been learning all about Romeo and Juliet from the Apollo Campers. He firmly denies it, but you know he has since you started college.)

Soon enough the stars were moving besides you as the vehicle raced down the streets of New York. Luke sped through red light and speed limit cameras without a care for human lives. “Supposedly,” the Mist was covering you two.

“Where are we going?!” You shouted and held onto his waist tighter. Your arms pressing against his abs.

Luke reached behind you and held your thigh. The motorcycle reached to 88 mph. Suddenly, a white flash surrounded the tow of you, transported you to an entirely different scene.

You and Luke parked on top of a mountain. A campsite to be specific. There was a table on top of a blanket. Flowers and your favorite snack by candles.

“You did keep complaining about your school work so…” Luke trailed off and removed his helmet. “I also know you miss camp since you started college—surprise!”

“Luke…” You mumbled and looked back at the camp counselor. “You didn’t have too. I would’ve been fine with just a ride out in the city.”

“Oh, but I wanted too.” Luke wrapped his arms around your hips. You tilted your head up at him. “Can’t have you burning out before you come back to camp.”

You kiss his lips appreciatively, tangling your hands in his curls. Luke paused but kissed you back. He spun you so you were pressed up against his motorcycle (he loved doing this). “Thank you…” You breathed out.

“Anytime—anything for you.” Luke trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, whispering it into your skin.

“You really are a Romeo.” You giggled.

“Then you at my Juliet.” Luke smiled into your neck

When summer break started and exams were finished, Luke was the first one to see you. Well—pick you up. You just moved out of your college dorm room and now packing up to stay at Camp Half-Blood. It was a quick hi and goodbye to your parent before you’re rushing down to meet your knight in orange armor.

“My fair, Juliet.” He greeted with a playfully bow.

“Romeo.” You curtsies with your imaginary dress. You were giddy, finally being able to leave college life to escape to Camp Half-Blood.

Soon enough you were running up Half Blood-Hill, greeted by your cabin mates and friends you haven’t seen for so long.

“Oh shit, College is back!” Chris shouted, leaving the new Hermes kid he was with to greet you. The nostalgic smell of Camp hits you and suddenly you yearn to never leave camp again.

“Missed you too, Mercutio.” You embraced Luke’s half-brother.

“Still? With that Romeo and Juliet shit?” Chris rolled his eyes.

“Hey, it’s cute.” Luke defended.

“Yeah cause you’re Romeo!”

“What do you and Clarisse want to be Romeo and Juliet?”

“What—no! She is no damsel in distress.”

“Neither is my girlfriend!”

“Yet you still call her Juliet.”

“Shut up.”

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gingerbread

billy the kid x wife!reader |It's christmas day and you're panicking to make the perfect gingerbread men...while Billy goofs and teases around you|

"wheres the fucking molasses?"

Billy let out a hearty laugh at your state, hair tied high and apron a mess, wooden spoon covered in flour as well as your face

you open drawers aggressively with your brows furrowed, lip tucked in with your teeth as you try and look for the-

"molasses!!"

your smile returns as you hold the jar high, quickly turning back to your working station as you eyeball the mixture in your bowl

"love, I think you're workin' too hard"

Billy says with a smile, as you beat the assortment of spices you glare up at him

"once these damn gingerbread men are done, I'll relax." you say through gritted teeth, you hear a chair squeak back and suddenly arms are around you

"or, you can relax now" he adds, kissing up your neck as you start to lean back into him

"no! I need to get this done" you whisper, hunching back over as you start to kneed the dough with your hands

you sprinkle flour on the wooden counter and gave Billy a slap of dough before starting to roll your half on the counter

"now I'm a part of this?" he whines and you grin up at him

"yes, dear. now roll that out and start gettin' the shape" you giggle, getting a butter knife as you cut the shape of your ginger men

"oh, honey. be prepared for the worst lookin' gingerbread men you've seen." he shakes his head with a crooked smile before spinning the knife and cutting a resemblance of the shape

"billy! you used like- half of the dough just for that one!" you couldn't contain your laugh as he held up his enormous cookie

"nah, yours are too little dear" he says proudly as he places it on the pan

soon, they're out of the oven and resting on the stove, you've slapped billy's hand away at least four times as he tries to sneak a taste

you sprinkle sugar over them and pick one of your creations up before biting down on it

"mmm...yay! They aren't horrific, Billy!" you grin and he snorts a laugh before picking up his humongous...'cookie'

"I'll be the judge of that, love" he winks at you before biting it, his blue eyes imminently widen as he quickly talked with his mouth full

"this is delicious!"

you giggle and he scarfs down the cookie, picking you up with your messy apron and spinning you around before kissing all over your face

"don't let me bother you when you're cookin' again! this is a masterpiece!" he exclaimed

"nah, I think you're barkin' helped me focus" you smiled and he kissed your cheek again

"merry christmas, doll"

"merry christmas, cowboy"

an: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!! I just made gingerbread for the first time and was thinking about him <3333 anyways, I hope you guys have an amazing holiday!! i love you all so much! mwah! ❤️🎄🎅

FEIGNING FOR YA

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CHAPTER 2

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: the first signs of acknowledgement from your family about your relationship and planning and…Luke is a good fake boyfriend!

warnings: not proofread! slow burn, college au, smau, fake dating to dating, cursing, clarisse x chris, aged up! pjo charcters, yn is older sister figure to percy, luke and thalia are older sibling figures to annabeth, drinking

a/n: inspired by charlie’s recent boxing photos! ik it may be a little choppy, but i wanted to put smthg out there before i go on my trip. comments and feedbacks about writing are much appreciated!

series list | next

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Ding!

A passive aggressive text shows up on your lock screen from Aunt Shelley. You were out with Silena, Clarisse and Thalia when the first signs of acknowledgment of your new relationship shows up.

The photo of your friend group covered by (now) two texts from Aunt Shelley:

Aunt Shelley

I wish you would tell us about this boy of yours before announcing it to the whole world.

3m ago

Kidding! He seems lovely.

1m ago

She was not kidding.

You sent back a short text, making up some excuse about why you haven’t said anything. Sure, you hard-launched the “relationship” intending for your family to see, but that backfired. Kind of.

Most of them didn’t care about social media yet they insisted on following you when you made an account.

Aunt Shelley

Tell him to buy brighter clothes for Easter!

now

At least they didn’t seem to recognize Luke’s mop of curls. Luke has only been to your house once in high school in freshman year. Well, Luke had matured since then and he did gain some meat on his bones. You wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t recognize him.

“Their reactions will be funnier when I introduce myself.” Luke mumbled with closed eyes. An arm wrapped around you abdomen. His thumb rubbing your side. Cheek pressed against your shoulder as he listened to you.

He insisted on taking a nap at your dorm to strengthen the image of your faux relationship, totally not because he was escaping his frat’s latest activities. It was something like a date auction or car wash.

“Do you plan on listening to my Aunt?” You asked, referring to Luke’s closet.

“Fuck, no.” Luke answered with ease.

“Will you at least be civil?” You asked and nudged your shoulder against his head.

Luke picked up his head and looked at you. “We’re supposed to be rebelling. Pissing off your parents for being judgy and shitty and what not.”

Honestly, you were hesitant on “rebelling”. Sure, it was just bringing Luke over and dating him because your parents hate him. But, you didn’t want your parents to hate you for being disrespectful nor rude.

Luke noticed your hesitation. He sighed through his nose. “Fine. I’ll play nice.” He laid his head back on your shoulder. “But you owe me take out if the food is bad over there.”

Believe it or not, Luke had become more docile. His touch more gentle and caring. His pocket always had chapstick now that he had a “girlfriend” again. Was he always like this with his other girlfriends?

You been there everytime Luke was in and out of relationships, but you never seen how he acted with his significant others.

And thankfully, being in a fake relationship with Luke was quite easy. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands. It was practically the normal platonic chemistry, just add cheek kisses, holding hands and flirting. No butterflies appeared nor hands got sweaty around him.

Perfect.

Because thinking about your best friend in romantic sense was the wrong pathway to go. It’s not like you have, just…think about all the movies and books. Usually they never ended well (you think).

“Charlie knows I called it. I knew it!” Silena exaggerated pridefully. Both of you were walking to your Art History Class. “The way you guys would look at each other and—gosh…I still can’t believe it.”

You laughed at your friend’s delusional nature. You can’t exactly pinpoint a time when Luke and you gave each other a look before this contract, but whatever helps Silena sleep at night.

The two of you sit at your usual seats and wait for the rest of the students to trickle in.

Ding!

Mom

Your father and I are very excited to meet this new boyfriend of yours!

now

You wondered if she remembered Luke. He did leave an impression on her. The first time Luke met your mother, he was a little excited and rowdy because you and him were going to stream a new movie that left theaters.

Your mother hated when the quiet in the house was broken when Luke and you were excitingly talking. “You’re like a fly, disrupting this environment.” She scoffed from the dining room and went upstairs to her room.

Safe to say, you hung out at Luke’s house from that day forward (you just gave him your Netflix password). Thankfully, Luke didn’t feel too hurt.

“Oh! I know.” Silena placed her notebook on the table. A suggestive grin on her face. “There’s this party we can go to and celebrate you lovebirds!”

“Silena, that’s not really necessary—”

“You gotta see it for yourself though!”

“See what?”

“That twinkle in their eyes.”

“What?”

The professor entered the lecture hall and began the lesson on art from the transcendentalist period. Twinkle? What twinkle? Like the stuff that romance novels describe when a character falls in love? Come on, that can’t be real.

“Like romance book twinkle?” You leaned over and whispered to Selene. She smiled knowing she had you hooked. Her pencil moved as she talked.

“Like when you get dressed for a party or a date and…and…” She tore her eyes away from you to look if she spelled a word right in her notes. “…they get that first look and their eyes light up like you’re their whole world.”

Your professor called you and Silena out for talking and the both of you quickly write down the notes. Though you both continue the conversation.

“Listen, our friend group doesn’t have to go party or go to a bar. Just suggest a date with Luke tonight and watch his eyes when you’re in your date night outfit.” Silena and you walk to the gym, scanning your ID and going through the turnstiles.

You look at your phone again.

Luke<3

boxing with beckendorf

13m ago

Silena and you walked towards the destination. The familiar black compression shirt and mop of chocolate curls appearing in your field of vision. His gray sweat matching his top.

Beckendorf was spotting Luke as he hit the punching bag in calculated movements. He shifted his weight between his two feet and with laser focus the material of the worn out glove made contact. Beckendorf grunted quietly. Luke could pack a punch.

It was kinda hot.

“Charlie!” Silena disrupted the practice to go hug her sweaty boyfriend. Luke and him must’ve have been taken turns hitting the punching bag.

Luke turned in your direction. A slow smile spread across his fast. He was quick to get his gloves off before greeting you with a forehead kiss. “Hey beautiful.” His hands resting on your waist.

If your next boyfriend wasn’t meeting the same standards as Luke was right now, you didn’t want him. Luke was practically the perfect boyfriend.

“We should go on a date tonight.” You suggested, obviously curious about this “twinkle” Silena was talking about.

Luke grabbed his gym bag and put away his boxing gloves. You grabbed him a white towel to wipe off his sweat. “Yeah? For what?” He drank some water and tossed his gym bag on his shoulder. “Your family being shitty to you again?”

Silena and Beckendorf said quick goodbyes and left the gym. You took out your body spray and spritzed Luke with it a couple of times. “No…” You made sure Silena and Beckendorf were gone. “Easter. We need to talk about Easter with my family?”

“What is there to talk about?” Luke asked and sat down on the wooden bench. You joined him. His musk covered by your body spray.

“I don’t know…like—” You paused trying to get the words out. “What we should do if like—my mother asks some stupid question. Or my aunt flirts with you or if my family ask you to prove we’re dating.”

“You’re not trying to get me to take you out and get you food are you?” Luke nudged your shoulder and teased.

“Yes.” You stated bluntly. “But more importantly, Easter.”

Luke and you decide to go out to dinner at a diner nearby. You made him shower and change first before anything. While he was at his dorm, you were struggling to pick and outfit to successful procure a twinkle.

You stood in front of your mirror, looking at your reflection. Clarisse was on her bed, reading a book for her English class. Though she got distracted by you numerous times.

After what it felt like the umpteenth time putting on different jeans and skirts and some sort of clothing combination, Clarisse her headphones away from her ears. She could feel your frustration and dilemma. The hot-tempered girl wa sin your shoes when she had her first day with Chris.

“Wear something casual, but cute.” Clarisse suggested and scanned her eyes over the clothes scattered on the floor.

“Like that with…that.” The articles of clothing made sense together, but would it give that twinkle you were curious about. It would have to do for now.

“When’s he picking you up?” Clarisse sat up. “I promise you, you’re overthinking this. It’ll be fine.”

You look at her after changing into the clothes she picked out. “I know, I just—what if this doesn’t work out?” Of course, you had in the rebelling against your parents with this relationship, but to Clarisse—you looked worried about your relationship with Luke.

“It will.” Clarisse reassured. “You’ve been best friends for how long?”

A couple of knocks rapped against your door. Clarisse gestured for you to take a deep breath before she went back to reading. You stalked over to the door and opened it.

“Go change.” You immediately stated upon seeing his shirt.

In big bright white letters, his shirt read “I <3 my girlfriend.” Forgot the twinkle, that stupid t-shirt was going to haunt you forever if you let Luke go out in that.

“What, why?” Luke whined, knowing exactly why.

“Luke! Go change or—or…” You hesitated to find a right threat.

“Helpful hint, sweetheart. If you’re going to threaten me, find a viable threat before you start it.” Luke called out and went to change.

You were going to strangle him. Maybe this relationship won’t be as easy managing as you thought. You were praying Easter will go how it’s planned or at least work in pissing off your parents.

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taglist:

@happy-mushrooms @m00ng4z3r @justanotherkpopstanlol @2hiigh2cry @celluifleur @thatbird-fromrio @yuminako @pookiebear16 @mxtokko @cxcillia @kai-islost @kidkrowk @iluvpjo

heyy!! sorry i haven’t been answering requests. i trying to pump them out, but school is kicking my ass.

i’ll work on them during the weekend or my spring break. just a little update: also working very hard on the fic series! love youu, thank you for the support!

yes i’m so glad you’re writing for clarisse because im obsessed with your writing.

could you write something with reader being a really confident and vain daughter of aphrodite who channels her mothers war goddess attributes and is one of the best sword fighter in camp? also playful teasing from reader and sparring because 1 i need justice for the massacre of aphrodites character and 2 clarisse x aphrodite!reader is essential to my life force. haters can hate.

maybe also show how other campers interact with her as well, like luke showing percy around idk

LOVER AND A WARRIOR

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pairing: clarisse la rue x daughter of aphrodite!reader

summary: clarisse has always been a hard hitter and a tough lover, but a certain someone from aphrodite makes her soft. and she doesn’t entirely mind it.

warnings: use of “y/n” once or twice, kinda switches to percy’s pov, fighting, almost death(?), fluff, mentions of beckendorf!!

a/n: i really hope i did this request right! enjoy! i was trying to crank this out as soon as i could.

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Everyone thought you’d be claim by Ares (even though your dad was still very present and not a god) or at least by Athena. You were smart and a hell of a lot strong; both mentally and physically.

So it came to a surprise when Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, claimed you.

Though, Clarisse knew you were her daughter. You were every bit of passionate: about life, hobbies, interests, her. You paid attention to every little detail that flew out of her mouth (she noticed).

It didn’t help that you channeled your mother’s past title and abilities. After all, in Sparta, she was known as Aphrodite Aeria, “Aphrodite the Warlike”.

Clarisse was head over heels for you the minute she saw you fight (you even bested Luke, how was she not supposed to not fall in love with you?)

You and Clarisse started dating at the peak of the Summer Solstice and never looked back. No one knew Clarisse could be so…tolerating to someone outside of her cabin, especially to one of Aphrodite’s daughter.

Percy surely didn’t expect it either.

Clarisse was so callous and you were compassionate. He guessed that thing about opposites attract was true.

“Look, you want attention here, dummy?” Clarisse spoke condescendingly to the newest camper. She just couldn’t believe a scrawny kid took down the Minotaur. “You better be ready for it when it comes.”

Clarisse made Percy flinch and walked past Hermes’ kids. An amused smile plastered on her face. Luke shook his head as Ares’ kids passed which begged the question. “Why don’t they mess with you?” Percy asked.

“They know better.” Luke smirked.

“Luke’s the second strongest swordsman in camp.” Chris added with a proud grin.

“Who’s the first?”

“Y/N.”

Suddenly, you walked by in perfect timing. Percy’s eyes glued to you. You witnessed the whole situation and went to talk to your girlfriend. “Clarisse…” You muttered.

Percy watched Ares’ daughter soften at the mention of her name from your lips. Nothing in the facial expressions, it was all in the eyes.

“She doesn’t look menacing or intimidating—” Percy acknowledged.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Luke reminded as he glanced back at you and Clarisse. “Got my ass handed to me when I sparred with her.”

Percy looked at Luke. “Really? Can I train with her?”

•••

It wasn’t odd to find Clarisse in Aphrodite’s cabin; nor was it odd to find the two of you cuddling on your bunk. Sunlight beaming onto the two of you and the only sounds were the campers outside. All of your siblings when do go enjoy camp activities while you read to Clarisse.

Ancient Greek flows from your mouth like the water from River Styx. Clarisse had one arm haphazardly thrown across your abdomen. Her head perched on your shoulder.

Silently, she admired the way your lips moved. The way you were invested into the story. The way she can see all the tiny details on your gorgeous face from this position.

Clarisse found herself falling for you more and more with each second of the day. She was aggressive and intimidating. She was Ares’ favorite daughter after all, but she found herself becoming more softhearted to you.

“You’re my…everything.” Clarisse whispered fondly. It might’ve been a slip of the tongue, but it made you blush.

She never failed to make you blush. Your rosy cheeks complimented with a sheepish grin. “Clarisse…” You mumbled and put down the book.

“I mean it.” Clarisse stated firmly and sat up on her elbow. Her heart locket fell from her orange Camp t-shirt. It matched yours, except you had a sword charm. Clarisse insisted on giving it to you (after threatening Beckendorf once or twice) for your two month anniversary.

“I know.” You reassured and pecked her lips quickly. Clarisse smiled and dived back in to press her lips into yours

A giggle erupted from you. A rush of dopamine intoxicating your brain. It always felt like the first kiss with her. “I love you, I love you, I love you—” You repeated into her lips.

“I get it, lovergirl.” Clarisse chuckled as she pulled away. Her cheek tinged with pink. “I love you too.”

She continued. “Will you keep reading? You sound so beautiful when you read—”

“Clarisse!” You exclaimed. Your blush even more prominent.

“What? I can’t tell my girlfriend she has a voice from the sirens that could bring the Big Three to tears?”

“Clarisse…”

“Keep reading, lovergirl.”

•••

“This is safe, right?” Percy asked Grover.

“Yeah! Perfectly safe.” Grover reassured with a smile.

Luke had recruited you to help train Percy (Clarisse just so happened to tag along). There were swords in all of your hands. You were going to fight Clarisse and Luke and Percy doubted you were that good.

It was all to help Percy learn more about fighting with the sword and a great way to show off. The forest clearing gave enough room to really show your talents in combat.

“Don’t go easy on me!” You yelled at Clarisse and Luke on the other side of the clearing. Percy and Grover were sitting on rather large rocks anticipating the battle.

You took a deep breath and your eyes hardened. It was like switched had been flipped within you. You shifted your foot, sliding it in the dirt. The air felt different. Tense, sharp, lung-crushing.

Clarisse and Luke tightened their grip on their swords and gave each other a confirming nod. Percy and Grover watched as the three older half-bloods charged one another.

With precision and quick-wit, you were able to keep Clarisse and Luke on their toes. Luke shifted his weight in his feet before charging you again. You clashed swords. Celestial Bronze against Celestial Bronze.

Your ears perked up on shoes slapping against the dirt. You ducked causing Clarisse to swing at Luke. There was no trace of a your warm sweet smile Percy saw, only your hardened gaze.

It was kind of scary to see Aphrodite’s daughter switch up so fast.

Clarisse cursed under her and swiped her sword as if flicking off imaginary blood. She met your gaze, her heart skipped a beat. She rushed you again and swiped your legs. You jumped back with the grace of a swan, but Clarisse parried her sword immediately after.

You riposted Clarisse when Luke cane out from behind Clarisse to continue an onslaught of attacks. You scoffed quietly, but you could never complain. It was a good workout.

Yet, a particularly heavy swing from you knocked Luke’s sword from out of his hand. His sword flinging at Percy’s head. Percy shouted and ducked.

“Oh my gods!” You exclaimed and slapped your heads over your mouth in surprise.

Clarisse and Luke stopped their attacks and looked back at Percy and Grover. Luke’s celestial bronze sword was sticking out of a tree. Percy centimeters away from the blade.

You apologized for your reckless behavior. Percy was more scared of how fast you switched from your focused nature to a worried attitude.

“It’s okay…” Percy laughed nervously.

“He said he was fine!” Clarisse called out and walked towards you, pressing a small kiss to your cheek.

“Sorry, Percy.” Luke apologized.

“A lover and a fighter. Got it.” Percy noted in his mind as you complained to Clarisse about feeling bad about impaling Percy.

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