Amoreva - Vida

EIGHT OUT OF NINE LIVES

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pairing: dodge mason x reader

summary: in this lousy town, panic was the only thing remotely interesting. well you know what they say, you only live once. yet…dodge seemed to have nine.

warnings: mentions of almost dying, a little ooc dodge

a/n: rewatching panic so…writing for one of my favorite cowboys. realized it might be a little similar to one of my other fics, but oh well

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You only live once. That was the motto you tried to live by. Albeit, the motto was stupid and could get your ass landed in jail sometimes.

The motto was how you were able to get the Dodge Mason to go out with you. It was how you were able to jump the cliff during the first challenge during Panic. It was also how you were disqualified during the third challenge.

Breaking and entering was not your forte, nor was avoiding the batshit, crazy Spurlock’s traps. You fractured your arm running from the bastard with a personal item of his. Fearing for your life, you tripped, dropped your item and ran—praying you would get out with no bullet holes in your body.

Your will to live trumped over your desire to have any real fun in this town.

You thought it was pathetic for not being able to keep your item in your hand long enough to advance. Your boyfriend was just thankful you were alive.

Yet, when he landed himself in the hospital after the fourth challenge—the mindsets switched.

“Promise me, you’ll be careful?” You spoke the night of the fourth challenge. Dodge and you were on his couch watching whatever movie was on.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Dodge agreed, looking at you. His arms wrapped around your body tightly. Dodge leaned down and kissed the top of your head.

His reassurance provided you a little more comfort than before, yet with Panic—expect the unexpected.

No one expected the local haunted house to burst up in flames, nor for a few Panic players to end up in the hospital cause of it.

“You are a goddamn liar, Dodge Mason!” You accused your boyfriend the minute you stepped into his hospital room.

Dodge jumped slightly at the sound of your tone, blankly staring at you. You attempted to hit him to get your point across that this was serious because he was just looking at you. Staring like everything was fine. He landed himself in the hospital because of a stupid fucking cash prize.

“Don’t do that. Don’t wanna hurt yourself more.” Dodge warned with stern, yet soft voice. He caught your casted hand before you could do any real damage to him or yourself.

“You gave me a goddamn heart attack.” Your hands tensed up and sat down on his hospital bed. “The fire—I didn’t know if you or Heather or Nat were okay,”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Dodge let go of your cast. He quickly looked around for a cop or any staff member. “I was reaching for a clue in an outlet and next thing I know, lights out. I didn’t even know there was a fire.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. “Electrocuted?”

“Electrocuted.” Dodge laughed slightly like he couldn’t believe himself. “I think my heart stopped.”

“Don’t joke like that.” You gave him a pointed look.

“I’m being serious!” Dodge gave you his signature boyish smile. “You know how you compare me to a black cat? I just used one of my nine lives.”

“You’re stupid.” You failed to hide the grin creeping up on your face.

Even when you were supposed to be angry at him, he never failed to make you smile. “I mean it!” Dodge exclaimed. “I’m at eight lives.”

The two of you went silent, just beaming, grinning at one another. As the silence grew, the smiles faded. You were the one to speak up first. “What do you think will happen now with…?” Panic.

“I don’t know. It’s just a minor setback and we’ll finish this. It won’t get canceled.” Dodge admitted and laid back in the hospital bed.

“Dodge…you landed yourself in the hospital because of this stupid game. You could’ve suffered something worse than blacking out—what if something happened internally?” You stressed. “And—and you still want to risk your life for what—?”

Dodge interrupted. “For Dayna…” A small pause.“…and for you.” Dodge added quietly.

“You don’t gotta win for me.” You whispered to him. “If it’ll get you killed, don’t win for me.”

Dodge opened his arms and reluctantly you laid next to him. His arm snaked around your waist, soothingly caressing it. “What if it’s like third times a charm? You get hurt during Panic again and you land yourself six feet under—?”

“Have a little faith in me.” Dodge hummed and looked down at your face. “I promised you I’ll be careful and smart about things. I won’t break those promises.”

You gave him another pointed look, knowing you won’t be able to convince him to stop. “You just win for Dayna.”

“Justice for Dayna.” With the arm wrapped around your waist, he held up one finger as he spoke about his motivations to win. “Getting out of this shitty town for you.” Another finger went up before he kissed your head.

“I think I’ll be fine in this lousy town if you’re here.” You shifted your head to look up at Dodge.

“And those dreams of wanting to see Italy?France? Spain?” Dodge asked softly.

“Pipe dreams.” You smiled dismissively. “Just something to keep me going.”

“You know the pot this year is huge. Once I win, I’ll take you anywhere you want. Out of state, out of country, out of world. Anywhere.” Dodge promised.

“That is a large if, Dodge. Gonna pay for that with a few of your lives left?” You teased him.

“Darling, I would do anything to make your dreams come true. Even if it means paying with my lives.” Dodge kissed your forehead, then your cheeks, then your nose, eyelids, chin, jaw. You giggled as he left butterfly kisses on your face.

“Dodge—Dodge, stop it!” You giggled, but he silenced your protests with a kiss to your lips. You could feel him smiling.

“Forgive me for losing one of my lives?” Dodge asked as he kept kissing and kissing—knowing the answer. Your angry and worry simmered long before he could even ask for forgiveness.

“You get hurt again and I’m going to kill you.” You threatened, trying to keep your composure.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Dodge mumbled as his lips met yours. He made the same threat when you broke your wrist.

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INTRODUCTORY

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VIDA, she/her, 18, relatively new writer!!

—– cinema/theatre. percy jackson, newsies, west side story, panic, challengers, the outsiders, sinners, hadestown, guys n dolls, singin in the rain, summer of 84, the binge, a haunting in venice, 10 things I hate about you, back to the future, gypsy, cabaret, anastasia, mighty ducks, anything goes

—– misc. snoopy, paintings, books (ask me what book i’m currently reading!), digital camera photos, cowboys, dance, musicals, french vanilla, fruit, polaroids, the beach, coastal towns, travel, baking, hibiscus, chai lattes

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MASTERLIST

REQUESTS: OPEN

warning!! i don’t consistently update because of external factors, apologies!

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Cupids in Converses

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Valentine's was rolling up. You and Luke played Cupid on Percy and Annabeth. But what if playing matchmakers gave both you guys and your unspoken feelings the nudge that you guys have always needed? (Fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)

Warning: sort of cliché, but it's Valentines so.

Note: Valentines got me in the mood of writing something rom-com-ish. Let's just assume Luke wears red converses that looks like Maia in the show. Also, I've been incredibly busy so I kinda rushed through this one to post it on time for Valentines.

Word count: 4.1k (whoops)

February has always filled the air with some sort of sugary chemical. Everything seemed sweeter like a pink filter had been put over the world. Some may dislike the upcoming February holiday, but it was perhaps one of your favorite times of the year. 

Why? You were somehow blessed with the skills of getting people together and nudging them just enough to cross the line they needed to. So far, you have managed to help six couples get together. With Valentine’s right around the corner, the urge to play cupid grew to the point it was itching your hands.

“Well, compared to the Chimera on Monday, Medusa on Sunday, could have been a lot worse,” Percy was quickly interrupted by Annabeth. 

“Medusa was Saturday.”

“I thought Sunday?”

“No monsters on Sunday. Monday, you died in a river.” You squint your eyes at the conversation that Percy and Annabeth were having. The familiar bells rang in your head; you could practically hear them roaring at you.

“Right, so Medusa on Saturday…” 

“Woah, guys, what’s this?” Luke interrupted. “When did you turn into an old married couple?” Percy and Annabeth both grew slightly flustered at the Hermes counselor’s words. Muttering a few things here and there, the two kids quickly excused themselves and walked off from you and Luke just to avoid the topic in general. You slowly turned towards Luke and peered up at him.

“Surely…” you spoke cryptically.

“Surely what?”

“Them!” you gestured to the direction that Percy and Annabeth had headed off to. You kicked a small rock with your Converse and watched it tumble away. “Surely we can give a little nudge?” you trailed off, bumping into Luke’s shoulder.

“You’re not seriously gonna play Cupid on them, right?”

“No, I’m not…because we are,” Luke let out a loud breath, hands on his hips as he peered down at you. However, you could see a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. 

“Sweet girl, I adore you, but why not let things run their course?” you hope he did not see the physical reaction over that nickname because, internally, your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh? And you’re telling me those six couples from before would have gotten together without me? You know I’m right about this kind of stuff. I can usually sense it. Besides, it’ll be fun, I promise.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Uhm…you get to spend time with me?” you decided to answer, grinning up at Luke when he gave you a feigned unimpressed look. “Please, besides, you and Percy are close, so it would help a lot. I already have a plan and I need your help for it.”

One look into your eyes, and Luke knew he was doomed. For some reason, you just can make him do anything you ask. Luke could feel the hands on his hips slowly slipping as he looked into your eyes.

“Fine.”

Stage 1: Get Percy to realize his feelings cause he’s blind as hell

It was midnight and everybody else was asleep except for you and Luke. The two of you were in the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible.

The two of you were making some fortune cookies for your plan. However, there was a tiny twist to the treat you two were making. You had personally printed out a couple of prompts that you wrote yourself in hopes they would nudge Percy into realizing his feelings. 

“Really?’“Romance is in the air. What you’re looking for is right in front of you’?” Luke read out the small piece of paper that you printed. You pulled the cookies out of the oven when they were ready.

“It’s cliche and sort of obvious, but hey! It’ll work because it’s Percy I’m working with,” you quickly pulled the paper out of his hand to put it in the fortune cookie before folding it into shape and letting it cool down.

“Mhm. He’s gonna realize you’re trying to play cupid.”

“Are we talking about the same person? I doubt Percy would realize. Annabeth would, hence why I’m not trying this on her.”

Luke helped you out with a couple of other spare fortune cookies that you two intended to keep for yourselves.

“Alright, finally done,” you muttered, washing your hands. However, you were caught off guard when Luke dipped his hand in the bag of flour on the counter and smeared some on your cheek. Your mouth hung slightly at this, and you looked up at him challengingly. You wiped your hands with a hand towel, “Oh? Is that how we’re playing it?”

“...No…” Luke sheepishly replied, a grin growing on his face when he saw the look of mischief creeping on your face.

“Game on, Castellan,” with that, you dipped both of your hands in flour and chased after the tall boy, who was sprinting around the counter. You caught up with Luke and compromised by smearing flour onto the back of his shirt first. At your attack, he turned around and smeared some more across your face from your other cheek to the top of your nose. You immediately did it back to him.

“Ok, ok, I surrender,” he coughed in between quiet waves of laughter after you smeared some from his cheek down his neck, marking your last attack.

For a moment, Luke and you stood in silence, but when you two let the state of one another sink in, laughs echoed throughout the room again. Luke was able to stop his laughter first, though he was still wearing a wide grin. He washed the flour off his face and dried it with kitchen tissues as you muttered: “Oh, I wish I had a camera. I could practically blackmail you with that photo.”

“I have no doubt you would have never let me live that down,” while replying, Luke also approached you and started wiping the flour off your nose before moving to your cheeks. Your laughter slowly faded as your cheeks heated at the feeling of his hand on your skin. He was looking at you so tentatively. Callous hands - a reflection of his remarkable title as best swordsman - delicately holding your face as if you were the rarest diamond to exist.

Something about this moment felt so domestic. Luke allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that this is how it would feel like to be with you and share cute moments like these together. Luke unbeknownstly let out a breath he didn’t know he was keeping in as he made eye contact with you. 

However, the moment was interrupted by another camper who yelped upon seeing you two in the kitchen. The presence of another person caused you two to spring apart. “I’m so sorry, I’ll leave,” the camper muttered, clearly abandoning their plan of stealing food and sweets in the middle of the night. Luke coughed to break the silence.

“So what’s the plan after giving it to Percy?” Luke asked, looking down at the fortune cookies before picking one up and munching on it.

“Hopefully, he’ll finally realize his feelings, and when he does…Percy will come to you, for sure.”

Stage 2: Romantic gesture

You were right, Percy came to Luke for dating advice. As you planned, Luke suggested that Percy make a flower crown for Annabeth. Hence, here the Hermes counselor was - with Percy as he picked out flowers for Annabeth.

"I'm gonna need you to guide me on this 'cause I've never made flower crowns before," Percy muttered as he picked out California Poppins, Annabeth's favorite. Luke grinned at this. He found it interesting how the young boy already knew. "Maybe you could make one for someone special too?" Percy said, his voice somewhat unsure. 

At the young boy's words, Luke froze. The first person that seemed to pop into his mind when Percy said that was you.

"I mean, might as well, right? It's for Valentine's. Maybe you could give it to someone who means a lot to you and makes you happy?" Percy spoke, though there was something instigative about his tone.

Happy. The word bounced in between the walls of Luke's mind. Once again, the first thing that flashed in his head was you. Then, a surge of images came running from memories of you two. He almost could not remember happiness before you. A warm feeling embedded in his chest as he pictured your smile. Just seeing you happy seemed to do it for him, like you could spread happiness to him by just looking at him. You were like the first glimmer of daylight after a cold night. He subconsciously smiled at that thought.

You have always made him feel loved, even though he knew you were probably doing it platonically. However, he would gladly take any form of love that he could receive from you. Every day, waking up and knowing he had you in his life was good enough for him. Maybe he should try giving you more hints. Maybe you'll finally see it. Perhaps Percy was right with the flower crown idea. 

“Uhm, sure,” with that, Luke decided to take some of your favorite flowers into his hand and went to a nearby table, where he started guiding Percy on how to make a flower crown. However, ever so often, his mind would trail to its own thoughts whenever he focused on making this flower crown for you.

Percy watched Luke as the older boy started intensely working on his own flower crown, crafting it with so much care as if it was an artwork intended for a national museum. If Percy didn’t know better, he would think Luke was a perfectionist.

Meanwhile, you were sitting with Annabeth near the ocean where she had previously pushed Percy into the waters, leading to Poseidon claiming him. You asked, “Any plans for Valentine’s Day?” 

“No, you?”

“Nope.”

“Oh?” she replied, though you tilted your head at the tone of her voice. “I’m just surprised,” Annabeth explained as she looked out at the ocean instead of at you. “I mean…I thought you and Luke…”

“Huh?—”

“Well, I mean, you two are together all the time, and there seems to be something going on —”

“What do you mea—”

“It always seems like you two would gravitate to one another. I just assumed you two were together already—”

“We’re…just friends,” you settled on saying, though you could hear your heart beating loudly, seemingly echoing near your chest and neck. Of course, you knew you had feelings for Luke. However, you have always ruled it as a silly little crush.

“...You sure? You sound really unsure,” Annabeth challenged, making you sigh. 

“I mean, he’s really sweet, and nice…”

“Uh-huh”

“And he makes me laugh all the time…”

“That’s good,” Annabeth’s words echoed as you sunk into silence and started reflecting on who Luke was to you. He has always made you feel cared for. Out of everybody at camp, perhaps he was the one you were most comfortable with, never having to be afraid of being yourself. Almost all of your favorite memories at camp included him in them. 

You remember the night you told him about your minor fear of the darkness and how he promised to always protect you in it. In a way, since then, he has become your light. You always felt lit up when he made his way to you. Your eyes are always drawn to him like a moth to its flame. Then, it finally dawned on you how serious your feelings were. You realized how most of the time you seemed to be mindless about the existence of your heart until Luke was around because it was only then that your heart would tug or race to run you breathless. You gulped as your eyes darted around slightly. 

“I mean…maybe…” you started but snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Luke’s voice. And there it was again, the silly familiar tug your heart was doing just from his voice. “Hey…” you greeted Luke and Percy before noticing Percy with a flower crown in his hand. 

“Annabeth, can I speak to you privately?” Annabeth stood up and gestured for Percy to lead the way, presumably somewhere, so the young boy could give her the flower crown and ask her out on Valentine’s Day. You remained seated, still pondering at your feelings and wondering when they had exponentially grown that much. 

“I actually have something for you as well,” you finally looked up at Luke when he said this. You noticed he had his hands behind his back. Something about the way he looked now seemed so shy and timid, which was unlike the outgoing and confident boy you always knew.

Your mouth fell agape when he pulled out a flower crown made of your favorite flower. “Luke…” you said his name and stood up when you saw the item.

However, because your eyes were on his gift, you didn’t notice the way Luke’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice calling out his name. He never thought it was anything special until November two years ago when you said his name while laughing at one of his jokes by the campfire. It was probably a moment you did not remember, but ever since then, he felt so sure that he was named so because the name sounded like it was born just for the sole purpose of being sounded from your lips. 

“I made this for you,” he muttered, though it sounded almost like a whisper. His eyes shifted to both of your Converses instead of at you. Something about this made him so nervous as if he was handing you his heart instead of a simple gift. He almost scowled at himself for acting like a boy in kindergarten, confessing to his crush.

If only Luke was looking at you because you were looking at him and the item in awe. Your cheeks flushed from his gesture. Though, you were somewhat glad he was not looking at you because you were sure one look at you right now would tell Luke exactly everything about your feelings. You were a blushing mess. “Luke, thank you so much. This is beautiful. I can’t believe you made one for me.”

You touched Luke’s hand that was holding the crown, and he almost grew an even deeper shade of red. “Put it on my head,” you instructed, and he obliged just like everything else you would ask. He was sure he must have caught a sickness or something for wanting to follow you this blindly. But you were perhaps the only one with the power to get him to do absolutely anything. Just as the crown touched your hair, you peered up at him, and the sight alone made Luke swallow nervously. 

You looked breathtaking.

And he meant this literally because Luke felt like he stopped breathing for a second. He could not look away. That was until you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him. His arms wrapped around your neck almost immediately to return the hug as if they existed to only hold you. 

However, unlike the hundreds of hugs before, this one felt different. It was as if something had shifted and was bound to unfold.

Final Stage: Valentine’s Day

Annabeth had said yes.

You were ecstatic to learn that the young girl had agreed to go on a Valentine’s date with Percy. Even though you didn’t want to intrude, you and Luke decided to just have a peep to see what Percy had planned. You were not planning to stay long. It was just a sort of reward or a way to see your plan grow into fruition. You smiled when you spot the cute picnic date near the shore.

“See, I told you the plan was going to work,” you muttered as you tiptoed up in your converses to peer at the kids through the tall bushes nearby. You almost lost balance and step onto Luke's shoes that were similar to yours, except his was red.

The boy quickly steadied you with his hand on your waist. You muttered a quick thank you before turning back to the kids, trying to ignore the blush that was slowly decorating your cheeks. But you were quickly caught off guard at the sight of Percy and Annabeth pushing a small boat off the shore and hopping on it.

“Uhm…that is not what I expected. Where are they going?” Luke looked over your shoulder when you said that. Your eyes fluttered at his warm breath hitting your neck. 

However, you noticed the two kids looking like they were in trouble and panicking as they quickly started rowing away. You turned your head towards Luke, forgetting he was very close to you. Your voice faltered as you were about to utter your next sentence. Noticing this, Luke turned to you, only causing the two of you to come face to face with little distance in between. You gulped and forced yourself not to glance down at his lips, “Do you think they’re okay? Should we follow them? I mean…what if they’re in trouble?”

Seeing the worried look on your face, Luke frowned. He deeply disliked anything that caused that kind of expression on your face. Hence, he decided to go over to the second boat there and started pushing it towards the water. “Come on,” you hopped onto the small boat with him and started rowing after Percy and Annabeth, hoping to help them from whatever trouble they were seeming to have.

After a few minutes of rowing behind them, you saw Percy and Annabeth rowing into a small tunnel. Luke and you quickly followed in, rowing your boat, only to be engulfed by darkness upon entering the tunnel.

The wind blew much harder in there, causing goosebumps on your arm as your hand gripped your oar tightly. To make matters worse, it was your most hated type of darkness - utter pitch black. Even with your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could see nothing, not even Luke. 

You were fine with darkness in familiar places like your cabin, where you knew at least there were other campers around and you were safe. You were also mostly fine with darkness where you could see as your eyes adjusted to it. But here, you were in a tunnel you’ve never been in, where there were possibly monsters that could attack you at any moment. 

You were slightly startled by the hand that softly touched yours that, unbeknownst to you, was crushing the wooden oar. You immediately recognize it was Luke’s hand from the warmth and familiar touch. He soothingly ran his thumb across your hand. His actions were proven effective at calming you down when you could feel your grip loosen around the tool.

“Breathe, sweet girl,” his words somehow made you release the breath you were subconsciously holding.

A few seconds later, the lights were turned on. You were met with one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen. Lights were decorating the path throughout the tunnel. There were also plants and trees with extended branches and leaves that softly brushed past the boat Luke and you were on. 

Suddenly, you both heard a tune start playing quietly in the background, almost quiet enough to make you two think you were imagining it:

“There you see her, sitting there across the way.

She don’t got a lot to say, but there’s something about her”

His thumb hasn’t stopped rubbing over your knuckles even though the darkness was no longer casting over the both of you. His eyes were absorbing how you looked at that moment, embracing it. You were absolutely stunning and he was hopelessly infatuated with you. 

“And you don’t know why, but you’re dying to try

You wanna kiss the girl.”

The lyrics made Luke subconsciously lick his lips as he pictured himself kissing you. Gods, he wondered if his heart would even survive doing so and whether anything would ever surpass getting to kiss you. Your eyes flickered to Luke's lips, and he noticed it. He also noticed how your cheeks flushed as you gulped at his actions.

“Luke.”

“Y/N,” you almost melted at the way Luke was saying your name as if it was an honor or privilege to do so. The tone he used was sweeter than any dessert you have ever had. Gods, it was as if your name was a sacred passage he lived by.

“Yes, you want her

Look at her, you know you do”

Indeed he was looking at you, and it felt almost like he was spellbound because he could not take his eyes off you. Right then, you could see it all - he was utterly smitten. He was giving you a soft smile. The lights decorating the tunnel shimmered in his eyes, illuminating just enough to display his pupils and how they almost completely overtook the usual dark brown color that you love. Before you knew it, he was leaning closer to you on the small boat and you mirrored his action.

“Possible she wants you too, there is one way to ask her…”

Just when Luke was inches from your face, he stopped. His eyes longingly stare at your lips like a long-awaited dream that was within his grasp but not quite within his grip yet. You noticed how he took a deep breath as if mustering all the drops of courage he had. His eyes fluttered shut for a second before he opened them again. 

“Can I?” he uttered only two words, but somehow, his voice conveyed enough the yearning coursing through every inch of his body. Luke gulped as he restrained himself from closing the distance and waited for your consent. 

You nodded wordlessly.

“It don’t take a word, not a single word

Go on and kiss the girl.”

Almost instantly, he caressed both sides of your face and sealed the deal.

All the glory Luke has gained throughout the years seemed trivial compared to kissing you. It almost convinced him that everything he had gone through to get here today was worth it. He hummed against your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Kissing you felt like the best gift he had ever gotten in his entire life. Luke knew he was forever screwed from the way it felt. He could not fathom the idea of his lips ever touching anyone else’s. Maybe they were made for you, but his heart and mind do not seem to oppose that idea.

You slowly slid your arms down, allowing your hands to caress his jawline and the sides of his face. However, your hands slightly jolted at the pace of his heartbeat along the side of his neck. It was as if his heart was trying to break out of his body. Your own heart started replicating the same rhythm. It had you flustered that you had such an effect on him. 

Luke broke away from the kiss breathlessly. For a second, he hated the idea of needing air to live because if he could, he would not have stopped showing you how much his lips belonged to you. His forehead leaned against yours while his hands rested on your hips. He looked at you endearingly as if he could not fathom that he just got to kiss you. You smiled at the sight of him.

“I know I’m a tad bit late, but will you be my Valentine?” he sweetly asked. 

“Of course, Luke.” Luke grinned at your answer. He drew you in for another kiss as giggles escaped your lips and echoed through the tunnel that now marked an important memory for the two of you.

You truly must be Cupid because your plan not only worked for Percy and Annabeth, but somehow also indirectly gave Luke and you the nudge you both needed.

14th February marked the day when two Cupids wearing Converses got their happy ending. 

Bonus:

“I told you that would work,” Annabeth whispered to Percy as the two hopped back onto their boat with a speaker in hand, rowing away hastily to be out of sight from the older couple.

Little did you know, Annabeth had orchestrated the whole thing, including the conversation between her and Percy about their mission in front of Luke and you. Annabeth’s plan of getting Luke and you together through playing cupid together had seemingly worked just like she had planned.

Who said you were the only cupid at Camp Half-Blood?

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masterlist

join my Luke Castellan taglist

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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.

it’s…taken me…way longer to type this than I should, atp gonna use text to speech.

I got my nails done for an event and I underestimated how hard it would be to type with acrylics, bare with me about writing ch 5 of FFY 🙏🙏🙏

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!

moulin rouge moulin rouge moulin rouge—

🤭🤭🤭

EL TANGO DE ROXANNE

Summary: Luke Castellan, son of Hermes, finds himself longing for someone he knows he cannot have. Y/N L/N, daughter of Ares, girlfriend of Felix Greenwood. Felix is toxic to Y/N, but they describe their love to everyone as 'complicated', hiding the ugly truth behind their facade. Passion, Jealousy, Anger and Betrayal. Luke feels cursed by the gods above, it drives him mad.

Warnings: angst (lots of it), fluff, unrequited love, pining, lovesick!luke, slight cheating, toxic relationship (not with luke), manipulative oc, panic attacks, swearing, references to moulin rouge, smut in upcoming chapters, sexual tension, jealousy, mentions of death, fighting.

Starring, Charlie Bushnell as Luke Castellan.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."

Starring, You as Y/N L/N.

"Love makes us act like we are fools. Throw our lives away, for one happy day."

AN UPCOMING FANFIC, NOT OUT YET!!! ASK TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST (LIMITED SPACES!!)

are you ready for it? ;)

is there a part 5 of FFY??? if so please #needthat so bad💔💔💔💔 PLEASE you can take my firstborn child in exchange

school’s been kicking my ass, but i’m going to start writing this chapter soon. i’m glad you guys are still sticking around!!

much love, sorry for the wait ❤️❤️

https://www.tumblr.com/amoreva/742316806139740160/ghost-in-the-wind im literally crying this is one of the best fanfics i'm read i'm in awe

STOP LITERALLY THAG MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!!

I wrote it out of the blue because of one thought in my head and now it’s one of the most liked oneshots!

Thank you for all the support and love!!

FEIGNING FOR YA

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CHAPTER 5

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: exam season is over and an overwhelming amount of emotions come out

warnings: luke’s pov! not proofread! slow burn, college au, smau, fake dating to dating, cursing, aged up! pjo charcters, parental expectations

a/n: no smau this chapter! kind of decided it wasn’t appropriate with the events going on

series list | next

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

What is it that people say?

Love is a fickle thing?

Love was not fickle. It was torturous in all the right ways and the wrong ways. Luke has fallen victim to love, under its binding curse for so long now. He doesn’t know if he can keep up the act of being your fake boyfriend. It’s worse than just being your friend, because now he can hold your hand, but he knows, he knows deep in his heart—you won’t be his.

You’re best friends. Nothing more, nothing less

Even if his heart ached for more.

At first thought, he believed he was in love with Nancy Thompson. A sophomore in his freshman English class. Nancy sat on the opposite side of the room: the corner desk. She was just…so cool and collected.

He’d rave about how Nancy was the love of his life to you and how the light hit her just right or when she have this little quirk while thinking like the stupid teenage boy he was.

Luke asked Nancy to homecoming and was rejected. He wasn’t as butt hurt as he thought he’d be—especially not with you around to cheer him up.

He hadn’t noticed until the night of homecoming how pretty you looked. Your dress was nothing short of perfect for you and the way your eyes shined in the cheap school lighting. He was lucky to have a best friend like you.

It was sophomore year when Luke realized, he was staring at you his whole freshman year. You were right in his line of vision: just before that corner desk. Why he thought he liked Nancy? He had no idea.

But, you were his bestfriend since…forever.

And just like ever cheesy Hallmark movie and horrible limited TV series, he kept quiet. Content with being your buddy old pal and admiring the little things you do and aiding in your troubles. As. A. Friend.

Luke thought it would go away when he first realized his feelings. He thought it would go away a few months later. He thought it would go away when he had his first kiss with someone else. He even (foolishly) thought it would go away when you and him started college.

It didn’t.

This warm feeling in his chest never went away. It tortured him like the electric chair would shock him everytime you were near: reminding him what he couldn’t have, what he could ruin if he confessed.

The gods must’ve hated his guts, or found his suffering amusing. What was he thinking? Suggesting he be your fake boyfriend?

He was a fool.

He had accepted that long ago.

But, he made a bigger fool of himself tonight than he ever did before.

“Exams are over!” Clarisse whooped as she got in the backseat of Luke’s car.

“Time to drink the night away!” You grinned, slipping into the passenger seat.

Luke gave you a pointed look when he saw the stolen shot bottles, courtesy of Chris’ sticky hands.“C’mon Lukey-poo! A little pre-game didn’t kill anyone.”

“You are so wrong about that.”

“You are not drinking those right now.” Luke spoke sternly. He was stuck with being DD tonight—though he could hold his alcohol better than his friends. “I’m not dealing with your drunk asses before we get to the club.”

“You’re no fun!”

“Someone’s being responsible.”

“Leave him be.” You gave him an apologetic smile and cranked up the radio. Luke mustered up the courage to place his hands over yours—

—to keep up the fake relationship narrative. Yup. Mhm.

Besides you didn’t push him away.

The club was more crowded than usual, but that was expected. Every college student and their mother was there tonight. The floors were sticky. It smelt of BO and musk. The perfect night to wash away stress and worries. And there was no way of telling what time it was without your phone.

Luke left you for a moment to get another drink for himself and for you? Water. You were a lightweight, there was no denying it. He came back to find you with your arms wrapped around some dude.

He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. He swears.

He was more concerned with you being drunk and taken advantage of. Which is why he handled it so cool-headed and nonchalant of him.

“Back off.” Luke wrapped an arm around your waist. His temper boiling beneath the seams.

“Woah, man!” The guy held his hands up in mock surrender. “Didn’t know she was your girl—”

He missed the last part guiding you away. “Lukey!” You exclaimed in a pout, poking at his cheek. Your cheeks pink from the alcohol. “Are you mad? I can see you’re mad. You are mad!”

“I’m not.”

“You are! We’re just friends in my Calc class!”

“I’m not mad—I just…” Luke looked for an excuse. “Let’s dance.” He nodded and grabbed your hands, pulling you to the dance floor.

“Okay!” You happily obliged, forgetting about the incident.

Maybe it was the alcohol stirring something in Luke’s veins. He had been dancing on the sticky club floor for more than an hour, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop: even when his feet ached, even when the smell of sweat got to much—your smile was worth it.

You’d make him twirl, dip and hold you as the music changed. Gods, did it feel nice to have you in his arms for this long—his heart ached more and more as the night went on.

Soon enough, you trudged your tired body and aching legs to a cushioned arm chair in the corner of the club. “You okay?” Luke asked, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. He flagged down a waiter for two glasses of water

“Yeah, my feet are killing me.” Your eyes wandered over him, his outfit for tonight. A short sleeved black button up and khaki wrangler pants. It was a good look on him. He looked…good.

Luke wrote that off as a drunken thought when he heard you mutter about how “good” he looked: ignoring the burning in his cheeks and ears.

“Y’know…” Your voice slurred.

Luke shut off his phone after quickly checking where Clarisse and Chris were. “We could break up now…”

His heart dropped.

“What?” He croaked.

Had he been to enveloped in playing pretend for you? He knew this day would come, but why now? Why after he introduced you to his mother again? Why after he saw you experience life with your own feelings forward instead of your parents? Why now?

“We should break up now.” You reaffirmed and looked at him. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking. “The guy from my Calc class is kinda cute—and your chick magnet will restore to its glory.”

It’s stupid he’s upset at this arrangement ending.

It’s stupid that he wants to cry.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise seeing your best friend so quiet and the upset furrow in his eyebrow. Isn’t he happy?

Luke stormed out of the club before he can do anything brash or cry.

You sober up quickly and chase him outside. Luke is walking to his car. “Hey! What the hell is this about?” You asked confused.

“Nothing—I’m going home. Tired.” He doesn’t even look at you.

“Are you mad? Over me ending this? You said it yourself I was dampening your chick magnet.” Anger bubbled up in your chest. You don’t know why. Maybe the alcohol is still talking.

Luke doesn’t answer.

“Seriously…this fake relationship didn’t really matter much to you.—” Gods, you were being such an asshole.

“It mattered to me!” Luke shouted. Years of holding back his feelings finally came spilling out as if a volcano erupted. “It mattered to me.”

He turned to you. Your heart broke seeing the emotions on his face: heartbreak, agony, shame. “You’re so—gods…I have known you for so long and I never knew you could be this dense until now.” He dryly laughed.

“Wha…”

“It mattered to me because I love you. I’ve been in love with you since highschool—and I’m such a goddamn lovesick idiot that I couldn’t get over you.” He explained, avoiding your eyes.

You’re silent, shocked at the confession. You sober up completely.

“This fake relationship—I accepted because…yes, I did want to fuck with your parents and help you live your life without them looking over your head, but I knew it was the closest thing I can get to being yours.”

Luke feels like a fool.

Shouting his pent up confession for all of Rowan Ave. to hear.

Way to go on not ruining your and his friendship. Luke did great at maintaining that.

“Luke…” You reached out to comfort him when Chris and Clarisse stumble out of the club, drunk.

“Holy shit—that last shot got me going.” Chris laughed as he leaned on Clarisse. You hesitate to help them, still stuck on Luke’s confession. You couldn’t process it when you still sobering.

Ultimately, you help them back into Luke’s car.

No words are shared between you two. The car is almost silent, save for the giggles and drunken words of Chris and Clarisse.

“It mattered to me.” Echoed over and over in your head. Your heartbeat quickened. Gods…you were the fool.

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