#his tone and inflections

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

something i've been thinking about:

Wally is set up as a sort of "main character" by the whrp. he's said in the site's description of the show to have introduced the main theme/lesson of the day's episode, and then the rest of the neighbors join him on his escapades. but then we have our first glimpses of everyone's actual dynamics and characters through the audios and you look at Wally and its like

first of all, thats an npc. second, nearly everybody else has severe main character syndrome

but its fascinating how Wally is just kind of... There. he doesnt talk much. he doesnt contribute beyond a couple of lines. its more like he joins the others on their shenanigans. he fades into the background. he's off to the side while everyone else holds conversations & leads the moment

Wally, despite being described as Thee character, is borderline background.

& whats even more interesting, within his individual secret audio files and interactions - he's almost chatty. not only that but the way he talks is more confident and faster paced. he's taking initiative. he can be kinda pushy. when talking to the qa/whrp/Us, he acts more like the character his descriptions portray. he acts more like a person instead of a puppet waiting for his next cue

I cant tell if - when around the neighbors - his tepid milk behavior is a purposeful act or if he's masking. and if he's masking, is it deliberate or involuntary? and in regards to both, why is he acting so different? It could be tied to what he's trying to accomplish. if he's trying to "restore" Welcome Home, it would make sense for him to act as he does around the neighbors - he wouldnt want to clue them in that he knows so much more than he's letting on, would he?

but then that begs another train of thought - what if he isn't acting or masking? if there is a time discrepancy between Wally's interactions with the qa/whrp/Us & the more 'official' audios, that could explain the difference in behavior. we could be getting glimpses into "future" (read: current) Wally, who's had much more time to figure himself out since we can safely assume he started out as a blank slate. we could be seeing a more experienced Wally than the one seen with his friends.

of course that line of thinking loses some merit when considering the 14 "bug" audios. or it could lend to it... if we're seeing a more experienced Wally but his friends are only seeing what he allows them to. it's still him, just... a carefully curated version.

in general it could really tie into the themes of identity and change and being other, to me. when you're so different - or you feel so different - that you can't bring yourself to be your most authentic you around your friends. when you feel like you have to hold back and be who you think they expect you to be, or what would be most palatable. most normal. will they accept you as you really are? there's always the fear and terror that the people you consider closest to you won't. or when you're so scared of change that you'll shove down & lock away parts of yourself so that you can keep things as you are. because once they know you've changed, so will they. and really, do you want to even accept that you've changed? what if that's what scares you most of all - that you're different, you've metamorphosized, you can't go back to the way things were because you yourself are no longer the person you were before. there is no reversing this no matter how much you try or pretend

#its just so fascinating #the whrp: wally's The Guy! #wally (with his friends): the most lukewarm dude ever #then he's alone or alone with home and its like Hi My Name Is Wally Darling & Welcome To Jackass *off-tune guitar riff* #bbg has ✨problems✨ #and like - im giving all of his stuff a re-listen to make sure im not misremembering or completely talking out of my ass #but his phone call? the way his VA is delivering the lines seems So fuckign different than in the shared audios #his tone is flatter. he sounds more sure of his words and himself. he Sounds like he's in control and knows it. #immediately going from that to a shared audio where he puts more inflection in his voice & doesnt talk much #and when he does talk its slow. meandering. his lines are more befitting of his audience surrogate role #which only makes me feel more like he's acting/masking (again: if that time discrepancy does indeed exist) #which - as someone who kinda compulsively masks around Literally Everyone no matter how much i want to Not - it kinda hits hard! #i suspect that he Is masking instead of acting. he's The Most Autism as we all know so it would more than fit #and that could add an extra layer if it's automatic and he can't turn it off. or if he doesn't want to turn it off #but also acting... a misplaced attempt to protect his friends and world? not feeling like he can share his 'true' self? augh #wally darling you make me unwell. i want to dissect you #wh speculation #welcome home speculation #homebogging #and then listening to his little record audios #he starts out talking like he does in the shared audios and then slowly gains confidence until he's speaking more like he does in the call #just. wally not being talkative in the neighborhood to the point where everyone's like 'yeah wally isnt much of a talker' #vs him chatting away to the qa/whrp/Us #of course it could be because he has to carry the entire conversation on his own #But. but. you can still carry a one sided conversation and be hesitant or awkward or um. missing the word rn but short-sentenced #brief? succinct? concise? #wally's fully trying to make conversation with someone he knows can't reply. which is interesting #so many ways to take that. well. three #maybe he doesnt feel listened to in his day to day life / he feels more comfortable and can relax / hes been alone for a long while #anyway there may be more ways to take this but this is all my tiny poppyseed brain can reach atm

[solosikoasgf]

listen i know a majority of my dash is anti-jimmy, but y'all gotta admit. that man is convincing on the mic fr.

#( commentary ) #u put that mic in his hand? oh he got a SPEECH everytime #ik we be giving jey his flowers for his facial expressions and nuance which is DESERVED! #but jimmy really has had some consistent GREAT skills on on the mic for a hot minute #his inflections and tone? he got that.

[crvstybowlofcereal]

so the english version got posted 😐

ngl i am kinda disappointed with the english voice acting for this episode

its almost funny

glams laugh is still good though but thats like the only thing i'm not frustrated by

its like the VAs didn't care? and the translation is SO sloppy

(im being too nice, read the tags)

#it kinda sucks i feel bad for saying it #i dont like vickys temp va #the translation suck #it feels like no ones really embodying their character #they really fucked up vickys part #that is NOT vicky #dee's personality is also so different by the inflection #ITS SO BAD IM SORRY #glams voice is normal but his tone is off too #they all just seem SO OUT OF CHARACTER I DON'T LIKE ANY OF IT #metal family #metal family s2 e4 #the animation is incredible and the russian voice acting was impeccable but both the translations and acting in english suck ass #glitter and guitars

[venomfangs]

it was this scene from andor that made me fully lean into diego luna as miguel's voice claim.......... the range

#tbd. #Spanish is miguel's first language so yes he does have an accent #plus the general inflections in his tone and the way he talks... it's perfect

[dudefrommywesterns]

i keep forgetting the better quality version i have is in french

#i've lamented about french pete before #how his french dub guy sucks ASS #and put negative effort #completely diminishes how cute pete is #you HAVE to put in the little inflections #you GOTTA speak with a soft tone #so what if i'm biased #i'm right #i'm pissed that french jerry is so GOOD #like. THAT dub guy was having a good time #he had jerry energy #typewriter dings

[arcadequeerz]

Hi more Scribbles Rambling time <;3 Seems I can only ever come up with ideas for him when its super early in the Morning.

I've been thinking about how he looked as a 'toon' and what 'his' cartoon was like lately. Here's just some thoughts I've been havin:

-I'm thinking as a 'toon' he's pretty small. Maybe around 3ft tall/barely 4ft tall maybe. I want his height- and just appearance in general as a toon, to sort of be a clear, stark difference between how he looks once he gets out of the tv. Like he goes from being that small to basically being 7ft tall.

His toon design is pretty simple, But cute. Am either imagining him kind of having, paw like hands- or gloved hands, leaning a lil more to the paw hands I think- And he has boots! Has 6 axolotl 'frills' on his head, 3 on either side. Maybe somethin like curly hair? not sure on that- N has a axolotl like tail. He isn't from a 'game' but his 'idle' as a toon is him rocking himself forward and back on the toes to the heel of his boots.

I kind of have a specific idea of how the cartoon is animated, Sort of like: These two videos(warning 4 horror in them its from a ARG.). Just the vibes, the movement of the character, The way Fuzz speaks too maybe, maybe how he speaks in the cartoon?? Just kinda how expressive it is!

Really just want the cartoon to be like, Bouncy- Kinda wacky, cartoon from the early 2000s but still sorta looks like its animated like in those two videos kinda? Perhaps takes a lil inspiration from 1930s toons too. Has all the big things from older toons, Like Slapstick comedy, gags and Hijinks, just physic breaking n so forth. But its stylized for the more modern time period.

The cartoon itself is very lighthearted, Has lil songs throughout it- It's heartwarming and cute! Sunshine and Rainbows, Bright colors- Fast paced Music.(that gets so annoying and grating when you hear it for so long- and you have to sing the same damn songs over and over and over and ove-)

Anyways, all I got at the moment but I'm rotating this all sm in my Head.

#Cade's Characterz #long post #hi everyone awake at 2:56 am look my my boy rn. #r4ly wish i could drsaw everything i Mean. #i wanna clarify that like #not spookily as fuzz but like. the inflection? of his voice- if that makes sense- use of words? tone?

[dangerousbithespian]

why does his voice literally ick me so bad???

#like we'll just be normally talking or whatever and it's fine and even like attractive sometimes but other times he talks and it makes my #stomach roll and I feel so sick and I can't figure out what about his voice is making me feel that way #I think maybe it's his inflection or tone or something Idfk #like it makes me feel like I'm going to throw up and I can't place why

[meanderfall]

i think i could spend the rest of forever listening to brennan lee muligan tell stories

#i wish it was possible to binge watch the entirety of exu calamity in the span of like. an hour #slowly making my way through the rest of his repertoire on d20 #i just. REALLY love his dm style #and like sometimes his voice gets this sort of inflection or tone or register idk how describe it #but i am like. suddenly so very Aware that i am Listening to a Story #but Aware in the sense that i feel like im tucked into bed listening to him talk #and i feel comforted and safe #despite the fact that he sometimes says some of the most horrific stuff in that tone #i am just so Here in the Moment and Present when it happens it's great i love it

[mystarwarsmatters]

I went watched the OT and PT all over again, and I will say that the PT isn’t nearly as obnoxious as I remember it being, which is good.

Return of The Jedi is still my favorite, all because of the battle between Luke and Vader. That sequence alone is just everything to me - Beautiful. Stunning. Perfect. Immaculate. Cinematic Brilliance.

Still have a soft spot for Revenge of the Sith because it’s the film I got the most invested in in the prequel trilogy. I remain unenthused about Padme becoming ‘barefoot and pregnant’ but her care for the babies is at least a soft consolation. We need more fanfic where she raises Luke and Leia.

AoTC is still the worst prequel imo - I’m just not into George’s romance plots I’m sorry. ANH is still kinda slow for me. All of it leaps and bounds over any and all Disney fanfiction.

#star wars #imo #I wish George had let Anakin emote more #more inflection pls #Palpatine is my man #Obi-Wan is still a droid racist lmao #Qui-Gonn was wildin omg #Jar-Jar is… ugh #Han really had little to nothing to do by RoTJ didn’t he? #Threepio is weirdly sweet in the PT? like his anxiety feels toned down #it’s nice

[a-earthssprout]

🌼🐌 answered asks ! // unprompted. ( temporarily not accepting ! )

@falsiliar ​ sent: She has an infatuation with the "squares" on his scarf, Kokichi's long noticed (and can he blame her, really?). The mystification that sparkles in her eyes each time he lets her simply touch them has in no way escaped his attention, and y'know…? Who was he—a kind and generous ruler, or so the little girl proclaimed—to deny the wishes of his loyal subjects? (No, better: the wishes of his very special inner circle?)

So, it is with those thoughts that he leans down—though not exceptionally far, mind—to bestow upon her a ring of squares to call her own. Kokichi secures the scarf loosely around her neck, tied at the back, and brushes out the wrinkles like a fussy mother before taking a step back. He observes his work, hand settled on his chin and head tilting this way and that.

Then, with a clap and an outward sweep of his arms: "Ta-daaa!" His voice lifts into a singsong. "Officially a member of the royal council of squares! You're, like... suuuuper lucky, y'know? I don't give this privilege to just anyone!" Kokichi rocks on his heels before leaning in closer. "This means you have unlimited access to all the tea parties and candy you could ever want! Pretty great, right?"

THERE THE LITTLE GIRL STOOD WITH A RIGID frame and eyes shut tight — so tight that her freckled nose scrunched and her tiny hands balled into fists, as if these were necessary things to remain as still as possible ( or to contain her excitement and definitely not peek as Kokichi prepared his ' surprise ' ) This stillness, however, was particularly difficult to maintain as Kokichi ' fixed ' the gift; a happy little smile couldn't help but to lift the corners of Ari's mouth, and her cheeks puffed with laughter that she struggled to suppress. But she had done so successfully and had kept her word the whole time — Ari did not once open her eyes. 

Not until there was a subtle, odd sort of permission to do so, and that permission was granted as soon as Kokichi's ' ta - da ' reached little Ari's ears ( everyone knows that one only says ' ta - da ' when they've successfully completed a task! )

The left eye was the first to open with the right to follow closely behind. Those big emerald hues of hers then dropped to the fabric that was wrapped snugly around her neck — that alone was enough to bring the purest form of delight to Ari's heart, but in truth, it was the pattern that sparked a jovial light into the little girl's heart, turning her into a squealing, bouncy mess. 

" fff … for me?! it's r — really for me?! " cried the child happily. What was once light bouncing turned into hopping in place, and what was once squealing turned into a borderline scream — not so hushed like normal, but little Ari simply could not contain herself! How could she ever be asked to do such a thing when she was gifted the most lovely present she has ever received?! 

By the PRINCE OF SQUARES, no less! 

" i … it looks like Koki's! " continued Ari. Her hands rose to her neck to press the scarf closer to herself, giving the thoughtful checkered gift a silly sort of hug, but it deserved this embrace, one to mark the MANY more to come. " I … I love it vvv … veeeery much, Koki! it's my most fa … vvv— my most favorite - est scarf in the whoooole woooorld! " 

In this bouncy glee of hers, however, the little girl took only one step forward before she was reminded of Kokichi's particular comforts. Right, he did not like touch the same way that she enjoyed receiving it, and him leaning forward was not an open welcome for a HUG. Oh, but she so desperately wants to give him one — to hug him and squeeze him with all her heart so that he can feel her love and appreciation. It was how the child showed those sorts of things best, after all. 

It is not necessary, though — there are other means to go about this, so there is no need to be upset by the thought at all. Instead, little Ari took a step back and she repeated her previous actions, but this time with a bit more love; she pressed the scarf into her person and closed her eyes as she tucked her face into the fabric so that her mouth and nose were now hidden by the checkered veil. So warm and soft and comforting … 

" I … I like having t — tea parties with Koki, I like them vvv … very much …" Ari began, her tone much softer and quieter than before — she's climbing down from that cheerful high, it seems, and settling herself into the moment. Slowly did those big, innocent eyes open again, and they lifted to meet with Kokichi's. The depth and mystery to his amethyst irises was never an unsettling sight to Ari; she found comfort in his gaze. 

" — but mmm … may I also have prince Koki, pl — please? " An oddly phrased question, but what little Ari TRULY meant is clarified with the words that follow. She stepped forward again, but this time without the intent to embrace him, shown by how her hands remained on the checkered scarf instead. " I want prrr … prince Koki to stay, please … I … I don't ever wanna say bye - bye to pr — prince Koki. nnn … never ever never … " 

" mmm … may prince Koki stay? " 

#falsiliar #( ❀ | answered asks! ) #long post cw #( FLKJGKLJSLJLGKJLKJ I'M STILL SCREAMING OVER THIS ASK ; A ; #SAMMY .......... it was soooo cute ! ; 0 ; oh my gosh #I never thought that Kokichi being cute was a possibility until you wrote him u.u facts <3 LKJGKJLG #I tried my best to not touch the initial formatting of the ask bc IT'S SO GOOD #brings out the impish inflection in his tone <3 it's gotta stay !!! #ALSO PLEASE LOOK AT THIS ICON ?? I knew I had ones with ari w/ a scarf but ! I didn't notice it looks checkered ; 0 ; #makes this whole thing canon now ; u ; soooo cute ... she's SOOO happy ... #btw ... this kid is so weird with the way she words things but she's basically saying that she hopes kokichi doesn't #leave <3 she wants to be his friend forever! :D seals this pact through matching checkered scarves flkjgkjl )

[moonlit-typewriter]

“So do we have a deal or am I killing all 3 of you so I. Can eat. In peace?!”

Walker is the absolute king of micro-expressions.

This is how Percy reacts to Ares’ threat. Up to this point, he’d actually been giving the god some pushback (in typical Percy fashion). But the second Ares’ tone changed, the second that he gets angry, leaning forward, forceful and red-faced, Percy’s demeanor changes. His eyes widen, eyebrows draw together, his mouth falls open before he intentionally presses it closed, and he looks away.

He’s completely avoiding eye contact.

When he does look back at Ares, he has this slightly disdainful look in his face. The way that one side of his face is kind of scrunched up.

You wanna know what Percy still doesn’t do? He doesn’t hold eye contact. He looks at Ares, sure, but for less than a second at a time. When he finally says they’ll do it, he’s looking away and his eyes very quickly move to Ares’ face before looking away so quickly that it’s easily missed, almost like he’s trying to see how Ares reacts to his “surrender.”

And what does Ares do? He backs off. Sits back in his chair and smiles like he didn’t just coerce a kid. And while he’s talking, after that, we see Percy briefly again and he’s the only one of the 3 not looking at Ares.

The sudden fear in Percy’s eyes at Ares’ tone and inflection? Lowering his gaze? Giving in despite clearly not wanting to and the moment of processing after the interaction is over?

Just because we didn’t see Gabe being overtly abusive onscreen, doesn’t mean the abuse isn’t still there in subtle ways.

#this all happens in 10 seconds #literally #Walker Scobell is insanely talented #pjo fandom #pjo tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo disney+ #percy series #walker scobell #pjo #gabe ugliano #gabe pjo #grover pjo #annabeth pjo #pjo episode 5 #ares pjo #rick riordan #riordanverse #percy jackson show #sally jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #pjo series #percabeth #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo ep 5 #percy pjo #percy jackson spoilers #pjo spoilers

[pattonsfam-ily]

guys Virgil is really trying to convince me that his voice is deeper than mine rn he’s a fucking idiot lol -Devin

#his voice is deeper than Roman Remus & Remy’s and that’s all lol #ooc tags: #he has the same tone/inflection as canon Virgil btw #just constantly dry/deadpan/sarcastic sounding lol #devin

[selfshippinglover]

Narrator: But here's a spoiler for you: that timer isn't a catalyst to keep the action moving along. It's just seconds ticking away to your death. You're only still playing instead of watching a cutscene because I want to watch you for every moment that you're powerless, to see you made humble. 

Me:

#cicisays #HOW AM I NOT SUPOSSED TO FEEL SOMETHING ABOUT THIS? #LIKE COME ON IT'S SOOOO UNFAIR? #HIS TONE AND INFLECTION? #THE WAY HE'S CLEARLY ENJOYING HIMSELF? #HHHHHHHHHHH #YOU CAN'TJUST IGNORE ALL THAT!! #SORRY BUT NOT REALLY THE COUNTDOWN ENDING MAKES ME EXTREMELY NOT NORMAL

[dramaticals]

did you hear what i said?

pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader

summary: after a year of secretly dating, theo breaks things off when classes start up again. it's now christmas eve and he's back with a figurative box of regret / requested by anonymous.

author's note: angst! there will be a part two with fluff, but i just needed to get this out since i've been writing this for too long. (please) feel free to leave angsty requests in my inbox because this is the genre that gets my gears going! but i make no promises on resolutions and happy endings ♡

"You look happier."

Theodore stands in front of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, his hands shoved into his pockets. His presence garners murmurs all around, even though the Great Hall was emptier than usual for the holidays. The sight of him makes your breath catch. It's been three months since you last spoke to him, but the memory of that night resurfaces, ripping open the wound on your healing heart.

It was back in September.

Theo had passed you a note in Potions, asking you to meet him in the Astronomy Tower after dark. It wasn't a peculiar ask, so you didn't think much of it at the time. The Astronomy Tower had become your and Theo's spot. A quiet place for the two of you to just exist—no interruptions and no expectations from the outside world. Your house rivalry was nothing in that tower. It was just you and Theo.

The two of you would spend hours hiding there, often cuddled on top of a lush blanket you had hidden nearby. You'd talk about anything and everything with him, from learning about each other's likes and dislikes to venting about classes and classmates. On nights where the two of you favoured serenity, it was never unpleasant. You'd embrace the quiet, exchanging sweet kisses all the while enjoying the comfort and protection of his arms.

That night in September was different, though. You sensed it the minute you ascended the steps to see Theo standing stiffly by the railing, his gaze concentrating on a bird on the horizon.

Theo didn't even turn to face you—acknowledge you—before he was muttering the words that shattered your heart into pieces.

"I'm over this." Theo said, his tone void of any emotion. His hand clutched onto the railing so tightly that his knuckles were pale.

Stunned silence fell over you. You just looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Did you hear what I said?" Theo turned to you then, and you could see the pained expression on his features. But then something shifted, and his expression turned cold. "I'm breaking up with you."

His words on their own were harsh, but the inflection on each syllable felt like he was personally twisting a serrated knife into your heart.

"I don't understand." You said. "Why? What did I—"

"I feel like you're getting attached, and I think we've run our course." Theo interrupted. His eyes, the ones you became so accustomed to, were dark and flooded with an expression even you weren't familiar with. Theo scoffed. "You didn't actually think we'd last, did you?"

Maybe it was the naive and hopeless romantic in you, but you truly believed you would. House rivalries, judgemental friends, and family expectations were merely obstacles the two of you would deal with together. You just felt so strongly about him, and you were certain he felt the same about you.

"Did you hear what I said?" The Theodore standing in front of you jerks you back to the present.

You blink, and you nearly drop your fork.

"I heard you," you say firmly, returning your attention back to the half-eaten plate in front of you. You make yourself look busy and uncaring (as much as you could with food and a full stomach), as if Theodore's sudden presence had no effect on you.

Theodore shifts in his spot, his eyes darting to the empty seat in front of you, silently contemplating whether he should take it or cut his losses and leave. Reluctantly, he settles on the former. This makes you tense, your lips pursing as he sits. It doesn't help that you were highly attentive to the whispers; your classmates were surely speculating why Theodore Nott would be choosing the company of a muggle-born on Christmas Eve. You put down your fork, bring your gaze to his, and let out an exhausted breath.

"Nott, what do you want?"

Hearing his last name from you makes his jaw clench. It was cold and formal, stripped of any history you two shared.

"Just wanted to know if you were as happy as you looked."

"You have no right to that type of information anymore."

"Humour me."

You glare at him. Theodore looks back at you with such shy tenderness that your gaze softens slightly.

Am I happy? you think.

Some days, sure. But most days, you find yourself wandering back to that dreadful night in September. Even after all these months, you still wonder if you had just said something different or fought back instead of taking it, maybe you and Theo would still be together.

It was why Ginny, the only poor soul who was aware of your relationship with Theo, had set you up with Michael Corner, a cute Ravenclaw boy in your year. He was smart, funny, and occasionally sweet, but he wasn't Theodore Nott.

Still, you persisted. You allowed yourself to indulge in the idea of being with Michael because the brooding Slytherin boy who had your heart had made his choice. You went on a few dates with Michael; he'd walk you to class, sit with you during Quidditch matches, and sometimes—when he was feeling courageous—he'd plant a kiss on your lips in the middle of the bustling corridor.

"I am." You lie, and you bite down on the insides of your cheeks. What good would it do to admit you weren't, especially to the cause of your turmoil?

Theodore watches you, practically analyzing your features. He doesn't have to say anything for you to know he didn't believe you, and you hated that—hated him, for having been so attentive to you that your tells were obvious.

"You are?" Theodore questions.

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

"I think you and I have a habit of saying things we don't mean."

His careful words and wistful gaze make you flush with embarrassment and anger. To this day, you still weren't sure why Theo had broken things off with you, and it was something that had kept you up countless nights. Through gritted teeth and cheeks stinging with remembered hurt, you say, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Theodore starts, his eyes flickering around to ensure no one was listening in. While a few lingering glances were sent your way, everyone was spread out far enough that it'd be hard to eavesdrop. He drops his voice anyway. "I shouldn't have said what I did that night. I didn't mean it. I don't mean it."

The anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach erupts, your eyes blazing. "Is this some sick game to you? It's been three months, Theodore. I spent three months crying over you and wondering what the hell I did to you to be so bloody cruel. And now when I'm finally ready to move on from you, you come back to tell me you... you didn't mean it?" The last words leave a dirty, salty taste in your mouth.

"No, no," Theodore shakes his head, swallowing thickly as you recounted the months of hell. He hadn't been doing any better either, but Theo was generally good at hiding his afflictions. Numbing the pain with weed and alcohol were among his favourite remedies. "It's not a game. It was never a game. You should know me well enough to know that I would never mean any of the things I said."

"Know you?" You almost laugh. You had replayed the breakup and the weeks leading up to it in your mind countless times, trying to make sense of the bullshit non-reason he had given when he broke up with you but nothing made sense. The whole thing made you spiral, questioning everything that had ever happened between you two. "I'm actually convinced I never really knew you, because the guy I knew would never have done that to me."

Having had enough of the conversation, you get up, leaving your half-eaten plate and a pained Theodore at the Gryffindor table. You're almost past the door of the Great Hall when Theo, as a last-ditch effort, grabs a hold of your wrist, hauling you to a stop. You let out a small huff and turn to face him.

"Meet me in the Astronomy Tower after dark." Theodore says softly, almost pleadingly. He makes a conscious effort to ignore all the prying eyes that turned.

"Because that worked out so well for me last time."

"Just—please. If you want to continue never speaking to each other again after that, then fine. But at least let me explain."

You had every intention of ignoring Theodore’s request. He didn’t deserve a chance to explain—the statute of limitations for explaining ended months ago. And yet, you found yourself sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room and up to the Astronomy Tower, inebriated by the countless what-ifs and string of memories: Theo sneaking a kiss on your lips as everyone turned to view whatever Hagrid had for Care of Magical Creatures, Theo resting his hand on your thigh during potions, Theo winking at you as you watched him play Quidditch.

“You’re here.” Theodore says, just as you reach the top of the staircase. He was sitting by the railing.

“I am,” you say as you walk toward him reluctantly. You settle next to him.

Theodore looks at you, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but then he shuts his eyes, shakes his head, and sighs.

You’ve never seen him at a loss for words. He was intentionally silent, sure, but his quick wit never failed him.

“I’ve regretted that night every day, you know.” He speaks up, his solemn eyes trained on yours. “I replay it over and over.”

Theodore’s gaze is unrelenting, brimming with seriousness and a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. You tear your gaze away from his because the more he talks and looks at you like this, the more you find it hard to breathe.

“Then why do it? Why say those things?” You manage to ask.

Theodore’s jaw clenches. “Lesser of two evils.”

When you look at him with a confused expression, he continues, “It was better to lose you on those terms than to lose you completely.”

Silence falls on both of you, filling the space like a thick fog.

“I lost my mom when I was seven.” Theodore explains, his eyes darkening. “A freak accident.”

Out of the year you and Theo dated in secret, he had rarely mentioned his mom. And if he did, it was small tidbits—precious memories. Regardless of how small and insignificant the memory would seem to others, you gathered how important Theo’s mom was to him. Underneath Theo’s stoic expressions and calculating demeanour was a softness to Theo that could only be accredited to his mom.

“She got caught in the crossfire between some death eaters.” Theodore says, his expression pained. He drops his gaze now, but you keep your eyes on him. There’s a mixture of grief and anger that flashes across his features, and it takes everything in you to hold yourself back from reaching for him. To comfort him.

“It took me years to get over it. I don’t even think I am yet—I’m still angry at my father for allowing this shit into our lives and for continuing to do it.” Theodore says, letting out an exasperated breath. You knew what everyone else knew about Theo’s father—he was a blood purist, rumoured to be loyal to you-know-who. He’d hate you the moment he’d find out you were muggle-born.

Theo meets your gaze now, and it’s your turn to feel winded. It was like you were looking at your Theo again. The sweet, sarcastic, pain-in-your-ass-but-in-a-good-way Theo. “I lost my mom, who meant the world to me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it if I lost you too. So I pushed you away. I figured it was best to cut our losses before I pulled you into something you had no reason being in. Before I lost you permanently.”

“What’s changed?” You ask, shaking your head. His words were hard to process, but the pieces of the last few months were beginning to click into place. “I’m still me, and last I heard, your dad was still your dad.”

“I realized that, in a way, I was kind of like my dad.”

“What?”

“I mean,” Theo says. “My dad never gave any of us a choice. Not me, and not my mom. We always had to go along with him and deal with the consequences of his actions. I took a choice away from you, and you just had to deal with it. I don’t want to do that anymore. I still think I did it for the right reasons, but I regret it. I want to be with you. I should have told you what I was worried about—told you about the risks of being with me, so we could make a decision together.”

Together.

That’s all you wanted. You were more than willing to have dealt with any obstacle that was thrown your way, so long as you had Theo by your side.

But that was three months ago. And while his words brought goosebumps, butterflies, and heart palpitations, they also brought a slew of conflicting feelings. You understood why he broke things off now, and although his reasoning was well-intended, it didn’t excuse the fact that you had spent the last three months in a state of despair and heartbreak. You didn’t eat as much, your grades dropped, and you couldn’t even look at him until recently in fear of tears and the overwhelming rush of memories.

“So?”

“Theo,” you say softly. Your eyes search his face.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips at the sound of his name. Not Theodore, not Nott. Theo.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He exhales sharply at your response, and his expression shifts as he turns to face the horizon. He wanted you to say it was worth the risk and that you wanted to be with him as much as he did. He wanted you to forgive him for what he did to you. “It’s fine.”

“No—I just... I need to think.” You say quickly. Your heart was screaming for him, but your brain was weary. And if the past three months taught you anything, it was that you needed to act with your brain and not your heart. “I just need time. This was a lot to process.”

“Right, of course.” Theo says with a curt nod. He turns to you again, offering a weak smile. It was his heart’s turn to break. “Well, thanks for coming tonight and letting me explain. I guess, just let me know.”

You watch him stand, brush the dirt off his robes, and turn away. Just as he reaches the staircase back down, he looks back at you. Your eyes catch his gorgeous arctic eyes, your cheeks burning and your heart racing.

"Merry Christmas, by the way." Theo says before he descends down the stairs.

#theodore nott #theo nott #harry potter imagine #slytherin x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #slytherin boys #theo nott imagine #*writing

[murdrdocs]

FOOLISH LOVERS. luke castellan

description. luke castellan has betrayed camp half blood. luke castellan has made an enemy out of those around you. and unfortunately, luke castellan has always held a place in your heart that you can't close off. at least, not until you meet with him one final time.

includes. SMUT 18+, fem!reader, daughter of hypnos reader, oral (f and m receiving), brief anal rimming (f receiving), implied p n v, dreamscape sex again, angst galore, some arguing, references to pjo ep 8. inspo from wicked game by chris isaak

wc: 5.8k+

a/n: a dreamcatcher: daughter of the god of dreams installment.

Before you can realize the change, you’re standing on a hill. 

It takes you a second to notice, but the area is much like your dreamscape. Low, waving blades of grass that travel through the air with the wind brushing against your bare ankles. The ocean is loud and to your right, down beneath a steep cliff. From just a quick glance, you see a storm brewing off into the distance. The water swirls angrily as if it’s ready to disrupt anything that dares to come into its path. 

You can’t help but think about the betrayed son of the sea god back in reality who surely feels the same. 

When you take your eyes away from the entrancing scenery of the ocean, you notice a cabin directly in front of you. It’s small, and made from long wooden logs, although there isn’t a forest nearby to identify the source of the frame. The exterior is slightly shabby, appearing manmade with a few imperfections. 

It’s not on a comparable scale to the cabins back at Camp Half-Blood, but something about it feels cozy. It gives implications of a simpler life. Maybe what summer camp could have been if you weren’t the offspring of a god. 

That and the clouds rumbling with warnings of an approaching storm is what encourages you to seek refuge in the four walls. 

Step by step, you don’t fail to notice how a focus subject has yet to appear. 

Your hand wraps around the doorknob and you push the slab of wood open as you wonder who’s dream you could have been pulled into tonight. 

You haven’t even stepped foot over the threshold, you have started to convince yourself that this is the dream of the son of the sea god, and then someone speaks. 

“Hey.” 

You stop. 

Your foot hovers for a second before you place it back beside the other. 

That voice. You hadn’t heard it for months now, but you know it. Day after day, you lay at night with your eyes closed, cementing the memory of the way he spoke and how he sounded as he laughed at your jokes into your mind. Forcing yourself to recall the inflections in his tone as he teased you, and how his words flattened out and got hard when he gave orders to yourself and others. And then, completely involuntarily, you would force yourself to pick through every single intonation and word that you could remember, attempting to find signs. Any hints or clues that Luke Castellan wasn’t the person he made himself out to be. 

Each night, you grapple with the fact that you couldn’t find any clues. You tried to reconcile with your blindness, all while telling yourself that you could have attempted to prevent it all. 

But hearing his voice now, none of that returns. Unexpectedly, your body floods with warmth. 

Luke sits on a small loveseat. The shape of it is a bit of a blur at first, but you blink and it cleans up to present a busy patterned textile couch. It’s well loved, there are a few tears in the bottom of the fabric at the back, and if you’re smelling it correctly, there’s a slight waft of cigarette smoke. 

Strangely enough, it’s inviting. 

You hate to admit it to yourself, but the boy sitting at one end of it makes it even more inviting. 

You step into the cabin and close the door behind you. 

“Hey, Luke.” 

He turns around to face you at the sound of your voice. You sound stronger than you expected. More casual, too. 

You realize that he’d been looking out a large set of windows before facing you. There’s only two but they take up most of the small wall. Outside is a perfect view of the land you’d just come from; bright green grass in the foreground and deep blue salt water off into the distance. 

Luke stares at you. 

The cabin is a little dark—there’s a lamp in the far corner that illuminates the room, washing out the otherwise blue light from outside—but you think his eyes are shining. As if there’s unshed tears barely held within them.

He smiles at you. It’s soft and almost mournful. 

You should leave. 

You shouldn’t be fraternizing with Luke at all, even if it is within a dreamscape. You couldn’t trust yourself in a room with him, especially with the things the two of you used to do when you were in dreamscapes alone. 

Just looking at him reminds you of all of those times. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. The feeling of his muscles beneath your inquisitive hands. The deep and smooth sound of his voice. The way everything felt so real and so tangible as he rocked into you, and then as euphoria swept over your bodies you felt so infinite and surreal. 

Your teeth find your lower lip. Your body urges you to get closer to Luke. Stubbornly, you stay in your spot. 

“What d’you think?” He lifts a finger and circles it around in the air. Your eyes lift and you finally take in the rest of the cabin. 

The main room is spacious, but comfortable. Lightly furnished with hardwood floors. Though almost every surface is covered in some sort of rug, most of them persian. There’s a small kitchen to your left, and then the living area that Luke sits in on the right. There’s a few bookshelves but there aren’t many books on them, and there’s a fireplace that looks to have never been used before. A few picture frames sit on the mantle of the fireplace, but from afar they just appear to be showcasing blobs of people without any distinctive features to identify an identity. 

Admittedly, for this to be the created dreamscape of the son of a messenger, it’s impressive. 

You tell him as such. 

This time, Luke’s smile is appreciative. 

“Means a lot coming from you. Especially with the things you can create.” 

Your skin heats up and you block the memories out of your head before they can firmly cement themselves once more. 

“You might have me beat, Castellan. Giving me a run for my money.” 

You don’t know why you decide to fall into the old routine with him. Maybe it’s because you can’t push Luke away for the life of you. He was once your friend and so much more at the same time. It’s impossible for you to completely forget the times you shared together. 

Maybe it’s the home making you feel this way. 

How comfortable it feels. How protective it is. 

You’ve spent weeks pulled into unfortunate dreams. Nightmares have plagued even the toughest minds of Camp Half Blood as of late, and you’ve been unable to fortify your own mind enough to prevent slipping into the mind of others. Which has left you to fight against unbeatable monsters, fortify the barriers of Camp only to have them knocked down by Zeus over and over again, watch those you love die in horrible battles, and much much more. 

In comparison, there is the possibility of a simple conversation with Luke Castellan giving you what you’d been desperately missing even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself: Luke’s company. 

It’s how you reason with yourself whenever you take a seat atop the cushion of the couch. Instantly, it feels as if you’ve never truly known comfort before. This couch conforms to the curves of your body. You lean back against it, pull your feet up with you, and you quickly decide to stay a little while longer. 

Up close, Luke looks even prettier than you remember. Dark curly hair a little more grown out, unruly and hanging over his forehead like low hanging fruit, begging for you to latch onto it. His face looks a little slimmer as if he’s lost weight, and the angular planes of his cheekbones and jawline accentuates the dark shadow he has along his chin. The mark of facial hair that was previously present. Beneath his clothes—a faded black, almost gray hoodie, and black sweatpants—he appears larger. His shoulders wider, his neck thicker, his wrist and hands veiner. 

(Compared to his covered body, you feel bare in nothing but long socks, and a matching shorts and tank top set.)

He looks virtually the same, but his aura is different. There’s more confidence in him, a larger ego, glory even, that wasn’t there the last time you’d seen him. You know what has caused the change, and it should be something you despise. But his new glory makes him more attractive. It dries out your tongue and lodges something in your throat, pushing it further down until it sits heavy in your stomach. 

“Thought this could be our new spot.” Luke speaks softly, almost in a scared whisper, as if he fears that you’ll reject him. 

(You don’t know if you could ever reject Luke)

Your eyebrows furrow. “Our spot?” Confusion drips off of your words. 

Luke nods once. He licks over his lips and you’re quick to peel your eyes away from the sight and back to his eyes. That’s not helping you much either so you instead try to figure out what books are on the shelves afar. 

Since the little amount of time that has passed, there have been a few more added. From the ones that have already been there, the titles are too far away, too dream disoriented, and your dyslexia hasn’t escaped this dream, but you think you find novels on Seeing. Guides on how to decipher the visions that come to humans, or how to channel them. 

You focus back on Luke. 

“Yeah. Like the old bedroom. But a little more …” he hesitates to find the word then lands on, “Casual.” 

The bedroom. 

Your lower stomach stirs at the mention of it. The large bed, how warm it always was in there, the cold leather of the couch, the things the two of you did to each other on all surfaces. 

This spot is definitely a lot more casual. You’re not instantly compelled to straddle Luke here, although you do have a few thoughts about throwing your legs over his right now and reconnecting in ways you’ve missed since he left. 

So badly do you want to agree. This could be the one place where you get to experience what you’ve been missing without anyone else knowing. This is the only place where you can see Luke without anyone else knowing. 

But it’s wrong. 

He’s the cause of all of this. He’s caused the nightmares you’ve been pulled into. He has betrayed everyone on levels you could have never imagined. And who’s to say that he won’t betray you again. 

“We won’t need a ‘spot’, Luke.” Briefly, his eyes flash as if he’s hurt but in your eyes, Luke has proven himself to be a formidable actor as of late so you ignore it. “This is a one time thing.” 

A moment passes. And then another. 

You turn to watch the sea out in the distance. It appears as if the ocean has lulled for the time being. The sky is still dark, but it has yet to deepen in color. 

Luke takes a breath and you give him your attention again. 

“Why won’t you join me?” 

His eyes flash betrayal, his lips twist into something sorrowful. 

Your answer comes easy. The same one you’ve told yourself over and over again, night by night when you considered reaching out to him. 

“Because it’s not right, Luke.”

When he stands, his newfound power becomes even more clear. It leaks from his pores, spews from his mouth with his words. 

“How could it be ‘wrong’ when you feel the same. All that time you spent telling me about your father. How neglected you felt. What happened to that?” 

Your head shakes. You stand, too, evening out the field for both of you. 

“This is not what I meant. I–” The words don’t find you. Luke takes notice. 

“You what? Love your father? Love the gods? After how they treat you. How they treat us.” 

“Don’t say ‘us’. We aren’t together, Luke.” 

That same look flashes in his eyes once more. He takes a step forward, you take one back. 

He doesn’t say anything. You watch his hand reach behind his back. 

“What, are you gonna fight me like you did with Percy?” 

His head shakes. His eyes harden. He pulls his hand back and it comes up empty. 

“He attacked first.” 

Your voice starts to rise. “And you tried to kill him, Luke. He’s twelve. What don’t you understand about that? ” 

“Twelve and a forbidden child. In the grand scheme of things, his age doesn’t matter. He’s powerful. More powerful than both of us combined.” 

“So is that why you tried to kill him? Because he’s a threat?” 

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you. Not here. Not now.” 

“Yeah? Well then when? And where? Because this is the last time you’ll be seeing me, Luke.” 

“Okay.” 

Your eyebrows raise. Disbelief paints over your features. You’d expected more of a fight. For Luke to disagree or attempt to convince you to return to him a few more times after this. Maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe you wanted him to convince you that you needed him. Maybe you wanted to hear him tell you that he needed you. 

Either way, your reply is the same as his. 

“Okay.” You turn and take the few steps it takes to get to the door. 

Your chest heaves with large gulps of air in and small breaths of letting them out. Your body is buzzing, the same feeling you would get before sparring with Luke. The same feeling you would get before your bodies joined together. 

You tell yourself to reach out for the door handle. You tell yourself to lift your arm, connect your hand with the metal, and pull it open. You tell yourself to return to your own dreamscape, maybe even reality, and forget any of this ever happened. 

Maybe you would’ve done it if Luke hadn’t spoken. 

“You can walk out that door but that won’t change how you truly feel.” 

He doesn’t add on. You don’t move. 

“And how do I feel?” 

The adrenaline is overwhelming you. You need to expel it out of your body somehow. 

As Luke is speaking, you’re already approaching him. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to answer that for you.”

When he speaks, it’s with arrogance. His confidence is heavily laced in his words, overflowing until it drips out into the air and lodges in your chest. Running through your body and down to your fingertips. It annoys you, makes you want to battle it out with him in a fight you’re sure to lose. 

Your feet thud against the floor with each step until you’re close enough to cup his cheeks in both of your hands and pull his face down to yours. 

There’s no hesitation in the kiss from either side. As if both of you were expecting it to happen eventually. 

Luke kisses you back vehemently, his lips messily sliding against yours as he presses into the center of your back, accentuating the curve and drawing your chest into his. His free hand glides down your side to your hips. He circles to your back, dragging his palm down to rest over the curve of your ass. He grips the flesh through the soft fabric of your shorts, digging his blunt nails in before continuing his hand—open palmed—down to grip the back of your thigh. 

His other hand mirrors his previous actions until he has a hand on either thigh. He tugs once, and you collaborate to wrap your legs around his waist and hook your ankles behind his back. Your hands dig into his hair, and your core tightens as you prepare to continue holding yourself up. But Luke takes most of the load. 

He places his hands on your bottom to keep you lifted. You expect him to walk you back to the couch, or maybe pin you to a wall. But he doesn’t. 

He holds you against him in the center of the living room, kissing you like he’ll never get to kiss you again. You don’t fail to realize how he likely won’t. 

His tongue slides against yours, your teeth knock together at least twice, both of you refuse to pull away to breathe which results in heavy exhales through your noses against the skin of the other cheek. 

While it may be uncoordinated, it’s not primal. 

There’s copious amounts of longing beneath each pass of your tongues against each other. There’s human emotion behind the way you tug on his hair and how he uses one hand to pull your hips closer to him. There’s raw longing in the soft sighs and gasps you both let out into the other’s mouth, taking it in and replicating the noises over and over again. 

When you finally do part, it’s with a wet, pronounced smack. 

“Luke,” you gasp his name before you can realize it’s happening. One of your hands moves from his hair to hold his cheek. Your fingers spread around his ear and your thumb probes into his jaw. 

He hums, his eyes still shut. 

“I want you,” you admit. 

You watch the smile spread across his lips, his eyes flickering open to look into your soul. 

“Took you long enough to admit it.” 

You suck your teeth and roll your eyes. Your other hand, previously resting on his shoulder, slaps his bicep. 

“Don’t be an asshole about it.” 

He laughs as he apologizes, knocking his forehead against yours. “Sorry, pretty girl.” 

He takes a moment.

When he speaks, his eyes are nothing but earnest. His words are slow and careful, despite how simple they are. They fill your chest with warmth. They comfort you, possibly in slight delusion as you instantly believe him without caring about what repercussions his promise could come with. 

“You have me. Always have. Always will.” 

You’re quick to surge forward. 

Luke is quick to reciprocate. 

This time, he walks you back to the couch. He settles you on it carefully, not lifting his hands from your bottom until you’re seated securely along the loveseat and pulled to the edge by his hands hooked under your knees. 

His own knees dig into the rug beneath the furniture. His head is tipped up to continue kissing you, this one lacking the over enthusiasm from before. Now, he takes his time, having confessed his desire to be with you as long as you’ll let him. 

It’s not long until he pulls away and trails his lips down, kissing along your decollete, not stopping when he comes in contact with the fabric of your small shirt. He presses his lips into the fabric firmly, as if he’s trying to reach your skin beneath the layer.

You feel the pressure he has beneath each kiss as he trails down, and you arch into his touch, excitement spreading through your lower half whenever Luke digs his fingers into the elastic of your shorts and pulls them off of your legs before he even reaches there. 

You’re quick to leave your legs open, even going as far as to spread them a little more to give Luke more room. 

His wide shoulders fill the space. They nudge against your knees and instead of letting you spread your legs even more, he throws them over his shoulders, effectively caging himself in with your limbs. 

If the small smile on his face is anything to go by, he’s happy about his position. 

You’re still wearing your panties. Your hands trail down to get rid of them, but Luke stops you with a hand on your lower abdomen. 

“Let me,” he tells you, voice soft and light. 

You remove your hands and do as told. It’s a simple system you have worked out, Luke slowly but surely working his way down to where you want him. He's eager, and you know he wants himself there as much as you do. 

It’s strange what desire could make you do. 

You’ve never been anything but loyal to Camp Half-Blood. To both of your parents. And in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t allow yourself to do this.

 But you’ll simply have a final time with Luke. That’s it. Sharing your body with him, and having his body shared with you, won’t make you forget his transgressions. 

As your panties are pulled off of your legs, and your skin is once again placed above the thick fabric on the shoulders of his sweatshirt, you tell yourself that this won’t change anything. 

You’ll never be able to forget what he has done. What he’s planning to do. 

Except, perhaps, you can push it aside for as long as you’ll have to while you let yourself get lost in his touch. 

The first pass of his tongue is a long stripe between your folds. He spreads you open with his thumbs, pulling at the skin on either side to expose your center. Then he flattens his tongue and licks up from your entrance to your clit. 

He puckers his lips, sucking twice before flicking his tongue against the bud. 

Your hands card through his hair, ignoring the way your fingers get stuck on a few stubborn curls that refuse to separate in favor of grounding yourself. It feels too good, and you haven’t been in this position for too long. There’s nothing you fear more right now than getting too lost and waking up in the real world before you’re even satisfied. 

Luke brings his attention back down to your entrance where he laps up what you’ve been leaking. He groans, peeling his mouth away and you stare down at him, entranced by how grateful he looks. 

Eyes closed, face completely relaxed, his scar laid flat against his cheek, his pink lips parted and glistening. 

He looks ethereal. The sight is addicting. 

“Missed this so much,” he admits, tongue flickering out to lick the remnants of your arousal off of his lips. 

You feel the same, but you refuse to tell him that. Instead, you scrape your nails at his scalp lightly and shuffle your hips, hoping that alone is enough to capture Luke’s attention again. 

Either he catches the memo or he had the same idea as you because his lips are right back between your legs.

You’d expected him to behave like a man starved, licking and sucking your cunt like you would disappear any moment. Instead, he takes his time with you. He utilizes the best part about being in a dreamscape: the lack of concrete time. 

He savors the taste of your cunt, and the little sounds you make. His fingers press into the tops of your thighs as he holds them down against his shoulders to prevent you from squirming. His nose nudges against your clit and digs into the short hair you have on your mound. 

He presses his tongue everywhere that he can, sometimes even sliding further down to rim areas still unexplored. Each time, you would tense up just a little less, until eventually you were trying to subtly urge his head further down for him to do it just one more time. 

And when he does, that’s when the coil in your lower belly gets as tight as it could get, just before snapping from the tension. You would have warned him. Or, maybe you did. You were so focused on getting there that any words that came out of your mouth weren’t even considered. You weren’t aware of anything other than your mouth moving at the same speed as your hips as you dragged your cunt against Luke’s face, using him to guide your orgasm to full completion. 

As soon as your hips stop twitching you swing your legs off of his shoulders and slide to the floor beside him. You pull your shirt off, then do the same for Luke, throwing both of your tops off to the side. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s not wearing another layer beneath the sweatshirt, allowing you to run your palms down his chest, feeling the familiar definition along his abdomen. 

You sit in front of him with your legs folded underneath you, and since he’s on his haunches, he towers over you just a bit. You have to tilt your head up to kiss at his jaw and neck, your hands busying themselves with urging his sweatpants off of his hips. 

Luke does the rest of the job for you, hesitantly pulling away from your touch to stand and slide his sweatpants off of his legs himself. You’re left on the ground, hands politely resting in your lap while you stare up at Luke with wide eyes. 

He slowly reveals more and more of his legs until he’s wearing nothing but his briefs. They hug him well, like they always have. A prominent outline of the muscle definition in his thighs, elastic waistband hanging low enough on his hips for you to see the ‘V’ that connects his hips and abdomen. And of course, the tight material reveals the prominent boner confined within the crotch of his briefs. 

You want to reach up and palm him. You want to pull the final layer off of him. You want to take his cock into your mouth and relax with the heavy and warm feeling of him against your tongue. 

But you decide to be patient. And it’s worth it. 

Luke slides his briefs off himself, never breaking eye contact with you as he throws them to join the rest of your clothing. His stare is strong and heavy as he spits into his hand and puts his dick into the same place, wrapping his palm around the center of it and stroking a few times. 

There’s the prettiest, most picturesque bead of precum at the tip and you’re practically salivating just looking at it, praying deep down that Luke doesn’t run his hand over it so you can have it for yourself. 

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Luke takes a step closer, holding the base of his cock right in front of your face, allowing you to get the perfect view of how his tip is a light pink around the almost clear drop of precum. 

“You want?” he asks you simply, smiling a bit when you nod eagerly. “Then open.” 

You’re quick to do as told, lacking any shame whenever you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. As soon as Luke presses his tip to your muscle, you wrap your lips around him and eagerly suck him clean. 

Another good thing about the dreamscape is that everything either tastes like absolutely nothing, or like pure honey. And when you’re with Luke, things are usually the latter. 

You start to get lost in it, enthusiastically beginning to suck Luke off even though you were only meant to be getting a taste. 

You can see that Luke is close to commenting on it. His eyes shine like they do before he has something to say, but just when his lips part and he takes a breath to speak, you hollow your cheeks and sink as far down him as you can and any words he could have conjured up are suddenly gone. 

He lets you do what you want, eyes fluttering shut and one large hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to suck him off. He lets out the smallest noises, pretty grunts and groans and sighs. 

Luke was clearly just as wound up as you were. Within a couple of minutes he’s already starting to spew out praises like he does when he’s close. Some of them are fragments, broken words strung together in incomplete sentences. 

“So … doing so .. you’re–” when you swirl your tongue at the tip and tease his balls just a bit. 

“Gods, you’re so good at this,” when you jerk the majority of his dick with one hand and focus your mouth on his tip with the other. 

“Close. So close. Almost there, dove” when you take all of him into your mouth once more, throat molding around the definite shape of him. 

And when he cums down your throat, you’re so satisfied that you can’t help but moan unabashedly along with him. 

You’ve only just swallowed his cum before his cock is pulled out of your mouth and he’s back on his knees in front of you. 

His arms wrap around your waist, he pulls you into his lap, laying his head on your chest and just letting himself be. 

Just existing. 

After a couple of minutes, you stop expecting him to speak and decide to just exist too. Your breathing eventually matches up, in and out, in and out, over and over again in tandem. Outside, rain starts to thud against the roof of the small home. Distantly, there’s the faint sound of thunder, and you’re sure the ocean is swirling angrily. 

None of that matters, though. You’ll be left to decipher the metaphorical meanings of it all later, when you aren’t coexisting in the shared warmth from you and Luke. 

When he isn’t kissing the tops of your breasts and holding you securely in his arms. 

Eventually, Luke does break the silence. His voice is low when he does, both in volume and tone. 

“Can I have you? Just one final time?” 

He talks into your skin without looking directly at you. But as you start to respond, you cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. 

The entire time, you’ve been fighting this battle. Knowing you wanted Luke, knowing you wanted to be with Luke, but also knowing it was wrong. All of it was wrong. 

But right here, right now, you let go. You nod unashamedly. You kiss his forehead then the tip of his nose then his lips, before landing on the bottom end of his scar. 

You tell him, “Yes. Of course, Luke”, as if he didn’t even have to ask in the first place. 

And truthfully, you don’t think he did. 

‎

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” 

Luke is in the middle of pulling his sweatshirt back over his head when you speak. There’s a second where the fabric is hiding his face, slowly revealing the curls at the top of his head, then his dark eyebrows, and finally his eyes. They look as they have the entire time: despondent. 

“I know you didn’t. Neither did I.” You have a feeling that neither of you are speaking about the same specific thing, but the overlap in your conditions is so wide that you don’t bother correcting him. 

He reaches behind his back once more and when he pulls his hand back around, he has his camp necklace dangling from his fingers. He undoes the knot, and holds it open, waiting, until finally you turn around and let him delicately tie it around your neck. 

Your hand touches the beads. You want to thank him, but it doesn’t feel right. 

Instead, your lips twist into what you hope comes off as a thankful smile when you turn around. When Luke replicates it, you feel a little better. 

There’s a moment, just a brief moment there where you’re both staring at each other and the memory of Luke’s hands and lips and tongue and his everything engrossing you, taking your everything and combining them together, is still fresh on your mind. The warmth of his eyes and the warmth of his camp necklace around your throat heals you. And you consider that your feelings for Luke were stronger than you ever forced yourself to acknowledge. 

He was more than a close friend to you. More than someone you looked up to. More than someone you shared your body with in the dreamscape. 

He was more. 

It feels unfair for you to have these emotions. The wrongness of it all—your feelings for Luke Castellan, how he’d turned out—has rage fueling deep in your gut. With no one else to blame it on, you can’t help but briefly curse the gods. 

For they were the ones to cause this. To instill deep hatred into Luke’s chest. To prevent either of you from ever having a normal life where you could live and breathe and love without the burdens placed upon you both. 

A life where you wouldn’t have to love and lose someone like Luke. 

But there’s nothing for you to do about it now. 

You don’t want to leave. But your time together is up. You should’ve left a long time ago, and your choice to stay before resulted in something you could never take back. 

You turn and walk to the door. And once more, Luke speaking causes you to stop. 

“You are the only one who could make me change my mind.” He says it in a small whisper, as if he doesn’t want to admit it even to himself. As if he shouldn’t be admitting it at all.

‘Are’. His feelings for you still haven’t changed. You don’t know if they ever will. 

Either way, you’re forced to change yours.  

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything. Your hand reaches for the doorknob. You take it in your palm, gripping and turning at the same time until the latch is undone. 

The door opens and fills the room with the sound of rain falling. It’s loud and fills the empty space. Up until Luke speaks and the baritone of his voice joins it. 

“This is it?” 

You nod once. Luke’s scoff sounds painful. It’s bitter with an edge of hatred. Maybe disbelief. 

It makes tears brim at your eyes. Your nose stings. Your throat feels as if it’s constricting with the effort to hold your tears back. 

Luke takes a breath. You step one foot out of the door. 

“Dreamcatcher,” he calls to get your attention, the nickname giving you that fuzzy feeling you used to get from just seeing him around camp. “We’ll be seeing each other again.” 

And then your foot lands on the dry green grass of your own dreamscape. 

Just a few hours later, you rise with the morning sun, sneaking off to the showers before everyone else to get rid of the stickiness between your thighs. 

The dream might not have been real, but the evidence between your legs certainly was. Strangely enough, that and the additional chord of beads around your neck. You only notice it when you’ve undressed and stepped beneath the shower head, scrubbing at your skin and running into additional jewelry you hadn’t expected to have been there. 

You take it off and slip it with the rest of your clothes as a keepsake, carrying it around in your pocket for only you to know about.

#lukesworld! #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes pjo

[endlessthxxghts]

Breakfast

Husband!Joel Miller (no outbreak) x afab!Reader

Summary: Your usual Saturday morning routine with your husband takes a turn, for the better. W/C: supposed to be 1k as per my celebration rules, but... it is now 2k... Oops... I’m sure y’all don’t mind😚. 18+ MDNI: Implied age gap (8 years per request hehe<3). Feminine pet names. Oral sex (reader recieving). Implied domesticity kink. Slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms. Soft Dom!Joel. Dom/sub undertones. Joel being a check-in king (safe word system in action, we love good communication). P in V unprotected. Breeding kink (y'all should expect this from me from now on LOL). ONE (1) USE OF "DADDY" (I had to, I'm not sorry). Sweet sweet aftercare.

A/N: This is in response to this request made by @survivingandenduring for my 1k follower milestone celebration. I remember you being one of the first to accompany me on my journey, and now that we're here together celebrating something I'm so humbly honored to experience, it feels so surreal. I love and appreciate your existence so so very much. Thank you.💚 I hope y'all enjoy!! (Pics for aesthetic purposes only)

MASTERLIST || L'S 1K CELEBRATION

Saturday mornings are your favorite. They’re lazy. They’re warm. They’re spent wrapped completely in the arms of your husband, Joel Miller. Whether it’s your lips or your limbs tangled in between the sheets—Saturday mornings are for you and him. 

So when you woke up this morning to the other half of your bed colder than usual, you woke up with a frown. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you pull yourself to the restroom to brush your teeth and wash your face, not bothering to change out of your sleep clothes since you made Joel promise you that you guys weren’t going anywhere today.

“Darlin’?” His Southern twang calls out. 

“In the bathroom, baby,” you respond, rubbing in the last of your face cream. 

With a soft knock to your door, he’s entering, a crooked grin at the sight of you. You can’t help the grin that breaks across your face—no matter how long you two have been married, the bashfulness of two teenagers crushing on each other will never go away. 

“Good mornin’, beautiful,” his gruff voice rasps, walking up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, his lips ghosting the sweet spot below your ear. 

“Good morning, handsome,” you reply, leaning your body into his large, warm form. 

“Come back to bed,” he whispers, his face burying itself deeper into the crook of your neck. 

“Where’d you go?” You ask, not particularly liking the fact that you didn’t wake up with him this morning. 

Joel turns you in his hold so you’re facing him now. “I’m sorry, my love, I thought I’d be quicker than I was,” he tells you, catching the tone of disappointment in your voice. “I went to make you some breakfast,” he admits. “Nothin’ fancy, I just- I wanted you to eat.”

You narrow your eyes at him, flashing him a small smirk. “What’s your motive, Miller?” 

“Uh-” he stutters, not expecting that from you. “No motive, baby. What, a man can’t make sure his lady eats?” An exaggerated offensiveness evident in his inflection as he speaks. 

“Please,” you giggle. “Every Saturday, like clockwork, I either wake up with your tongue, cock, or fingers inside of me,” you state matter-of-factly. “Why breakfast now?” you ask, your eyebrow quirked up, his signature look. You cross your arms over your chest for good measure. 

Damn, you’re good. And damn, he’s so fucking in awe of you. “Fine,” he relents. “The last few times… after we’re done… you get super jittery and lightheaded. Like your blood sugar is low or somethin’. I dunno, I just, I don’t wanna be pulling so much energy from you, especially on an empty stomach.”

Your jaw would be on the floor right now if it wasn’t attached to you. Oh. My. God. You knew what you were getting into, marrying a Southern gentleman and an older one at that; and you knew just how considerate a lover Joel Miller was, but it never fails to leave your heart—and your pussy—fluttering at how attentive your man is. You are so damn lucky. 

Going back to the room and settling on the bed, Joel climbs up beside you and feeds you your breakfast—one of your absolute favorite combos: a greek vanilla yogurt, your favorite granola, and chopped up fresh strawberries. You make this almost every morning, but something about him making it just makes it taste a thousand times better—leaving your body energized for what was next to come… because shit, did you need it. 

“Joel,” you sob, tears falling from your eyes as they fight to stay open. 

He lifts himself off your cunt, bottom half of his face shiny with your arousal. “Gimme one more, darlin’, then I’ll give you my cock,” he tells you, his heavy breath fanning across your spent center. 

“Joel, I-” you whimper, “I can’t.” Your hips bucking into his face says otherwise. He taps your hip three times. Safe word? He silently asks. One tap for green, two taps for a yellow, three taps for red—an immediate stop. Your hand nearly ripping his curls out of his head softens, tapping his neck once as you attempt to gain your breath back, soft whines blessing his ears. 

He nips the inside of your thigh before he speaks again. “You can,” and then he’s diving back in, tongue breaching your entrance as his nose rubs perfectly at your clit, hurtling you towards your third orgasm of the morning. 

“Oh, fuck-” you nearly scream, head pushing into your pillow with your eyes clamped shut, back arching off the bed. Joel throws his arm across your lower belly, keeping you down and open for him as he licks you through your high. 

Finally, he relents with a satisfied smile, placing a chaste kiss to your clit. “Knew you could give me another, my darlin’ girl.”

“Mmm, baby, please,” you say, reaching for his jaw to bring his face to yours. Not yielding to your touch completely, he brings himself up slow—the tip of his nose dragging up your naked body, Joel placing open-mouthed kisses up your belly, up your sternum, all the way to your lips, your arousal lingering with his own flavors in a deep, needy kiss. 

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says into your lips, nipping your swollen lip before pulling away to let you speak. 

“N-need you,” you breathe, desperate. You bring your hands down to his boxer-clad bulge, your fingers causing him to twitch. 

Joel tuts, pulling your hand away and bringing it up to the side of your head, his large hand holding it down. “And I need you,” he says, biting your lip again, “to use your words, baby. C’mon,” he urges. Outside of the bedroom, you are very outspoken—this morning’s interaction as evidence—yet, when you find yourself a writhing, moaning mess underneath him, all words are stolen from your brain, all the breath is stolen from your lungs.

“Please,” you start, more determination this time. “I need you inside me, Joel, please fuck me.” You hike your legs higher up, your thighs hugging his waist as you shift your hips, your wet center rubbing against him. 

“Such a good girl f’me,” he praises, sitting up to guide his boxers down, leaving you with a complete unobstructed view of his tanned and toned naked body, his soft tummy turning the pupils of your eyes into hearts. He’s so fucking sexy, and, well fuck, you just said that out loud. 

Joel blushes, leaning back over you to kiss your forehead and your lips before he’s lining himself up with you, his sensitive tip breaching your entrance at a slow pace, his girth thick enough to stretch you every single time in all your years of marriage. 

Your eyes slowly shut as he kisses at your neck. The depth he’s able to reach as he slowly pumps in and out of you, the pubic hairs at his base rubbing against your clit, his deep groans making butterflies erupt in your belly—everything is utterly consuming your body, forcing your already sensitive body to your fourth orgasm of the morning fairly quickly. 

Joel is rocking at a steady pace, one hand underneath your lower back while his other cups the back of your head, his fingers rooting themselves into the base of your hair and applying a slight pressure, knowing the sensation drives you absolutely wild. The moan that floats through the air is enough for Joel’s cock to twitch inside of you, threatening to release at any moment. With all his strength, he lifts his head up from your neck to hover above your own, reveling in the furrow of your brows and the needy gasps coming from your throat. 

“Darlin’,” he rasps. 

“Mhm,” you squeak, unable to form any words. 

“Look at me,” he tells you, hips speeding up. He knows he’s only making it harder for you. 

Your eyes slowly peel open, but your eyes immediately roll back, the pleasure making your mind go numb. 

At your action, Joel is slowing, his hips coming to a near halt. That gets your eyes open. “J-Joel? Baby?” you call, your voice quivering with frustration. You were getting close. 

“Need those pretty eyes on me, darlin’,” he explains, his hips only starting back up because of your eye contact. 

“Y-yes, baby, okay,” you reply shakily, wanting to do anything for him to continue. 

He moves in and out of you again, incorporating a delicious slow grind with every push in. The pleasure is too fucking much, and your eyelids are slipping again even though you’re trying with every ounce of your strength to keep your gaze fixed on him, you fail. 

Again, his hips come to a painful stop. “Darlin’,” he warns. “You stop, I stop.”

“I-” you cry. “Joel, I can’t.” Tears pool at your waterline. 

His hand comes to your face, his thumb catching the runaway tear. “You can, baby, and you will.” It isn’t a request. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, keeping Joel as close to you as possible, his breathing keeping you grounded as you attempt to keep your eyes on his. Satisfied with your attempt so far, Joel starts moving, and this time, he completely lets go. Thrusting into you not too fast or not too slow—and he’s going hard, every push would make you slide slightly up the bed if he weren’t holding onto you the way that he is. 

Your eyes flutter, not shutting completely but not staying open, and Joel makes a warning sound, his mouth spewing filth to keep you focused on him. 

“Need to see those pretty eyes while you flutter ‘round me.”

“Don’t you wanna be filled? I know you want it—crave it.”

“Keep them eyes on me, babygirl. I’ll give you what you want, just lemme see you.”

“Fuck, Joel, please-!” you scream, your hips thrusting on their own accord, your climax shattering throughout your entire body. 

“Thaaat’s it, baby, atta girl,” he moans out, the sensation of you sending his eyes nearly to the back of his head. “Fuckin- give it to me, baby, just like that.” 

“Sh- shit, baby, fuck-” you cry, “please, Joel, please.” 

“Please what, baby? Use your words,” Joel rushes, chasing his own release as he pushes you through yours. 

“Please- please cum inside me, daddy, fuck- needa feel you,” you sob, your fingers gripping onto his back muscles, leaving bright red scratches in their wake as he rails you into the mattress. 

“Yeah, baby? I’ll- oh, fuck-” he whines, his balls pull taut, his tummy muscles clenching, and within seconds, he’s cumming inside you, the sticky warmth covering every inch inside of you, leaking out of your entrance as he continues his movements, slowing himself down to a stop. 

You two lay there for a moment, your chests heaving against each other. Joel places a kiss to your nose, then your lips, then he’s lifting himself off you, heading to the bathroom. You hear him start a bath. 

He comes back after a minute, guiding you to sit up and make your way to the bathroom. He kisses your shoulder. “You alright, darlin’?” 

You nod your head yes, a content smile across your features, eyelids heavy. He pulls your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, making you look at him. His signature scowl, the playful version, is on his face. Those damn words, baby, he’s telling you. 

“I’m more than alright, baby,” you finally verbalize. “I love you.” 

“I love you more, baby,” he kisses your cheek. “My darlin’ girl,” another kiss to your forehead. “My beautiful wife,” your other cheek. He continues on like that until he’s peppered your face in kisses, consuming your body with a love quite like no other. You’re a giggling mess by the time it’s over, begging for him to give you a second to breathe. 

Only then when you two settle against each other in the warm, bubbly water, does he ask his burning question. 

“Did, uh… did the breakfast help you?” 

You take a moment to register how your body feels. It feels light. Not light as in lightheaded or weak—like previous weekends. No, you feel light, warm, content—you feel energized, like you can take on the world right now despite the fact that your legs are still made of jello. You feel good. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Helped a lot.” 

“Good,” he replies in success, kissing the top of your head before he starts massaging every part of you he can reach. 

End note -

I love you, you beautiful humans 🫶🏼

Also, please check out the links highlighted in red on my pinned post to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help 🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

divider in middle of fic made by me, vine graphic at top & bottom made my @/saradika-graphics

@pedrostories

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