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too-deviant · 1 month

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jackie and wilson.

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summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour

notes: speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge

the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00

PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild

All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well.

Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours.

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming.

The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it.

After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss.

Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster.

You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty.

Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”

You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse.

The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp.

Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got.

Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery.

It was cute.

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley.

Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over.

The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan.

He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.

His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name.

He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow.

You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.”

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”

Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.”

Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”

“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.”

He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion.

“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.”

“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.”

You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly.

“And that?”

“The Amphitheatre.”

You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did.

You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”

That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”

Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face!

You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered.

During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp.

(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)

Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill.

Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day.

But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go.

When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked.

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.”

He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”

“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response.

But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet.

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable.

But you really needed to pee.

After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door.

“That’s not your bathroom.”

You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke.

Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”

“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”

“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”

“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”

You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!”

He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up.

“Be quick.”

Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed.

You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan.

“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”

You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence.

When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”

“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”

“Archery.”

Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour.

“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.”

Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.”

You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t.

He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”

You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater.

You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”

“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”

You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “

Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”

He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”

You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be.

“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).

You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off.

It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?”

You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion.

“So, where are you from?”

He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe.

You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”

Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!

Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything.

“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”

You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.”

He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse.

“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”

A chuckle, “What?”

But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?”

You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.”

“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on.

“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”

Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”

Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”

You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation.

You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”

You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow.

“What’d you do to him?”

You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”

He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”

You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.

#@lia’s works #joined a new england subreddit for this fic #so pls give it some love #taking requests #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo

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seichira · 1 year

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even when i’m hard to love.

you can argue that one of the most painful kinds of love there is, is the kind that refuses to be received. loving sanzu haruchiyo has taught you what it is like to adore someone who doesn’t think he deserves the good things in the world.

pairing : haruchiyo sanzu x reader

content : angst with comfort. mutual pining. the usual gang shenanigans. mentions of violence. inappropriate language.

growing up, you were so sure that your life would go according to plan. you will go to school and study hard, get in a prestigious university, graduate with latin honors, get a stable career, meet someone whom you will settle down with, and probably have a family if the tides ever say it’s right.

in hindsight, it was a good plan. it was commendable, and it was understandable how strict they were considering how young you were back when you mapped them all out. it really was a good plan, and you couldn’t have known that not everything would go your way.

sure, things went well for the first few steps. you got good grades and outstanding extracurriculars enough that got you into a university, albeit not your first choice (c’mon, life isn’t that kind). so far, you are still in the running for honors and the connections and experience you have accumulated basically quite assures that you’d have a decent job once you graduate.

but your luck stops there, because you fell in love with sanzu haruchiyo who can’t seem to accept it.

he does to you all the things that a lover would do for their loved one, but he never admits it. he would tip his feet to test the waters but never fully dive in.

you know deep down that he feels the same way, but years into this frenzied relation with him, you’re not so sure anymore. more often than not, you spend your nights soaking your pillows with your tears of unrequited love only to dry them off the next morning. loving haruchiyo has pushed you to do the unimaginable, to modify your plans into something where he would fit—but that is much too difficult.

he is uncontainable. the man you are so ready to give your heart and soul to is so near, but so damn unreachable. you can’t grasp him, you can’t keep him all to yourself because he is running like sand away from your tightened fingers.

you have had to scratch off your dreams of settling down and building a family because the man you’re in love with is… a blur. haruchiyo is a blur.

“what have you been doing, haru?” you ask as you approach the front steps of your dorm’s building, where sanzu was sitting on one of the steps with his head hung low, only looking up at the sound of your familiar footsteps and your voice.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean…” worriedly, you walk nearer and kneel down to level with his face and expect the cuts on it.

your face contorts into your usual expression of worry, and he hates it. he wants to flip a table and break anything on sight just for you to stop doing that expression on him.

“quit it, y/n.” he turns his face away, but you grip his chin gently and he wasn’t necessarily protesting so it was easy to keep him in place for more inspection.

“where did you get these wounds and bruises from, huh? i thought you were at home. did you get yourself into trouble again? do they hurt, haru?”

he glares at you, defensive now that you pointed out his face. he thinks he was stupid to hope that you won’t notice them or make a big deal out of them.

“just got into some stupid fight with frat boys who think they’re the shit. they’re not. you should see how they look. all black-eyed, passed out and shit.”

“them having it worse than you doesn’t make it any better.” you shake your head in disapproval, but you know better than to tell him off for doing what makes him feel alive. for now, you focus on patching him up.

he grins unseriously, “it makes it better.”

you choose to zip your mouth and no longer try to contest him to lessen the risk of having him run away again. “alright, then. i ran out of cotton swabs and antiseptics so i have to bring you to the clinic.”

the way he shoves your hand away from him does not even hurt you physically. the pain shot straight all the way to your chest where you felt it all. the pain of the rejection from him, and him alone.

“h-haru, i…” your voice trembles but you try to keep it all together. “i have to bring you there. i don’t want to leave your wounds overnight without doing anything. you need stitches. p-please. it’ll be quick. if i have to, if the nurse would let me, i would do it myself.”

he hates his scars and that is something you never fail to remember. as much as possible, you treat him fast to alleviate any pain and also… to prevent more scars that would haunt him. but if it’s just your opinion that matters, the scars he has are beautiful and you want to bury them with enough kisses to make him forget how he got them.

“let’s go, please. h-haru.”

meanwhile, you don’t notice the way sanzu shuts his eyes tightly in pure guilt at how you struggle to simply get him on board for his own sake.

“fuckin’ let it go.”

there he goes again, doing what he is best at. pushing you away and asking you not to care when it is obviously too late for that. acting like he’s too good for the love you gladly offer him.

you scoff at his attitude and stand up, leaving him sitting alone on the steps. “how could i let it go? you’re sitting in front of my building all hurt and bruised up and you think i won’t fuss over it?”

all you want to do it touch him. trace your fingertips over the red and purple marks on his face in hopes that the love you have all over you would ease the pain he carries around. hide him in your pockets so no one could ever dare lay a hand on him again.

it’s all so simple. you only wish for so little. is that all too much to ask for? to love him properly?

he looks up to shoot a sharp glare at you. “yeah! exactly! ‘cuz i only wanted some company who doesn’t act my goddamn mother!”

you don’t know it, and even he doesn’t know it, but he was lying. he went here because seeing you is his only comfort, but he doesn’t know that so he has no way of saying it. he went here because he knew exactly how you would react and he’s addicted to how it feels being cared for by you. but again, he doesn’t realize that. he acts on autopilot.

“your mother? really?” you almost spit in offense. even if he either meant it literally or in a sense that cages him, it’s both hurtful. his mother left him the way you never did, and you never meant to smother him to the point of suffocation.

“i don’t even know what you mean by that. i don’t think i want to know. but let me say this to you—if you hate it so much being taken care of, then maybe my company isn’t what you need. i will always worry about you and you want someone who doesn’t. it’s not me who you’re looking for. you don’t want me.“

he does.

god, he does.

but you don’t know it.

and he won’t say it.

he stands up to finally settle in front of you, and the way he towers over you still didn’t fail to dismantle the demons in your stomach despite the situation.

“why’d you care so much for me, hm?” he challenges you smugly, hiding the disdain he has for himself for always putting you in these situations. “come on, pretty girl. tell me why you do all this shit for me.”

a tear escapes your eye and it shakes him to the core. he is taken aback he almost forgot his lines, and for a moment when his mind went blank, he really did.

“why would you cry for someone like me?”

you stupidly and courageously meet his eye.

“don’t act like you don’t know. i have told you so many times before. i tell you all the time.”

of course, he knows that. he just wants to hear you say it again just in case he dies in his sleep tonight.

“i love you, haru. i am in love with you. that’s why. you don’t remember because you don’t want to accept it. tomorrow, you will forget that i love you. tomorrow, when you wake up, you will not know that i worry for you, night and day.”

“you’re fucking stupid,” he says. he means it. you’re stupid for daring to love someone like him. you’re stupid for setting yourself up for a huge heartbreak.

the agreement that follows doesn’t shock him.

“i know.”

sanzu haruchiyo knows about your plans. he knows all about your dreams. he knows about your dream of getting married at the beach right before the sun sets. he knows of your openness to the possibility of having children, or if not, raising corgis with your life partner. he knows, and he wants it to be with him.

but it is exactly because he knows about how passionate you are about those dreams that he cannot dare take them away from you.

he’s a criminal, a gang member, and most definitely not a husband material you could exchange vows with nor raise children with. he would make a terrible husband and a much more horrible father.

he loves you so much that he can’t risk having you compromise your plans just to fit into the shape that he is. he can’t do that to you. if he could, he would be the one to adjust but he doesn’t know how.

so, he pushes you away.

he doesn’t deserve you. his family never loved him enough, how could he ever think he could love somebody right? your love is too good, too pure, too unadulterated for his soul who has seen all the horrors of life that he could already die.

in haru’smind, you deserve to be someone who either has a phd, a jd, or an md. whatever else would work, as long as that someone has a reputable job and could provide you the life you always planned for, not someone who doesn’t even know what he would do the next day. you deserve to be with someone who knows how to raise kids or how to care for dogs, not someone who would scare any delicate being with his scars. you should be with someone that is not him—but you’re not making it any easier.

everytime you would whisper “i love you, haru” in his ears where only he could hear, snippets of a future flashes in his head. whenever you confess “i am in love with you, so much” so simply, futures of him standing on the sands of the beach, delivering his vows to you. receiving those three words from you makes him believe that he could live the life you want, because in truth, that is also what he want.

say i love you, and he will want to cross out all boxes in your bucket list with you. he wants to be a part of your plans. he wants to have your ring on his finger, your child in his arms, or your dogs on his lap. whatever the fuck you want, he wants it.

he just doesn’t think he should want it. he doesn’t think he has the right to be that selfish.

it was torturous, each step he made the night he walked away from you after you told him once again that you loved him, but he thought it was for the better because you would finally get over him.

as much as that would kill him, he would be comforted by the fact that you would be okay

on your graduation day, you complete another part of your plan, but it doesn’t feel as fulfilling you thought it would be. you think spending four grueling years in university and finishing with honors would somehow send you off in a high, but that is not the case.

you are surrounded by all the people who love you, but your eyes search for the only one who doesn’t.

your friends and family don’t understand why you love him as much as you do, but that is only because they don’t know what only you and sanzu know.

nobody else knows the midnights you stay awake due to your really bad craps and sanzu sneaking past the dormitory guard to bring you supplies.

they don’t understand because they weren’t there when sanzu ran barefoot in his panic to the alley you nervously called him to when you thought you were being followed by a sketchy guy.

no one else but sanzu was around when you got sick during finals week and couldn’t hold up on your own so he cooked your meals as best as he can, changed the wet towel on your forehead every thirty minutes, helped you dress up, reminded you of the things you tried hard to study, and dragged you to class.

your love cannot be understood by someone who didn’t see how sanzu held you when you cried over the death of the dog you grew up with and the little funeral he set up with only the two of you.

they cannot possibly make sense of the amount of affection you have for the man if they weren’t in the room where sanzu first mumbled some unclear words that sounded so closely to i love you with your name attached to it in his sleep.

you stop trying to make them understand why you want to get out of your graduation party to run to the person who wasn’t there.

as you stride towards the street where sanzu’s apartment is to come and see him on this special day, you see him as soon as you turned the corner. you were quick to spot him, but he saw you first.

with a good six meters between you, you stand staring at each other in the middle of the busy street. you look at the other’s eyes like there’s no one else around. the feeling of longing and the familiar fucking sensation of being in love with him for too long burns your throat, like flowers are growing out of your lungs but you find yourself addicted to them.

your haru also stands still to stare at you, who is all covered in a huge coat that buries your body, and the intention in your eyes gives away that you are there for him. he disappears for months and on your graduation day that he is so painfully aware of, you go to him? how stupid can you be?

why are you here? he left you so you could move on.

damn woman. you can’t move on like this. i can’t forget you like this. i can no longer let you go like this. i will want to keep you all to myself like this.

how many times does he have to push you away for you to give up on him? he has lost count already, and surely you had too. you are always on the receiving end of his rejections and yet you willingly find him wherever he is, to the ends of the earth?

he thinks he has never loved you as much as he loved you in that moment. and he thinks he will love you even more if you close the distance.

because you know he never will, you do it yourself. you take the first step to swallow the distance he so carefully placed at the expense of his own heart just to protect your future. you take the remaining steps that would make it impossible for the both of you to move on from the intensity of this love affair.

sanzu haruchiyo wants to kneel on the concrete and raise his hands in both worship and blame at the god who created you to love him as much as this.

when you stop in front of him, he is still frozen but his eyes are warm. he is slowly seeping in the warmth you have always been trying to share with him.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, but not coldly. he asks because he wants to make sure you’re real.

“i didn’t want this day to end without you. it doesn’t feel right, haru. i want you there. more than anyone.”

a pause. you can already predict what he’d ask next.

“why?”

you never get tired of answering that question.

no matter how many times he rejects you, you still believe he deserves to hear them. you always go back to him because you know he deserves the love you are trying to give him. you always seek him because you know him too much to give up.

“because i’m in love with you.”

he doesn’t laugh this time, he doesn’t roll his eyes, he doesn’t tell you you’re wrong, he doesn’t tell you that you’re stupid. he only closes his eyes and accepts your hands that cup his cheeks, bringing his hands on top of them along the process.

“you cannot say or do anything that could change it. you can curse me, push me away, and hide from me, or even not see me ever again… but i will always do.”

he sheds a tear at your words.

the next time he speaks, his voice breaks. probably at the weight of the words and of the confession he cradled in secret for years.

“i love you, y/n. so fucking much i can’t wrap my head around it. my heart… feels like it only beats for you to the point where it feels like a fuckin’ sin.”

he doesn’t let you interrupt.

“it’s so easy loving you. but you love me. that’s where it gets complicated, baby. it’s so hard, y/n. it’s hard loving me. my family told me so. my friends tell me so. everyone i meet tell me it’s so… damn… difficult to love someone like me.”

you shake your head and will him to open his eyes, and he does. you look straight into them, making sure he would see the truth you have always held for him in your pupils that could only see him.

“it’s not. it’s not hard, haru. i love you, i love you as natural as i breathe. i love you like how my heart beats and how my blood runs in my veins. it’s not hard. i do it all the time. i love you all the time.”

it is his turn to shake his head. you love him too much to even mind how complicated he really is.

you only make it look easy even when he is hard to love, but he’ll take it. in all his greed and selfishness, he’ll accept it this time.

he will spend the rest of his life filling your life with love, happiness, and adoration to atone for it.

for now, he’ll cherish the softness of your lips and etch into his memory how perfectly they fit with his at the very first time they touch.

#⏳ — lumi’s fics!#i’m back!#I AM SO PROUD OF THIS #pls give it some love!#tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers fics #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers fluff #sanzu fics #sanzu angst #sanzu imagines #sanzu haruchiyo #tokyo revengers

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