Genuinely The Sweetest Thing I Ever Read This Is So Cute

oh look i’m already crying

i knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

wow ok just rip out my heart ig

𝐣𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 | endless oneshots (winter edition)

pairing—regulus black x reader genre—angst, doomed to fail trope <3 summary—what could the cards have in store for him? word count—1.6k

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open!

“you will be great.”

those words, spoken in a pliant tone, do little to move regulus. perhaps history, tradition, and the cumulative expectations of both had shaped him in such a way that prophesy meant greatness, whether desired or not. he will be great, because he is the only son of the great and noble house of black, and he will be happy, because he knows no other alternative, nor does anyone care to provide him with one. the reality of such an existence has weighed him slightly, made his expression pensive and head stuck slightly downward. happy. in a depthless, easy sense with no meaning.

regulus longs for meaning. you search for it in the cards.

you sit, and he sits in front of you, and together you are illuminated by the fire. the hearth burns and the carpet feels scratchy on his palms, and regulus likes the way you shuffle the cards — the rhythmic slide and click of expensive laminated paper, the soft way you breathe with the lower lip slightly gaping — and the way you draw — the flick of your wrist, the schooled expression, the lazy flick of your lashes, and the light twitch of your cheek.

in your eyes he can find a pensieve — not for their colour, but for a quality entirely different that in all of his reading and thinking he has still failed to name.

“naturally,” he responds slowly; he hopes that as you see past the pretty image held between your fingers, you will see past the layers of a lie, too, “that is all i need to know, yes? i will be great, and so this is pointless."

"if that is all, then i will not tell you more."

your response is too simple. "and if i ask for more?"

"you are free to. the cards not only speak of destiny, regulus. they can guide, but they are not a prophecy."

"so the cards do not tell the future?"

"the future is never set," you tell him, and this time you look up. in his eyes he thinks you might find a reflection, but it is only a mirage. "it is an amalgamation of events. each and every choice we make changes it and changes it again."

 "so what good are the cards then?"

"they are a guide," you chide, your expression morphing into something vexed, "merlin, you grow more stubborn by the hour. the cards can only show the possibilities."

"useless. i already know my path."

"you will be great."

"i will be great."

"do you not wonder what that means, regulus?"

you speak as if you already know the answer. you speak as if you know everything. you are a seer, or, at the very least, penchant for the gift of one. like your mother and grandmother and the women before you, you suffer from fever and delirium late at night. they had gone mad prophesising a future undeciphered, and you shall, too, only regulus refuses to believe it only for the fact that he cannot bear the idea of your fate.

"what more is there to know? it is simply a title and an empty one at that. my father will be the minister, and he is great. i'm his son, and, so," and then he pauses, his lips twitching. "i will be great."

regulus is not naive. he knows the reality of the world he lives in. the weight of responsibility and expectation upon his shoulders is not one he is blind to. he has always known that his future is to be a facsimile of the past, a carbon copy of his father and a shadow of his ancestors. his fate is written and the pages are sealed. he can accept his but he can never accept yours. it appears absurd to him. the very thought scorns.

"is that really the life you want?"

"yes," he answers, perhaps a little too quickly. "of course it is. who would not?"

you could be great, too. you predicted exam questions, menial relationship drama between classmates, a meteor shower mid-june. the death of the heir. when you spoke of it, your voice wavered; in the candlelight, regulus looked hard for a sign of sorrow, but he found nothing.

the stars had aligned in a month with his mother's raised wand. sirius was burned out the family tree, leaving a stain of soot and a strange emptiness. you saw the change, and remained gravely silent, and your eyes, such pretty twin planets constantly calling him into your orbit, had poured into his portrait instead.

the cards seem meaningless now. a paltry mood has enveloped him and an ancient sorrow swells. the darkness of the dining hall seems closer, nearer, and the fire crackles and your clothing glows and your skin shifts with each flicker.

he wishes that he could sit in the gentle silence of your presence — however awkward it may be — until the sky erupts into another storm. a part of him imagines that it would be nice to watch with you. better than his empty room, the oppressive solitude he always seems to return to when he looks at you or thinks of you or remembers you suddenly and for no reason. just because he can think of nothing he would not tell you should you ask, but he realises this is less indicative of a desire to speak and more of a desire to keep you close to him.

the light hits and regulus is struck by a sudden awareness. a desperate longing arises inside him. whatever this feeling is, whatever this urge is, is overshadowing rationality and decorum. his palms feel sweaty on the taupe fabric covering his legs. he feels shaky and anxious and his stomach stirs with a familiar unease that he has learned to repress in your presence, yet some fluke, some unaccounted for variable in this constant, ever-growing, uncontrollable infatuation has taken root and is growing far quicker than any other sprouts had before.

an undeniable change is bubbling up inside him and he feels he might collapse into himself surrounded by your fragrance.

how pretty, how lovely, how much he wants to touch you. to stroke a fingertip across your bottom lip. how strange that regulus cannot tell you such. he wants. in a soft, quiet way; a greedy sense of need overwhelms him, so he clenches his teeth, shuts his eyes, and wills it away. in the darkness he thinks and then realises that the ache in his stomach is only a hunger.

"can you," he begins slowly, clawing through his muddled thoughts for a shred of clarity. he needn't see you to know you are at attention. he feels it, perhaps, or wishes it to be so. to see the truth would be to deny himself a selfish sweetness. a dog can live on scraps, but he is supposed to be more than that. he keeps his eyes closed, "can you see others?"

"others?"

"in my future," he clarifies, though he believes he is saying too much.

"in a moment," he hears you murmur. paper sounds as if brushed aside, and there is a brief moment of what feels like privacy before the clicking begins again. the slow, rhythmic thudding of regulus' pulse. his breath. your breathing is more stilted.

regulus is patient; when he opens his eyes you have spread out five cards on the rug between you. your fingers graze each one and he is envious. each movement is so purposeful.

"...i'm sorry, regulus," you begin, your voice lacking the confidence it possessed only minutes ago. there is a nervous drawl in your tone that disturbs him. "i can't see past the waves."

a metaphor, surely, but regulus knows he is sinking under the expectations placed upon him. in his mind, the words play in a loop: i will be great.

"it's alright," regulus says, his voice hollow. something of a void has overcome him and he feels cold — so cold. "you must be tired."

with another smooth noise — a soft, pleasant sound — the cards are carefully returned to their container. regulus bites his tongue. the dull sensation of a headache settles in his temples. a thought. an action. decisions not yet made. he wonders if the cards could show him each and every action he could have made to show you what he feels for you, and what you could have done in return. would they emphasize his failure or gloss it over in the vague fog marked 'past.'

"a tad," you admit, a bit lighter, the life pouring back to your face in a gentle stream. you look at him as if you are waiting for an invitation he can't find in himself to make.

is it better this way?

regulus feels a sickly disappointment stir. it sits heavily in his chest, an unpleasant reminder that he still yearns for something else and has given up on finding it. if he stares into the fire long enough, perhaps it will consume him. but it's not his element.

"regulus?"

"no," he starts before you can ask the question and beg the answer he will not give. "i'm fine."

"ah."

"a fortuitous reading," he remarks with a small, wry smile. "i am truly favoured."

you offer a lopsided smile back, though he is taken aback by your weariness. it is a glimpse beyond the false pretence of your pleasantries, and he knows you must pity him, even if you will not say. you are always saying things he wants to hear and not saying things he needs to. you offer distraction and praise where you should offer reality. what is the point in fortunes and dreams and spells to foresee one's future? such things merely lead one to misfortune, or, in regulus' case, a predetermined, inevitable misery.

he will be great, won't he? it matters so little. you don't reveal what hurts him. he knows that you can't see past the waves because you aren't there to cut through them. whatever future exist, it exists without you.

to him, that is no future at all.

hope u enjoyed! mwah! <3

Okay, Fine, Maybe We're In Love!

Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader

Summary: Part 3 to Totally Just the Fifth and Sixth Wheel and Still Just Totally the Fifth and Sixth Wheel, You Guys. Regulus' resolve is crumbling, you are starting to realise the others might have a point, and there is a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw today.

Words: 6.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, pining as per usual, bickering/banter/teasing, minor injury, minor fight, public displays of affection, best friends to lovers, mental spiraling over feelings, possible inaccurate depiction of quidditch, background dorlene and rosekiller

Note: this is so much later than i promised, BUT it's also longer so... fair deal? it's been so sweet how many of you requested this one, hope it lives up to your expectations<3 final part

Regulus rarely had dreams that were not nightmares, but when he did, they were of you.

Something he never gave much thought to, it was a given for him – he spent most of his waking time with you, it only makes sense that you sneak into his dreams. If you were bathed in a soft, ethereal glow in each one, Regulus did not let himself notice.

As he turned in his emerald sheets, face twisting into the pillow, consciousness started its pull on him while his mind still remained in his dream, you were all he saw.

The dream had started simply. It was you and him, sitting on one of the low stone walls on the castle grounds, somewhere half-hidden by ivy, a soft breeze rustling through the trees. Away from pestering friends and professors, just the two of you, finally allowing peace to settle in his heart. Your knee was brushing his from where you sat close by him, and your scent was filling his nose, in an overwhelming way he did not quite think possible. You were talking to him, but Regulus had no idea what you were saying, only that you were laughing and your hand was on his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He was saying something to you, and you smiled at him, all brightness and warmth, the one he knew you reserved for people you actually trusted. It glowed in a hazy way he knew to be the product of the dream he was becoming increasingly aware was a dream, but he let himself bask in it. The way you looked at him – really looked at him, eyes dark and deep and full of something he didn’t know if he was allowed to name – made his chest tighten. He felt your fingers curl slightly into his arm, pulling him closer, and he knew he could lean in and–

In the surreal way dreams sometimes shift, he was in the middle of kissing you. Hands already cupping your face, holding onto you like a lifeline. Your lips were soft and he was floating with a strange weightlessness as he fell deeper and deeper into you, like you were the only real thing in the world and a world in and of yourself all at the same time. You responded to him with gentle sighs against his lips that filled his mind and turned it into a whirlwind. Your hands were scorching hot against him as you pulled him closer, a heat that should hurt but instead was something he savoured. It was warm and sweet and completely, blissfully easy, like something he had done a thousand times.

It was a moment that felt like it should stretch on forever, never-ending, but with a thud on the horizon of his consciousness, your face was replaced with his pillow and your arms with his duvet.

Sigh.

For a few brief, hazy moments, he half-expected to open his eyes and see you there beside him, maybe giving him that slightly incredulous look you got whenever you thought he had done something too sentimental. Like a deer caught in headlights. Instead, all he saw was the dim light of his dorm room, and he realised with building force that it had been a dream. Better yet, that he was dreaming about kissing you. His lips tingled with the ghost of that kiss, as if you had actually been there, as if he could just close his eyes and fall back into it. Into you.

Regulus swallowed, his chest tightening as the dream slipped further from his reach, leaving only the hollow ache of waking up. Kissing you was the last thing he should be thinking about – you were his best friend, dammit, someone who kept insisting that friends were all you were. It was clear cut. Yet, that was all he had been thinking, and now dreaming, about ever since Hogsmeade. If he was being honest with himself, he had for years, he just had not allowed himself to acknowledge it. Minds are fickle things, what they conjure up after dark holds no merit. Yet his heart was the one getting increasingly involved, and that was harder to ignore.

Propping himself up on his elbow he looked towards his canopy as if it held an answer to his predicament. When all he was met with was silence, he shook his head as if it would knock out his thoughts, curls messily spilling into his vision.

It's nothing. It's stupid. Ignore it.

No matter how many times he told himself it was just a stupid dream, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way your hand had rested on his shoulder, the softness of your lips, the warmth of your smile. The dream lingered just out of reach, but when he imagined himself grabbing at it, all he saw was you.

Bollocks.

"Oi, Reg!"

Regulus looked up to where Barty was sitting on his own bed, already tying his shoelaces and grinning at him through the green strands of hair falling into his eyes. "What's got you in a tizzy, mate? You look like someone hexed your pillow."

"It's not like you to be the last to wake up," Evan grumbled from behind him, working on buttoning his pants.

"And what a joy it is to wake up to the two of you," Regulus commented dryly before he wiped his hands harshly over his face, slinging his legs out to hit the ground.

"I'm glad you acknowledge it," Barty grinned. "Now, what'cha dream about?" There was a knowing gleam in his eyes that made Regulus roll his own.

"The match. Which I should be getting ready for."

It was gameday, Ravenclaw against Slytherin. A match that usually was considered in the bag, but the Ravenclaw team had truly been challenging everyone this year. Their beaters had grown aggressive and the other seeker was fast. It had been on his mind for the week leading up to it, so really, Regulus told himself, he wasn't really lying.

Nothing gets past Junior though.

"Cute deflection. Did you practise it in the mirror?" Barty asked smugly, continuing without waiting for a response. "We're more or less ready, we're just waiting for your dreamy arse."

"Glad to know you think my arse is dreamy," Regulus replied at the same time as Evan slapped Barty in the back of the head with his quidditch gloves.

"Ugh, you know what I mean!" Barty flopped back onto his bed, just as patient as always. "Hurry up now!"

Regulus had his strict morning routines to fall into, which he always thanked himself for when he woke up frazzled like this. He knew what steps to do when and how to speed up the process, allowing him to grasp onto a sense of control that always calmed his nerves.

Yet, you were still ravaging his mind.

What you were doing, who you were with. If you remembered to set aside time to meet up with him before the game, even though the two of you always did and you had never once forgotten. If he could get there – the stone wall outside the locker rooms – a bit earlier than you today to properly gather himself before he sees you.

If he would have the guts to kiss you.

That last thought he shook out of his head, trying to imagine it falling out of his ears and disappearing like a Healer once told him to when he divulged his struggles with intrusive thoughts. It usually helped, but did little for him today as the idea of kissing you kept falling back into the forefront of his mind. I can't, I can't, I can't.

I want to.

"You have that look on your face again." Barty once more cut into Regulus' mind's inner workings, gazing at him with interest from where his head was hanging upside down from the edge of his bed. Regulus was hurrying his way through his routine and barely spared him a glance, accustomed to his antics.

"What look?" He forced any hint of his emotional turmoil from his expression in preparation, as he began to pack his quidditch gear bag.

"I'm asking you," Barty drawled. "I already know, I'm just interested in if you know."

At the same time, Evan shot in from where he was waiting by the door. "You look like you're hoping someone is willing to go to Azkaban just to put you out of whatever misery you believe yourself to be in."

"Aren't you two cheery today?"

"Following your beautiful example, my boy." Barty grinned, moving to grab his bag as he could tell Regulus was almost ready. "Still can't believe we got up before you. I'm disappointed in you, for shame."

"Yeah, yeah," Regulus muttered. "You didn't have to get up yet, though, I always head off to the pitch before you."

Evan gave him a knowing look as the three of them moved towards the common room. "No, you always head off to meet with your good luck charm before the games."

"Tell our lovely Y/N that we say hi, by the way." Barty shot him another wide grin as he plopped down in an armchair by the exit. "We'll be focusing on the actual game plan."

Regulus chose to ignore the first part. "Your only game plan today is to keep those bloody Ravenclaw beaters off their brooms."

The groan that escaped Barty was entirely too loud and dramatic. "Salazar, they are annoying me."

"Then do something about it." Regulus gave him a pat on the shoulder as he began to move away, nodding to Evan who was sat too far away. "I'm off."

"Have fun with your girl!" Barty called as he exited, and he could barely hear him giggle to Evan about it before the door shut behind him.

Lovely silence. Regulus stood still and breathed it in for a second, but with Barty's voice out of his ears, it only gave ample space for yours to fill his head instead.

The walk to your usual meeting place felt like a practised choreography, his heart beating harder on the way up. Though you often laughed about how meeting outside is inconvenient, given the tendency for bad weather in Scotland, he was grateful for it today as he hoped the fresh air would clear his mind of you. Or at the very least, of kissing you.

It seemed that as much as you were an angel in his dreams, you were a bit devilish in reality, because when he turned the corner to your spot you were already there, leaning against the wall with that easy confidence you seemed to wear only in his presence, reading a book to pass the time.

"There's our seeker!" You greeted him with a hug and he fought back any panic in his face over your shoulder as he breathed you in, hands splayed delicately over your back.

"Good morning, love," he all but whispered back.

You pulled away from him all too quickly, leaning back against the wall with a mischievous smile that always seemed to undo him a little. "Ready to kick some Ravenclaw ass?"

Despite his hummingbird heart, the ease of being around you settled into his body at the sight of your smile, and it took him no effort to mirror it. "As ready as one can be."

"I mean, all you have to do is find a teeny-tiny golden sphere flying through the sky at high speeds. Easy, yeah?"

He loved when you were in your more sassy moods. He loved how you looked at him when you were. He loved–

"Super easy," he laughed. "That's why I always catch it."

You scoffed in place of saying well, duh and looked at him with mirth in your eyes. "Always?"

"Are you doubting me, amour?" If he didn't know better, Regulus would say your breath hitched at the nickname. Why would it, though, he calls you that all the time?

"Do I have any reason to?" you shot back, leaning a bit into him as if he would let you in on a secret.

"No, not when I have a pretty girl like you cheering me on in the stands." He said it breezily, feigning nonchalance, but studied your reaction intently. He revelled when he saw the faint pinch of your cheeks at that, indicating a blush, glad that he has some effect on you, too.

"Are you calling me your good luck charm, Black?" Regulus couldn't bite back the laugh at that.

"You know, Evan called you that earlier today as well."

You cocked a brow at him. "Really? Pray tell why?"

This time it was Regulus' turn to blush a little, and though he hoped you wouldn't notice, he also knew deep in his bones that you would. "Just him and Barty messing around as usual. They say hi by the way."

"I'll see them on the pitch in less than an hour," you laughed at your friends' antics. Any leftover tension in his shoulders eased out at the sound.

"You know how they are." Regulus' smile softened as he turned his body towards yours were it was leaned against the raw stone.

"Some causes are lost, indeed," you chortled. "Much like this game, of course, which Ravenclaw lost ages ago."

"That's the spirit of a true luck charm. Keep that up in the stands, yeah?"

"Of course. What can I say, I take my job very seriously."

When Regulus looked at you through his laughter, he knew you must be able to see every emotion flashing across his face. He could never hide, not from you. He let his eyes travel across your face, taking in every beautiful divot and crevice, fighting the urge to reach out and caress them with his fingers. What he could not fight, though, was his eyes flickering to your lips, memories of how they felt against his in his dream rushing through him once more. It would be so easy to reach forward and slot them with his, you were already standing closer than most people would. Even best friends like the two of you, and Gods, when Regulus thought that, he knew in his heart he did not just want to be best friends with you.

He almost did it, he swears he almost closed that gap – but then he looked up and met your eyes once more, saw the understanding, the confusion and the hesitation there, and he was knocked off course.

With a rough clearing of his throat, he broke the spell that had captured the two of you, even if just for a moment. "I should probably head off to meet with the team soon," he said, embarrassed at how raw his voice sounded.

You shook your head a little, clearing your own mind, and Regulus imagined thoughts falling from your ears. He desperately wanted to know what they were.

"No rest for the wicked?" you said with a smile, and he was almost jealous at how at ease you seemed.

"Not with the way Ravenclaw's been playing, no."

"You'll do great, Reg. As always." The softness of your voice did not go by him and his smile grew more genuine and assured.

"Thanks, amour. I'll look for you in the stands."

"And you'll find me there, probably surrounded by pestering friends and freezing my arse off." You all but giggled, and an idea formed in his head at impressive speed.

"Well, I can't have that," he laughed. Before he could think better of it, he opened his quidditch bag and pulled out his quidditch jersey. "Here, take this. It'll keep you warm for me."

His heart was hammering in his chest, but he managed to keep his hand steady as it held the Slytherin jersey between you. It was far from the first time you wore his clothes – though usually it would be classified more as stealing than just wearing – but he was aware that this type of hand-off held a different charge. The tradition of wearing your partner's jersey during their games was tried and true at Hogwarts. He could tell by the way your eyes flitted almost nervously from his jersey to his face, searching for an answer, that you felt the same way. By some miracle of courage, his resolve didn't falter.

At last, you put him out of his misery as you chuckled a little, taking the jumper from his hands, feeling the soft wool against your skin. "There'll be no confusing who I'm cheering on now," you said cheekily, turning the jersey over to where his name and number were printed in bold.

"Don't think there ever was any, to be honest," Regulus shrugged at you. "But if so, we have to set the record straight. What if Ravenclaw tries to steal you?"

"Can you imagine how much flack I'll get from your brother and his friends for wearing this?" you laughed, contradicting your own joking concern by beginning to pull it on over your own clothes.

Regulus furrowed his brows, unable to defeat the pang of insecurity in his chest. "If you're worried, you don't have to–"

"No, I want to. You gave it to me, it's mine now," you reassured him, holding your arms up in faux defence against him. Regulus let out a relieved laugh.

"Gonna have to go get a new extra one after this, I see."

"Clever boy."

He began backing away from you ever so slowly, face still turned towards yours with a smile. "I'll see you up there then?"

"Warm and toasty," you agreed, smiling brightly at him. "Break a leg."

Regulus stopped in his tracks, tilting his head at you, confused. "Why would you want me to break a leg?"

You shook your head at him with a smile. "You're such a pureblood. It means good luck."

"Ah, in that case, I'll break all my bones."

"Not what I meant!" you call after him, and just before he walks out of sight, he gives you a quick wink.

You're grateful that he is not around to see the flush that takes over your cheeks.

You're left reeling for several moments more than you're proud of. What just happened?

With your head still spinning, you headed off to the stands, feeling the weight of Regulus’ jersey on your shoulders like a warm reminder of that moment. Your fingers tugged at the edges of the jersey, trying to steady yourself, but every time you remembered the look in Regulus' eyes, the corner of his lips curving up just slightly as he handed it to you, your stomach flipped over itself. You had not allowed yourself to believe your feelings for him ran so deep, not until this moment, anyway.

Maybe you always knew, though, if you were being honest. Maybe you had always ignored it, because the alternative was terrifying.

Arriving at the stands, you spotted your friends instantly. Marlene waved you over, grinning, while James and Sirius were huddled close on each side of Remus, gesticulating wildly to each other about something. The latter looked prepared to be accidentally hit in the face any minute now. Peter was probably putting money on the match, judging by the low tones and suspicious glances he kept sending around. Lily and Mary were sharing a large Gryffindor scarf, leaning into each other for warmth.

“Oh, look who’s gracing us with her presence!” James shouted, dramatically clapping a hand to his heart as you arrived, while Remus, Mary and Lily each greeted you more quietly with soft smiles.

“And with a certain someone’s name on her back!” Marlene pointed out with a smirk, eyeing Regulus' jersey with devilish amusement.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could explain, Sirius zeroed in on it, eyes lighting up with mischief. “Is that my darling baby brother’s jersey?”

"He wouldn't like you calling him that," you said simply, taking your seat on the bench in front of the three boys and Marlene, painfully aware that it put the back of your jersey in their direct line of sight. Beside you sat Mary and Lily, whose smiles were warm but no less teasing.

"I'm not under the impression he much likes anything these days," Sirius huffed petulantly.

"Except you." Remus mumbled it so quietly you almost missed it, but you didn't. Neither did James and Marlene, if their snickers were anything to go off of.

"So," Marlene drawled, poking you slightly in the back. You have spent a decent chunk of time with her as of late through Dorcas, which unfortunately meant she had joined in on the teasing. "Is Regulus aware of you representing him loud and proud, or is this a bout of kleptomania we should be worried about?"

"You should always be worried, McKinnon. With shiny jewellery like yours, a confrontation with one of our household nifflers is bound to happen." You looked over your shoulder and smiled at her to show you mean no harm.

"You have household nifflers?" Mary asked curiously.

"Barty," chorused you, Marlene, Remus and Sirius with decreasing humour and increasing worry in that order. “And Pandora,” you added.

"And if you must know," you sighed while biting back a smile. "Regulus willingly gave me his jersey when I complained of the cold in the stands. You know these things are better adjusted to the climate." You waved the sleeve of the jersey slightly to demonstrate your point.

"Ah, what a true gentleman." Sirius' grin was bordering on wolfish. "I raised him right, I see."

Remus elbowed him, causing Sirius to dramatically fake a fall into Marlene. "You cannot teach what you don't know, dear Pads."

You smiled at how much more seamless your integration into the friend group felt, a true display of the work the Black brothers had put in. Though, you knew it would feel better if the younger of the two was here too.

At the thought, you turned your gaze towards the field, spying for a glimpse of your friends.

"Any thoughts on the game?" you asked absentmindedly to steer the conversation away.

"My only thought is that if those Ravenclaw beaters send even one bludger at Cas I will obliterate them next game." Marlene's words were laced with a malice you knew she was not scared to act on.

"Sentiment's shared," you all but whispered.

Sirius leaned forward – across poor Remus, mind you – to jostle your shoulders slightly. "Don't worry, bub, Reggie's the furthest away from action one can be."

"I'm not worried," you said simply, no reaction at practically being manhandled.

"I am!" Mary said then. "Quidditch's violent enough as is, we don't need Marlene and Sirius to have a vendetta for their next game."

"I've always found they play their best when they have a vendetta," James said through a sheepish smile. "Maybe some revenge-worthy offences would be helpful."

"Oi! You wishin' assault on my darling baby brother?"

With that, some more tussling occurred behind you, but you didn't deign to look around, just sighing through a smile. "Let me know if you need to escape to the front bench, Lupin," you threw over your shoulder.

"Don't mind if I do." His voice was already much closer to you as you saw the lanky boy scrambling into your right field of vision.

You turned to look at him half-incredulously, laughing when he wore what must be a mirrored expression. When he chuckled along with you, the lines around his eyes crinkled.

"Look at the in-laws cahooting together," Marlene cooed from beside Sirius and James, unaffected by their scuffle.

Remus' hand stretched over your shoulder towards Marlene in some gesture you couldn't see. Her gasp clued you in on what it was, though.

At last, you saw the small green figures walk out on the pitch, brooms in hand. You could barely make out Barty trying to climb onto Evan's shoulders, while Regulus and Dorcas were chatting, faces turned towards the stands.

You couldn't help the skip of your heart or the immediate grin that took over your face as you waved – as casually as possible, due to current company – to them both. Perhaps mostly the former, though.

Even from a distance, you could see how Regulus lit up, waving back at you in a more dramatic gesture than you would expect from him. At the same time, Marlene stood up behind you and wolf-whistled at Dorcas, waving at her with even more theatrics. The poor girl on the pitch turned her face away, whether to laugh or cringe you were unsure, before she gave a small wave back.

"You're really going for it, Marls," James commented happily.

"With more success than you've ever had, Jamie."

Suddenly Marlene was included in the squabble behind you.

On the pitch, the teams lined up in front of each other and mounted their brooms before flying into formation. Ravenclaw blue and Slytherin green decorated the otherwise grey skies adorning Hogwarts' landscapes today.

"Welcome to this most anticipated match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin!" Pandora's voice floated through the stadium, somehow still as elegant while booming. "A match where I must admit I am conflicted, my house versus my twin, but alas today is not about me."

Her light oddities brought a sense of familiar calmness through you as Pandora began to outline the scores so far in the season and what this match would mean. You wonder if that was why she was chosen as commentator.

When she introduced Slytherin's team, you beamed with pride, paying closer attention. "And of course we have the stoic Regulus Black, who is looking rather dashing in his green jersey, which the lovely Y/N has dutifully matched today it seems."

Just like that, calmness was replaced by a painful flush shooting across your face, both at the incredibly public comment and the immediate hoots and hollers and yeahs that exploded from behind you.

The unsuppressed giggle from Pandora revealed her intentions. Clearly, she's spent too much time with Barty, you decided.

"He is rather dashing, isn't he, Y/N?" James asked from behind you.

"If you spent more of your time complimenting Evans, maybe she'd actually go out with you," you said drily. To emphasise your point and feeling perhaps emboldened by the Gryffindor bravado that engulfed you, you looked at both Mary and Lily. "You two look beautiful today, by the way."

The girls smirked at you and you could hear James guffawing behind you.

Remus bumped his knee against yours with a sly smile. "I must say, you're fitting right in with your in-laws."

"Don't start," was all you offered, but your smile held more warmth after that. Remus held up his hands in a display of innocence, but his laugh betrayed any pretence.

The sound of the whistle alerted you all to the game being in motion.

Players zoomed across the field at speeds that would tighten any friend's heart, gracing you with some silence from those around you as everyone zeroed in on the game. Regulus flew around the pitch, keeping out of the way, but close enough to pay attention. You could tell how alert he was even from a distance, ready to twist after the snitch at any given moment, even before it came into play.

Pandora continued her commentary with her typical flights of fancy, describing the players’ movements like they were graceful choreographies and making odd analogies that half the stadium likely didn’t follow. “Ah, and Ravenclaw’s beater winds up to swing like a very determined house elf polishing silver. Look at that tenacity!”

Regulus looked so in his element out there, still his assertive, poised self, but with a decisive ruggedness about him. It almost made you want to play alongside him, to witness this version of him as well.

With the years you had found you wanted to see every version of Regulus.

Even with your distractedness by overwhelming emotion that just wouldn't stay away like you instructed it to, you saw the moment Regulus caught sight of the snitch. His body gave little reaction as to not give away that he had seen it, but the increased speed and determinism of his broom could not be mistaken.

You found yourself sitting on the edge of your seat, watching his every move. You could hear the exact moment James, Marlene and Sirius – in that order – recognised it as well.

"Come on, Reggie," Sirius whispered. You weren't sure if he knew he had said it.

With your eyes fixated on Regulus, you barely registered when the Ravenclaw team realised the snitch had been spotted. Their seeker hauled around, following Regulus, but she was too slow. Excitement built in your chest, victory within Regulus' reach. The small golden sphere was close to his broom now, enough that Regulus made to grasp at it, when another ball came into view, bigger and darker.

The bludger collided into Regulus' elbow. A second one immediately went for his head, which he was barely able to dodge, but it still made connection with his upper chest.

You jumped up from where you stood, a yell of fear and protest already making its way out of your lungs before you could think. A collective gasp went through the crowd before the stands erupted in boos at the clear foul.

In the skies, Regulus barely kept his balance on his broom before Dorcas was at his side, stabilising him. You could see him flinch when she accidentally grabbed at his hurt elbow. The whistle went off before any further developments in the game could occur. For a moment you thought it was due to Regulus' injury, before you caught sight of Barty and Evan engaged in mid-air fist-fights with the Ravenclaw beaters.

Good.

As Dorcas steered Regulus downwards to the Healer's station on the side of the pitch, underneath a makeshift rooftop, there were few thoughts that went through your head other than Regulus' name.

Regulus, Regulus, Regulus.

Which is the only explanation you had for why you ran out of the stands with no hesitation nor explanation.

You could barely hear Sirius and the others call after you, but you were already taking the stairs three at a time, making your way down to the pitch – making your way to the Healer's station. Your brain didn't turn on again before you saw Regulus, already sitting down beside the 7th year interns of Madam Pomfrey who were wrapping up his elbow.

His face was wrung up in a pained grimace, which he quickly tried to school away once he saw you, eyes widening. He waved the healers off with his good arm and stood up a bit wobbly as you ran up to him.

"Regulus," you breathed out as you stopped before him.

"Amour, I–" he started, but you cut him off as you grabbed at his chin to move his face around and look for pain or injury. You tugged his jersey down slightly to take a look at the purple bruising spreading beneath his collarbone.

"Those absolute fucking bastards," you murmured, fingers tracing lightly over the colouring that kept all of your attention.

Regulus brought his good hand up to your own chin, tilting it so that your eyes were on his once more, small smile hidden within his irises. "I'm alright," he whispered.

"No, you're beaten literally black and blue," you huffed.

"I'll be alright, though." His face aimed at being reassuring, but it was difficult through the pain. "I've been given pain potion, healing cream and they episkey’d my–"

"Those tossers broke your bones?!" you cut him off incredulously at the mention of the healing spell.

"You did tell me to break them before, did you not?" Regulus said teasingly. You realised his hand migrated from your chin to the side of your jaw when he brushed his thumb calmingly over it once.

You narrowed your gaze at him. "Not. What. I. Meant." You punctuated each word with a poke to the non-bruised side of his chest.

"I'm alright," he repeated softly. You still wanted him to say it one more time.

"Black!" The referee called and you both turned around, like a deer caught in headlights. "Will you be good to return to the game or do you need a reserve to take over?" Behind him, the Ravenclaw beaters and Barty and Evan had finally been separated and quickly patched up. You hope episkey was needed for those two as well.

"I'm good!" he called at the same time as you said "Reserve!" You whipped your face around to look at him incredulously.

"Regulus. You are injured."

"I'm patched up and there's just a few minutes left anyway. I'd go crazy if I didn't finish this game, amour." Regulus was so attentive when he reassured you, returning his hand to your face, massaging at the back of your neck.

"And what do you think would happen to me if you went back out? I'll go crazy." You felt almost childish as you said it, like a 5 year old stomping your foot, but you felt justified in it nonetheless.

"It'll be alright. I'll catch the snitch and come right back to you, yeah?"

He was already starting to pull away from you as he said it, to return to the pitch. It was only then you realised you had stood nearly flush against each other. Your hand shot out to grasp at the side of his jersey.

"Y/N–" Regulus started.

You cut him off with a kiss.

It was soft despite the tension in your body and your knuckles whitening from the strength of your grip on him. His lips were cold from flying, but responded to yours in an instant. It was brief in its sweetness, but sweet all the same.

You pulled away and took a step back immediately, hands dropping at each of your sides. Regulus stared at you dumbly.

"Was that– was that to keep me off the broom?" he asked carefully. You almost wanted to say yes from the possible willingness in his voice.

You just smiled at him. "It was for good luck. Since you clearly can't be trusted with my muggle idioms."

A slow grin spread across his face at the same time as the referee called his name more harshly. "Okay," he whispered, seemingly awestruck as he backed away from you for the second time that day. "Okay, I'll be back in a moment, promise," he said more loudly.

Behind him Dorcas was grinning at you over her shoulder as she walked away from the edge of the tent. You felt bad you hadn’t realised she was near, but it didn’t seem like it bothered her at the time, smug happiness evident in her features.

How Regulus was able to play with a bruised collarbone and a just-repaired elbow you had no idea. Yet you knew he had done worse, so it shouldn't surprise you even as it horrified you to no end. You remained in the Healer's tent, shielded from view in the stands, and chewing on the side of your thumb as you watched Regulus' every move in the sky. The beaters were still on him, but so were Barty and Evan, more incessant than ever. You all but flinched when Regulus reached out once more with his injured arm, and the sigh that took over your body when his gloved fingers closed around the snitch was nothing but pure relief.

The stadium burst into loud cheers and you could vaguely make out Pandora's melodic voice over the roar, but it all fell on deaf ears. Your eyes were locked with Regulus' from the moment the players neared the ground.

While worry still clenched in your heart, now that Regulus was officially safe, the shock of what you did was able to wash over you.

You kissed Regulus. He kissed you back. He smiled. He seemed okay with it. What the fuck? Your mind was going a mile a minute as you kept looking at him, recognising to the fullest extent how his tousled hair makes your heart spin, how you longed for his presence in your arms in every form of the word. It was both disorientating and oddly familiar to you. Natural. Right.

You swallowed it up as the players landed.

When their boots hit the pitch, Evan and Dorcas physically collided into a hug in a way that must have hurt, practically screaming in victory as they shook each other.

Likewise, Barty was on Regulus, but it seemed for a different reason. Mindful of his injuries, Barty lifted Regulus up by the waist, spinning him around twice while yelling something along the lines of "Took you bloody long enough!" before all but launching him towards the Healer's tent – towards you.

"Fucking finally!" Barty once more screeched cheerily behind him as Regulus used the momentum from Barty's manhandling to jog towards you. "Finally!" Then he turned around and joined Evan and Dorcas' howling.

Regulus smiled as he came up towards you and when you opened your arms for a hug, his hands went up to cup your face and he went straight for the kiss.

You melted against his body, holding one arm around his waist and another at the nape of his neck. This kiss was longer, deeper, in a way that made your stomach flip and toes curl. It felt real. It felt like it meant something.

"Sorry, I wanted to be the first to do it," Regulus mumbled against your lips. He pulled away slightly, body still flush against yours as he studied your face curiously. "I– You want this? You want me?"

"I've always wanted you, Reg," you whispered.

His eyes flitted between yours, your eyebrows, your lips, even your nose and the way it crinkled slightly. "Like this?" His voice was raw and honest, laying everything bare.

"Yeah," you laughed almost tearily. "Like this."

He smiled as he brought you in for another kiss before scattering them rapidly around your lips, your cheeks, your nose, crinkling it once more. You laughed against him and it felt perfectly right.

Regulus flinched a little when he tried to tighten his hold on you and his elbow collided with yours. You immediately sobered up.

"We're going to Pomfrey's," you declared, stroking a hand up and down his back consolingly. "Now."

"I just have to finish up with the team first–" He tried, but you cut him off.

"You won the game for the team, I think you've done enough." You smiled knowingly, but the sternness did not leave you. "We are going to get you properly patched up and receive in-depth instructions on how to deal with the injuries."

Regulus nodded, reluctance fading away. "Okay. I just have to let Sirius know I'm okay first."

You sighed, indulgence flickering through your eyes. "You're impossible."

"Got it from him."

"We'll check in with Sirius and then head off to the infirmary." You were mapping out the plan in your head and Regulus stared at you fondly. You cheekily added, "I can't very well kiss this better."

Regulus’s eyes softened, a warm glow flooding his gaze. His voice was quiet, tone raw. “Could you please try anyway?”

You shook your head fondly at him. Slowly, you brought him down for a lingering kiss, breathing him in.

Regulus was smiling against your lips when a wolf-whistle pierced your silence.

"Is the gig finally up then?" Sirius called. 

You both turned your heads, still all up in each other's space to see Sirius strolling up to you, friends in tow. Marlene was guilty of the whistling and bore matching grins with Sirius, James and Remus.

Regulus looked down at you, almost as if to check if you're okay with it. Upon your indulgent smile, he turned back towards his brother and said, "Okay, fine, maybe we're in love!"

im actually losing my mind because of this damn song

RIGHT SIDE OF MY NECK

luke castellan x daughter of hades reader

★ relationship headcanons!!

ABOUT - cute little relationship headcanons for luke and his child of hades gf <3

WARNINGS - a little bit of nsfw at the end 💋

A/N - not my fav lol… it’s ok i think it’s kinda cute

luke castellan is the ultimate gentleman. he’s sweet, thoughtful, caring, all that stuff.

he always makes an effort to include you in everything because he knows how hard it is for you to make friends and such. he’s always inviting you to hang out with him and his friends, or taking you out to chaperone his cabin with him.

he’s your knight in shining armour. before you and luke even became friends, he was looking out for you. always saying hello, inviting you to spar with him, things like that.

luke castellan makes sure his girlfriend is comfortable in every situation. he knows you’re shy, so he tries his best to soothe your nerves whenever you’re talking in a big group of people. he’ll wrap his arm around your back and gently hold your waist, or he’ll kiss your cheek or shoulder- hoping it’ll soothe you. and it usually does, but it mostly flusters you.

he tries to spend as much time alone with you as possible. this means a lot of whisking you away to the hades cabin, because it’s completely empty.

you spend hours just talking and laying in your bed, playing with his hair as you two joke around about stupid shit.

he kinda feels superior to everyone else because he gets to know you more than anyone ever could. other than him and a few of your friends, everyone thinks you’re shy and timid. and sure, you are those things, but you’re also loving and hilarious and so so so witty.

luke castellan’s favourite thing about you is your sharp tongue. you’re funny, and dark, which makes for some really funny comments. the first time you make a joke around him, he couldn’t stop laughing. it was shocking hearing such morbid jokes some from such a shy mouth.

you are not one for PDA. you think that making out in public is weird and gross. he agrees… to an extent.

obviously, you’re not jamming your faces together ever minute of everyday, but luke is very needy.

he’s so overly touch starved and extremely obsessed with you, that if he’s around you he has to be able to be close with you to some extent.

this means holding hands, or pressing his shoulder against yours, playing with your hair, fiddling with your fingers, etc…

just small things like that.

when you’re alone, he’s a lot more touchy. and you love it- you’re as touched starved at him, you’re just better at hiding it.

luke loves to just hold you. he loves to just wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your neck, leaving little kisses all along your skin.

he loves watching you squirm and turn red when he caresses the sides of your hips. he honestly loves everything you do.

luke is extremely respectful of you and your boundaries. he’s also extremely needy. these two things can be true at the same time.

he started spending nights in your bed at the hades cabin using the excuse ‘it smells bad and is always so loud!! y/n you’ve gotta help me!!’

obviously you give in, because you love luke and love sleeping next to him. who cares if it’s against the rules?

but after the third night of just sleeping next to each other, you start noticing just how desperate he is for you.

the way he clings onto your body for dear life, how he falls asleep only after you start playing with his hair.

it’s charming really.

semi-nsfw ahead ‼️

your only issue with luke sleeping in your bed is the way he makes sure his hips stay far away from your body. sure, he’s being respectful, he’s a teenage boy- he can’t control it. but you kinda wish he didn’t sometimes.

you’ve tried talking about it with him, but you get to shy. it’s hard for you.

i mean, how on earth do you tell your boyfriend that you know he’s constantly hard for you? and that you also wish he’d tell you? and maybe that you also wish he’d go further than just the occasional boob groping or thigh rubbing?

lol so you don’t. you don’t say a word. instead, you turn around and wrap your leg around his body as you’re laying down, halfway through a sleepy conversation. you cling to his form, rubbing your hands over his back.

you hear him let out a quiet groan, looking down at you like you’re evil as he purses his lips.

“what’s wrong, luke?” you ask innocently, ignoring his clothed length fully twitching against your thigh.

he rolls his eyes and just starts kissing your forehead and cheeks, wrapping his body around yours as he tries to hold himself back a little.

“we’ve been dating for like… over a month.” you whisper, running your fingers through luke’s hair as he rests his head on your chest.

he nods slowly, which sends shivers down your spine. the feeling of his hair tickling your skin never fails to make you flustered.

“if you wanna go further you can ask.” you say quietly.

5 minutes later and you’re under him as your hands grasp onto your bedsheets, now covered in hickeys.

he’s gentle and thoughtful, always asking if it’s okay to continue or not.

he goes slow, leaving kisses all over your body as he watches you squirm and giggle quietly.

he’s sweet and caring and you love the way he makes you feel, and you love watching him go absolutely crazy over your touch.

you probably couldn’t ask for a more attentive and respectful boyfriend. he’s so polite and kind and caring- he makes you feel like you’re a princess.

being a child of hades has made it hard for people to get to know you- the real you. but luke never found it hard to know you past your name. he loves you more than life itself.

Hey! Can I request luke castellan x reader dating headcanons where reader is the daughter of hades and is like, pretty shy unless you know her well?

i am writing this RIGHT NOW give me 2 hours

i love you .

jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist

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.

read this 17 times atp

The Olive Theory

Luke Castellan x Reader

word count: 641

summary: Strawberries are your favorite thing in the whole world, luckily for you Luke seems to “hate them”

a/n: based on the olive theory from himym

@repostingmyfavs

There are two things you truly love in this world: Luke and Strawberries.

You often find yourself helping the Demeter and Dionysus kids in the strawberry fields, despite your actual job being at the infirmary. Miranda often scolded you for taking strawberries for yourself during the day, you didn’t mind though. The sweet yet tart berry was worth it.

Your obsession with the fruit grew even further. You begged the dryads for extra portions during dinner, pairing them with yogurt and melted chocolate. Your least favorite part was having to sacrifice the berry to your godly father. You debated giving something else to him but everyone at camp and above knew your love for them, there was no running from it.

Luke was well aware of your passion for strawberries. Going as far as joking that you love them more than him. You both aren’t quite sure if it’s a joke or not.

You sit at a picnic table near the Hermes cabin with luke. You had just sat down with Percy and three shortcakes for each of you. Luke leans over and presses a soft kiss against your temple as you sit down. Percy notices that you can barely acknowledge it since your focus is on the cake.

Both Luke and Percy stare at you in wonder as you eye the desert, they can’t seem to figure out why you haven’t eaten it yet. Impatient, you look over and luke with a wanting gaze.

“Oh- right,” he says understandingly.

Percy is clearly confused by the seemingly telepathic communication. His eyes dart between you and Luke, your gaze once again set on your plate. Luke picks off the strawberries from his cake and places them on your plate. As soon as the first two strawberries are there you start devouring the cake like a ravenous hyena. Percy starts to wonder if you’re even chewing. Luke starts to eat some of his until he stops halfway. He puts the remaining piece of cake on your plate for you. You eat it immediately as if it was there the whole time.

“Are you gonna have that?” You ask politely, eyeing a large, red strawberry on Percy’s plate.

His eyes shift down to where your gaze is settled, “No, go ahead.”

You smile and take it with your fork, biting into it quickly. Percy’s eyes shift back to Luke, who’s been staring at you since the moment you sat down. His face held a small smile as he admired you. You smiled as you licked the whipped cream off your fork.

“I think I'm gonna get another slice!” You exclaim happily, standing up and nearly skipping to where the dryads are.

Luke watches as you leave, eyes falling on your figure.

“I never realized she liked strawberries that much,” Percy said.

“Yeah, I'm kinda surprised she hasn’t turned into one yet,” he laughs quietly.

“I assume you don’t like them that much? I mean- you gave her all of yours and half of the cake,” Percy explains.

“Strawberries? no way, they’re great. But she loves them so much, and I'd do anything to make her happy,” Luke smiles as he nibbles on the remains of one of your eaten berries.

You come back with a widest smile on your face. You hold another cake alongside a cup of strawberries. You sit down, happily eating more of the cake and strawberries.

“Isn’t it so great that Luke doesn’t like them? I get them all to myself!” You say, beaming.

“Yeah,,, perfect,” Percy says slowly, remembering the new found information.

“Mhm; I’d give my girl all the strawberries in the world if I could,” Luke mumbles.

Luke has a single mission in life, making you happy. Even if that means giving up his favorite fruit for you. Your smile is worth much more than a simple strawberry.

you believe me like a god

i betray you like a man.

"he's a villain" but have you seen how hot he is???