This Is The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread.
this is the best thing since sliced bread.
part two immediately.
⋆· ༘* god, it's brutal out here !
pairing ★ jock!luke castellan x drum major!reader
synopsis ★ the one where the football team hasn’t won a game in a nearly a decade. luke castellan changes some things. (4k)
content ★ no pronouns used for reader, bad teenager humor, inaccuracies bc i am not a band kid, very vague smau, not proofread, best viewed on mobile
notes ★ when i tell u that i switched writing styles for this, jubi and iss17 r so different. pls enjoy the crack tho, bc frankly, i think im hilarious
series masterlist
Opinion | Football team reaps the rewards it does not deserve
Heralds Vol. 77, Issue 1
Zeus City High School’s VAPA groups have won more championships that the football team ever has. Just last school year, marching band took sweepstakes in nearly every round, placing first in regionals and second in nationals. Other groups such as cheer, choir, and color guard also took competitions by storm, setting the highest win rate in the history of the high school.
However, their efforts aren’t as recognized as the football team, even though ZCHS hasn’t won a single game in a decade. Meanwhile, performing arts struggles with the leftovers of the football team’s funding.
“It’s really unfair and discouraging,” freshman Percy Jackson provided in a statement. “It’s my first year in band and I had to duct tape my broken snare harness because we don’t have money for new ones. Look, the football team got new equipment and a locker room renovation. My recycled uniform smells like […] and they get custom practice jerseys.”
Jackson’s sentiment is shared widely among the student body associated with VAPA. Members such as junior Miranda Gardener feel that their passions are put aside for a sport that contributes nothing to the school other than spirit.
“Being in color guard is stressful, especially because a lot of us take hard classes, too,” said Gardener. “I love performing, but I’ve honestly thought about not trying out again because we work hard for nothing, and the people who barely work get everything.”
The administration office and football team have not reached out in response to inquiries.
It’s around that time of year where you could walk out of the classroom and see four people blowing their nose down the hall and one person pretending to use the bathroom but really just searching up the answers to a test.
Luke Castellan is one of them. Your fingers are picking at the edge of the hall pass, a click click against the plastic that echoes hollow in the hall.
He hears you coming, back curled in the position he’s taken over the water fountain. Castellan gives you a cursory glance, goes back to drinking, and then looks at you again. You walk faster.
Double-take, his spine unfurls to stand upright, wrist wiping away the droplets on his mouth.
“So I read your article,” he says right as you cross tangent paths. He leans against the wall, pseudo-casual, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. “Just wanna let you know that football’s definitely gonna get a win this sea—your pass is a toilet seat?”
Your face burns, heat licking from your neck to forehead. Your eyes flick to a deflated rubber duck sitting atop the fountain’s porcelain edge, the tail of which is punched out and threaded with a tag that reads HALL PASS.
“And yours is a bath toy?”
Red blooms over the high of Castellan’s cheeks, and he snatches the duck off the fountain, hiding it behind his back.
“Shut up,” he grits, the bath toy making an airy sound in his tightening fingers. “Who even let you write that article anyway?”
“I’m the editor-in-chief,” you say, smug-like, shrugging like it’s nothing. You take a look at his face, the downward draw of his brown and the brutal set of his mouth.
Castellan’s exhale comes out from his nostrils in a hiss, jaw feathering.
“We’ll win this season,” he says, low, quiet. He’s so close that you can almost see something wading in the dark, inky pool of his pupil. “I’m making sure of it.”
( How did you go from casual conversation to this? )
“Is that on or off the record?” Your grin could be classified as shit-eating, mouth splitting too wide and eyes curving too crescent. Castellan sneers and pushes off the wall, jostling his tense shoulder with yours.
“So fucking annoying,” you hear him hissing as he walks away. You laugh in a huff, watching his wound-up back shrink in the distance.
What an asshole.
[ IMAGE: A snapshot of Percy Jackson from an up-down angle with the zoom set to 0.5x. The flash is on, washing his skin, hair, and eyes pale. The background is dark, save for a group of teens behind the curve of his cheek in ugly orange band uniforms and black slacks. ]
Liked by majmajmaj and 35 others
perciusjakcsn not even cooked WE R GRILLED 😨 📸 @.travstole
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majmajmaj ur gna be well done xtra crispy if u forget to count those fucking rests again,,, 😒
↳ perciusjakcsn PLZ HAVE MERCY SARGE ↳ majmajmaj DRUM MAJOR NOT DRUM SARGEANT PETER 🖕🖕🖕 ↳ perciusjakcsn JUSTICE 4 PERCY 😞💔
groovewood did u srsly just replace me as cameraman DUDE 😭
“Are we actually incapable—” The band continues to push each other around, the noise of nearly a hundred mouths in motion reaching an all-time high. “—of lining the fuck up?”
Charles’ wide, orange-fitted frame sidles up next to you, a megaphone in hand. You take the device in silent thanks, switching it on and cringing at the feedback.
You raise the megaphone to your mouth. “ATTENTION!”
It’s a mad dash into formation, teens in orange scrambling to their places. Someone yelps when a tuba swings in a wide arc above their head. A flutist trips over a saxophone. Drumline frantically assembles, sliding clumsily into harnesses and setting off more than two cymbal crashes.
“What a goddamn clown show.” Mr. D, absentee band director, walks up behind you and Charles, scowling at the mess. He takes a swig from the Coke can that’s practically glued to his hand before snatching the megaphone. “PETER JOHNSON, YOUR HARNESS IS LOOSE. LEE VASQUEZ, WRONG SECTION. COLE STALIN, IF I HEAR CARELESS WHISPER ONE MORE TIME, I WILL THROTTLE—”
From the crowd, Connor Stoll’s face twists in pseudo-confusion, hands coming up to pat at his ears and shrugging. A laugh ripples through the ranks.
Mr. D looks like he’s going to have a stroke with the way his expression pinches, sour. Mouth crumpled in on itself like the opening of a drawstring bag, eyes glaring narrow and beard bristling.
You take the megaphone back gingerly, dialing down the volume with a grimace. “Alright, first prelim game of the season, we’re against our one-sided rivals, Jupiter High.”
The band groans. Mr. D wanders off elsewhere.
“I’m not supposed to say this, but we are definitely losing. Even so, please do not boo if our team gets a touchdown. Don’t laugh if you hear something demeaning from the other team. And—clarinets—it is absolutely unacceptable to be bribed by Travis and burst into Squidward’s theme mid-play.”
Travis lets out a squawk of indignation, the shriek of it echoing around the side of the field. Charles holds out his hand for the megaphone, which you pass over.
He clears his throat. “Thank you, major. Uh—Jupiter is one hundred percent going to decimate us sports-wise, but we’re better than them in VAPA and test scores. Please don’t tarnish our reputation as regional champions, I don’t think I can survive that.”
Short and sweet, he sets down the device and gestures for the band to start marching around the track for warm-ups. You follow the path of the oval, feet tracing the white running lines, dust running over your shoe prints.
At the far side of the field is a giant inflatable centaur, the breakaway banner held between its feet. It’s a football thing for the players to run out at the beginning of the game. Except, you’re pretty sure that most schools do not run out under the legs of a stupidly expensive, balloon-ified mascot.
The football team is gathered behind the banner, hiding under the shadowed belly of the centaur. Some players are stretching, drinking water, closing their eyes. There are cheerleaders milling around, making small talk with glossy smiles.
Luke Castellan catches your eye over a girl’s shoulder. You recognize her, the slight of her build and the curl to her honeyed hair and most of all, the pep flags in her hands. Charles stiffens from beside you, back going rod-like, chest puffing out.
Silena Beauregard turns, waving cluelessly, innocently. Your fellow drum major nearly stumbles. You—and half the band—give Castellan an downturned thumb when she turns away. Someone from the trombones plays a limp womp-womp.
Castellan looks mortified, like he’s going to dig a hole for himself and die in it.
( If so, good riddance. )
[ VIDEO: A shaky clip from the lit-up bleachers at Zeus City High School’s football field. The camera pans over the heads of the seated marching band, a sea of half-asleep teens in orange, instruments drooping with the nodding of their heads.
The spectators groan, the commentator remarking that Sherman Yang has missed yet another throw. Someone from the rival side hollers loudly—Zeus City? More like Zeus Shitty!—to which their lavender-hued cheerleaders titter, sending a ripple of amusement echoing through the opposite bleachers swathed in purple.
A majority of the ZCHS marching band cackle and jeer. The camera zooms in on the two drum majors standing upfront. You’re shaking your head and thumbing the space between your brows. Charles Beckendorf wears the face of saddened disappointment. ]
Liked by beckydwarf, majmajmaj, and 138 others
travstole 😬😬
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majmajmaj reporting this to d, no phones on the field tf??
↳ travstole snitch much?? ↳ majmajmaj what was it? ah, ‘die graecus scum’ - JHS octavian, most definitely
conmanstole poor becky d,,,
↳ perciusjakcsn ‘poor becky d’ as if ur not the reason y he has premature wrinkles 🫵🤨
The classroom is cold-hued, almost sterile under the cheap incandescent lights. Everything is blueish, backlit by the evening as it rolls over the horizon. You sigh when the ligaments in your neck rub just right to pop the bubbles between your bones. The door creaks, a tall figure, sticky with shadows, stepping in right before you try to move on to cracking you knuckles.
You almost don’t recognize him in that soft-looking sweater, a pair of black frames propped over the bridge of his nose. Castellan settles into the chair at the opposite ledge of the desk, the legs straining against the floor in an ear-itching scrape when he scoots closer.
“Hey there,” he says, borderline breathless, to which you give him a narrow look. He gives you a quick grin in return as he fumbles with his laptop; you catch a deep etch to his smile lines at the corners of his mouth before they disappear. “So, I’m just going to ask you a few questions about stuff like band, Heralds, school life.”
“This feels like an interrogation,” you tell him, unimpressed, “instead of something for yearbook. Are you sure you aren’t trying to get me arrested? If so, I have the right to remain silent.”
“No, just yearbook. Purely professional.” The other boy laughs, the sound of it rattling behind his ribs. It sends something spiraling down your stomach, like a marble run made with your intestines. “About last week, in the hallway—I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through some stuff. So, sorry about that.”
He slides his phone between the two of you, the glossy screen emblazoned with a red button waiting to be pressed. Castellan sweeps out his hand in offering, palm-up.
You click the button, the first waves of sound appearing on the pixels in zig-zags.
“What is your name and the extracurriculars you partake in?” Castellan asks, even though he should know, because you’ve gone to the same school for years. You tell him, and he tests it in his mouth, feeling the weight of it around his tongue like it’s the first time he’s heard of it. The marble run of your insides starts to roll faster. “Cool. I’m Luke—football, volleyball, and obviously yearbook.”
“I know.”
It falls quiet for a moment, the snick of keys pressed into their beds being the only thing filling the silence. “Okay,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “How’s it like being a Heralder? Any notable experiences?”
You keep your answers short and sweet, easy for damage control. “It’s basically a free period. We print every three weeks, so I have plenty of time to write and format the spreads.”
“And off the record?” he asks, a small grin sewn over his face. You think you have an idea of what he’s trying to do.
“It’s peachy.”
He tuts, a snick of the tongue. The laptop he’s typing on is drenched in cold light too, the screen reflecting onto the lenses of his glasses, something blue-gray in the glassiness of them. “And what about band? I remember you wrote something about VAPA kids having a hard time with balancing their schedules.”
“I didn’t write that,” you remind him, a near snap to your words. “It was a quote from Miranda Gardener.”
“But you agreed with her,” Castellan counters. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have put it in your article.”
Conceding, “Fine. The actual band period start at seven-thirty during zero—we use that time to practice songs—and after school, we all head out to the field for drills from five to nine.”
“How do you have time to do homework?”
“I said Heralds was a free period, didn’t I?”
He laughs, the sound of it a little hollow with the way he’s fully concentrated on his laptop. “You did. Okay, moving on—favorite school snack?”
“Cup noodles from the teacher’s room.”
Castellan makes a confused face. “Uh, favorite class?”
“Obviously band.”
“Worst class?”
You think about it for a moment. “Stats.”
He smiles in agreement, eyes going crescent. “First choice of college?”
“Anything but an Ivy.”
Castellan shakes his head, chuckling.
You wait for a minute, watching his screen go by through the surface of his glasses. Castellan’s eyelashes aren’t long, but they’re thick and heavy. His eyes are a mid-toned brown, just darker than hazel. Like fresh-turned dirt. Or milk chocolate brownies. Or—
He hasn’t asked anything in a while. You cough awkwardly. “Am I free to go?”
Castellan looks like there are words fighting on his tongue, fingers carding through his messy curls. His lips are blushed, almost a bruise with the way they’re so damn red. You think about Charles. And then Silena. How Castellan had walked into the classroom breathless.
You know that you shouldn’t assume, but you’re going to assume.
“Never mind, don’t answer that.” You make a show of checking your phone, retinas seared with the sudden brightness of the screen. “Mr. D needs me on the field. Connor might be starting another riot with the saxes.”
“Yea,” he says tightly, “go ahead.”
TO: becky d
(19:35) so. (19:35) not 100 percent sure but i think silena and castellan (19:36) yk what ill ask her during p1 tmrw
FROM: becky d
(21:58) NO?? (22:10) SARGE PLS TURN OFF DND 🙏 (22:11) not even cooked im deep fried 😭
TO: becky d
(08:45) so funny story i was on dnd until p1 and (08:46) LMAOO DID U REALLY JST CALL ME SARGE CHARLES 😐 (08:46) but srsly why didnt you yell at me during 0 we coulda avoided this,,,, (08:47) btw i didnt ask her she was talking to drew tanaka abt some other guy that def wasnt luke 👍
FROM: perciusjakcsn
(11:38) hey sarge do u know how to find annabeth (11:39) i need her to explain the crab cycle. preferably before p5
TO: perciusjaksn
(12:34) * Major, not Sarge (12:34) ** Krebs cycle (12:35) This is Annabeth. To paraphrase Khan Academy, the Krebs cycle describes a chain of reactions in the mitochondria to produce energy in living cells through cellular respiration. I won’t go through the details because the reactants and products are not on the test, and neither is the order in which the reactions proceed. If you have any more questions, my username is ‘anniebethc’.
Annabeth stabs her spork into her bag of salad, the flimsy plastic warping and crinkling as she draws out another mouthful of lettuce.
“So,” you start, idly twirling your own spork as you read the message she sent through your phone, “giving hints about the test? That could be considered cheating.”
Her cheek dips, held captive between her teeth. “It’s nothing.”
You give her a suspicious look. “And when Connor asked you about glucose and you told him to fuck off, that was also nothing?”
The girl’s look is withering as she chews her lunch slowly. You hold up your hands in surrender, letting go of the topic.
Annabeth’s gaze catches something behind you. You follow the line of her sight, tracing it along the lunch shelter and landing on Castellan. He’s got a laugh tremoring in his shoulders, grinning at something a girl—Silena again—is telling him. You whip your head back to see Annabeth’s eyes go fuzzy and sparkling.
“What?” she asks, noticing your twisted face.
“Nothing,” you huff. “But, uh—Percy’s a good guy.”
The girl squints, bewildered. “What—I don’t like Luke. We’re neighbors, so it’s weird.”
Neighbors?
“We’re halfway through the semester and you’re telling me now that Public Enemy Number One lives next to you?”
“He’s only Public Enemy Number One to band.”
Emphatically, “Which you are a flutist of?”
A lunch tray clatters onto your table, Travis sliding onto the bench and joined by Charles. The Stoll boy cracks his wrists, the pop of air loud even over the chatter of the shelter.
Charles peels open his school lunch, cringing at the clumpy mac salad sitting in the bowl. He looks over at your food, eyes tracing the outline of the plastic cup and watching the steam escape over the lip.
“Where the hell did you get instant noodles from?” blurts Travis. You tap a half-empty thermos in the pocket of your backpack.
“Ask Clarisse nicely and her dad’ll get it from the teacher’s lounge.”
Travis gives you a narrow look. It would’ve been almost threatening if his eyes weren’t occasionally glancing at your noodles.
“How nicely?”
“Six dollars.”
The old Stoll turns to Charles, irises sparkling, wide, expectant—a poor attempt to make puppy eyes at your fellow drum major. Charles sighs, fingers digging through his backpack to return with a twenty.
“Ah,” he warns right as Travis reaches for the money. “Two noodles, one for each of us. And then you’ll go to the vending machine for chips and a soda. No more, no less.”
Travis nods eagerly, snatching the bill and running off. You watch his back as he leaves; he nearly topples Luke Castellan in his excited haste.
“You know that’s a scam, right?” Annabeth's voice brings you back to the present. She’s got her brows quirked as Charles shuts the lid to his mac salad.
“It’s better than this.” He holds up a bag of damp baby carrots and cringes. It is at this moment that you know what your next article will be about.
[ IMAGE: Luke Castellan posing in semi-formal dress, standing in a dark classroom. The photo looks like it’s been taken on a digital camera, nostalgic and slightly grainy, bright spots blooming at the center. He’s got a fitted white button up and a pair of neat, pressed slacks on. His tie is black, rumpled, the knot loosened around his neck. Over his shoulders is a slouchy pastel orange cardigan with the equestrian mascot of ZCHS sewn into the breast.
His head is turned, showing his sharp side profile. Luke’s face is pensive, one hand in his pocket and the other at rest, fingers laid over his thigh. There are a pair of computer glasses sliding dangerously down his nose. ]
Liked by anniebethc and 345 others
lukestellans ‘cause we never go out of style
📸 @.luvvbeaus
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luvvbeaus 🔥🔥🔥
↳ tankadreww men who listen to tay >> ↳ conmanstole @.majmajmaj aint no way ppl actually find him hot 🤣🤣
anniebethc You knotted your tie backwards, Luke.
↳ lukestellans ask ur dad to help me pls 🙏
You don’t get to write your article about how shitty the school lunch is. Instead, you get assigned to the homecoming game, scribbling out lede after mediocre lede onto the reporter’s notebook balanced in your palm, the paper of which scrubs uncomfortably against your gloves.
“This is probably the highest score I’ve seen on that board,” comments Charles, fiddling with the seam of his uniform. “Another touchdown and we’d actually win our first game in ten years.”
“There are six seconds left,” you say, glancing at the clock. You’re starting to sound like Annabeth when you say, “It’s pretty close too. The likelihood of an actual win is so low that—”
The rest of your words are swallowed by the commentator.
AND THAT’S LUKE CASTELLAN RUNNING INTO THE END ZONE, HE CATCHES THE BALL—TOUCHDOWN FOR ZEUS CITY!
You jump at the roar that engulfs your side of the bleachers, parents and students and alumni rising in a tidal wave of celebration.
The cheerleaders jump and scream, pep flags dancing in the air, pompoms glittering. People are hugging, cheering. You even see a grandma shed tears and kiss a toddler on the cheek.
“What the fuck.” Nevertheless, you’re compelled to turn and face the music, raising your hands and signaling for your bandmates to play the fight song.
Luke Castellan runs a victory lap, zipping around the field in his ugly, bright orange jersey, arms thrust skyward in celebration. You think that the big, taunting 11 painted on his back will haunt you for the rest of your days.
His pace peters out by the time he reaches the stands, giving sweaty, full-bodied hugs to whoever’s closest to him in his conquest. You frown when he strolls along the stands, helmet pulled off and hanging from his fingers.
He’s all damp, curls plastered to his forehead and sweat beading over his brow. His breaths come out as icy puffs in the mid-October air, an exhausted blush blooming red over his cheeks, eyes glassed over, lips bruised and chest straining for air.
Castellan points at nothing in particular, angling his finger at the bleachers with a winning smile. A number of girls giggle—even color guard—and many pull out their phones to snap pictures of him.
He’s looking straight through you, though. Like he has something vengeful to prove. The floodlights are blinding, a glimmering sheen painted over the player.
You frown, brows drawing together furious, mouth pinched. Castellan sneers back and turns away.
And then, your journalism advisor comes up to Castellan with a dark-haired woman. The teen hugs the woman but ignores the man, bitter.
Frankly, you’ve never been able to put your finger on it until now, why Mr. Hermes had seemed so familiar to you. Now you can see it.
Luke Castellan looks very much like his mother, same eyes and lips. Bony shoulders, full face, straight and dark brows. He’s got the same arrow-like nose as Hermes, however, the same inky black hair.
He turns for one last look at the emptying stands. Behind you, your bandmates begin to pack up, carrying their instruments down the bleachers.
You’re the one offering a sneer now, though you doubt he can see it from this far. Luke tilts his head with a furtive smile and you lose sight of him when he ducks out into the parking lot.
You look down at your reporter’s notebook, the scratched-out ledes and the Heralds logo printed at the top.
You’re fucked.
p.s. ★ i moved around some canon ages to better fit the story if ur wondering why luke is 17/18 while percabeth r like 13/14,,,, also—the inclusion of articles and social media was inspired by phanatics’ big reputations on ao3, aka one of my fav slash fics (pls note that there r some spicy scenes tho)!!
sharing is caring, so pls rb and also lmk ur thoughts ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᡣ𐭩
luke tags (open); @melllinaa @amortencjja @niktwazny303 @arsonnaire @ma1dita @m00ng4z3r @saltair-and-palemoonlight @witch-lemon
© klineinie 2024 — do not plagiarize, translate, or use ANY works to train ai
More Posts from Ohodie and Others
probably already reposted this but
“FOR MORE STARS????” ARE YOU KIDDING???
bro i’m crumbling
all the stars (are closer) | luke castellan.
pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader
summary: a deep dive into luke’s mind and how he’d balance the love he has for his girlfriend and his anger towards the gods. (set during new year’s eve!)
wc: 1.7k (sorry ik this is short)
warnings: book spoilers and hints of a relationship becoming toxic. HEAVILY IMPLIED NSFW
a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR !! starting off the year with mister castellan bcs im pretty sure that’s the best way to do it. i’ve always wanted to write a fic that also works as a bit of a study-ish of the character’s mind soo this is was extremely exciting to write <3 i hope you all have an amazing 2024 !!! 🎊💌
Luke was sure the stars always shone the brightest when no one was gazing at them—or at least they did when only a small number of people were paying attention to the celestial bodies glistening in the dark sky. He didn’t have any factual evidence to prove this theory, but he assumes the sight in front of him is enough proof of said hypothesis.
The multicolored bright fireworks lit up the North Woods and illuminated your silhouette in an almost otherworldly way. He might even believe you weren’t just a mere demigod, but one of the many façades Aphrodite possessed when she took on a human form. He sometimes wondered if he was one of the historical Greek heroes from Chiron’s stories in his past life because he couldn’t believe the luck he had, having a girlfriend with the beauty and gentleness of a goddess but with the heart and kindness of a mortal.
You were the perfect example of what being a demigod meant. His eyes traveled all over your body, noticing the way you let your hair down for the annual New Year’s fireworks show in Camp Half-Blood. Even Mr. D was kind enough to let the campers wear the “fancy” clothes they had stashed in the attic of the Big House, freeing them from the shackles of always wearing bright orange shirts. (Luke noticed how this freedom didn’t come from the kindness of his heart, but from Silena getting him a bottle of non-alcoholic white wine.)
He couldn’t believe he was the only one looking at you during this moment. Everyone was too busy complimenting their siblings and friends’ outfits or sharing their New Year’s Resolutions, but all he could focus on was your bright smile and white dress.
The dress was handpicked by Silena herself, at least that’s what you told him when you knocked on Luke’s door and greeted him with a “Before you say anything, you must know I didn’t want to wear it but it was Silena’s New Year’s wish, which I’m sure is something she made up on the spot. Please tell me I don’t look terrible, Castellan.”
Luke’s mouth went dry. His heart beating in a fast way that only happened when he was 1) fighting for his life or 2) trying to speak while the love of his life looked like an angel sent down from heaven. That’s what you are—one of God’s most special creations.
He never considered himself to be a religious person, especially not when his father was a Greek god. But if there truly was a God ruling over a perfect paradise in the heavens, he must’ve carved you just for Luke to admire.
“You look beautiful. You always do, baby.” He said after finally finding the strength to find the right words, but even the small sentence he muttered wasn’t enough to encapsulate what he meant. He wanted to say your beauty would put Aphrodite to shame or that looking at you felt like getting trampled on by a Laestrygonian or that the shining sparks he could see in your eyes made you living proof of perfection existing and he couldn’t believe the luck he has to call you his.
“You’re just saying that because I’m your girlfriend”, you answered with a bright blush adorning your face. Luke took notice of how adorable you looked when he made the red color rush into your cheeks.
“I’m just saying that because not a single goddess in Mount Olympus could ever come close to the beauty you possess. But sure, whatever floats your boat, angel.”
“See? And now you’re just being corny… gods, you’re lucky I’m in love with you.”
“Oh, trust me. I’m extremely aware I am the lucky one here.”
“Shut the hell up, it’s annoying when you act like a poet. Just act like a Hermes child for once, please”, you replied with an eye roll but the bright smile you had gave away what you truly felt.
“I snuck out of camp and stole the suit I’ll be wearing tonight. Is that enough of a Hermes child activity for you?”
Chiron decided to hang fairy lights in the trees of the forest and the wood nymphs were happy to comply, after all, they’d do anything to clean up nicely for once. The campers were spread out through camp, some decided to stay in the dining pavilion, others were laying on picnic blankets in the amphitheater, and the rest were walking around while they kept their eyes on the sky, gazing at the fireworks the Hephaestus kids lit up.
Luke wasn’t looking at them, though. He was looking at you, you were all he could focus on. He was sure that even if Kronos changed his mind on the spot and got him killed at this exact moment, Luke wouldn’t have cared. He would’ve been happy to die knowing you were the last thing he ever set his eyes on. The last and only person to ever truly have his heart.
He loves you. That wasn’t ever in doubt, he knows, you know, every single camper knows he is head over heels for you. But that’s not all there is to it, there are numerous things underneath the love he holds for you. He would die for you, he would live for you, he would kill for you. He would start a new world, a better one for you. What is love if not letting the king of the Titans rise just to get the chance to live a normal life with the love of his life—the love of his soul?
What is love if not going behind his little sister’s back and stealing Zeus’s master bolt to help her get a better life? A life without the gods, a life without the immeasurable grief they went through after Thalia’s death. A life where Annabeth would finally get to be a kid, a life where the outside world doesn’t feel like the moon.
He can’t help but wonder about the events that are bound to happen five months from now. At this moment everyone is happy, looking at the fireworks lighting up the night sky above them and preparing themselves for the year that’s about to begin, completely oblivious to the chaos that is prone to happen.
What would you do? Would you join him? He likes to believe you will. He likes to think about those hushed whispers of “I would follow you anywhere,” and “I was put on this earth to find you,” muttered through tangled limbs and slow thrusts. He wants to have faith in you, he wants to believe you’ll do the right thing. You’ll join him, you must.
Or maybe it was all a deception. Maybe you weren’t thinking straight when you promised you’d follow him anywhere and everywhere. Maybe you were too drunk on the kisses he was leaving on your neck, while he was drunk on the feeling of your pulse quickening at the feeling of his lips on your skin.
“Luke,” it was always his name you’d beg for in between your ruffled sheets and the thick walls of your room in the city. You never begged for the gods, you never gave them a second thought. You were his in the dark of the night under the light of the stars and all you asked for was more of him, more of what only he could give you. The gods could never love you the way he does, no one could.
He knows you’ve never begged for them, never cried out their name while you felt a temporary ecstasy take all over your body as you become one with your boyfriend. You’re not stupid, you could never go against him and he knows you never will.
Luke’s eyes are completely set on you, watching closely as you take quick strides from your place near the lake, making your way to him. Are you sure you’re not the second coming of Aphrodite?
“Hey.”
“Hi, baby. Listen—“ his sentence was cut off by the loud cheers of the campers, dryads, and wood nymphs counting down for the new year.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
“Wait, Luke, quick! Make a wish!”
Seven.
Six.
“What?”
“A wish, Luke. Make a wish, it can be anything. Don’t worry too much about it.”
Five.
Four.
Three.
“Fuck, that’s a lot of pressure.”
Two.
One.
Luke was quick to press his lips to yours, tasting the cherry flavor they always had. More fireworks erupted and he could hear distant screams of “Happy New Year!” coming from the campers near him, but all he could focus on was you.
He brought his hands up to your cheeks and pulled you in closer, humming when you let out a surprised moan at the feeling of his hungry lips devouring yours as if this was his last night alive. Feeling a heat not even Hephaestus could control, a fire he could never produce—one only Luke could.
He could give you everything the gods refused to.
You pulled away when you felt your lungs being seconds from giving out. Luke kept his hands on your cheeks, leaning his forehead against yours and closing his eyes.
“What did you wish for?” you breathe out, trying to catch your breath. Luke stayed silent for a few seconds, finding pride in the knowledge of him being the reason why the oxygen left your lungs.
“For more stars,” he answered in a small murmur before leaning in to press a kiss on your forehead. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against him, your body—in a second nature—was quick to answer and wrap your arms around his neck, laying your head against his chest.
“Happy New Year, baby.”
Luke wished for more stars. Maybe every star he sees will turn his true wish into a reality. Maybe if he wishes upon every star he encounters… you will never leave him.
Maybe you’ll stay by his side when the simple act of loving him becomes an act of defiance.
someone give me fic and headcanon requests i’m fucking bored
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.
paring: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader
word count: 4k
content: luke is still a moody teenager, reader is still the fly he cant get rid of. does he really want to, though?
notes: these first two parts feel very introductory but it gets juicy as we dive a little further in the next parts hehe. also who do we think readers godly parent is?
PART II — and lord, she found me just in time
For a hotshot lawyer, your mom couldn’t lie for the life of her. Every time you brought it up, she’d always quip that she didn’t need to be a good liar to be a good lawyer, since all new evidence is legally required to be disclosed to both parties before they are presented in court. Therefore, there is no lying, only brief twisting of the truth. She was good at that — clearly.
“You said you didn’t want me to leave you!”
The wooden floor of Chiron’s office wasn’t the most comfortable of lounging places, but you’d accidentally kicked the radiator after tripping over a horseshoe and Mr. D — who had escorted you there when you’d asked about speaking to your mom — had just sighed and told you to use the mist currently spraying from it as a form of communication. The whole Iris Message thing was still unusual to you, but at the same time, you’d tripped over a horseshoe because the owner of the office was half-horse. Does it get weirder than that? Probably not.
You leaned back on your haunches, disbelief written all over your face at the scene you…walked in on? Called in on? Iris Messaged in on? Whatever — you were more worried about what you were looking at than the right terminology to describe it.
“Oh — sweetie!” Your mom was quick to hop down from the kitchen counter, pushing the man who had been standing between her legs away from her so forcefully he fell back into the living room.
“What was that?” You heard him ask from afar. Your mom chuckled, buttoning up her blouse.
“The answering machine.” She excused, “I completely forgot I was supposed to call back my daughter. Would you give me a minute?”
The man agreed with a huff and your mom pushed the kitchen door closed with a click before looking at you, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms, “I didn’t. I sure do now!”
“I’ve been gone for, like, two days!” You exclaimed, “And you’re already inviting your boyfriend over? How old are you?”
“Oh, let it go.” The woman chastised, shaking her head and attempting to push down her amused smile. “I was bored.”
“Bored.” You chuckled, “Of course.”
“But I miss you.” She said then, smiling sweetly and leaning her hip on the island, “How’s camp?”
“It’s great.” You grinned, “The people are great, the food is great. Turns out, I am super with a spear.”
“A spear, huh?” Your mom nodded, “No surprise there, you’ve got a hell of an arm.”
You hummed excitedly, the previous event long forgotten as you filled her in on your first few days at camp, “One of my friends in cabin nine offered to make me a personal one.” Your mom furrowed her brows, “Children of Hephaestus. Blacksmith guy.”
“Right.” She nodded with a click of her tongue. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” You smirked cheekily, ignoring the scoff and evil look she sent you in response.
“Alright. I best go.” She interrupted just as you went to make another comment about her guest, “I will see you at the end of summer. Okay?”
“Okay. Love you.”
Truthfully, you were happy to spend the rest of the day talking to your mom — it was so hot that morning that you’d thought about sacrificing your breakfast to Apollo in hopes that he’d ease up a little. You decided against it and just sent your prayers to each of them in general, hoping maybe your dad could fess up to actually being your dad.
Clarisse had suspected you would soon join her in the Ares Cabin — something about your skills with a spear and the swift right hook you sent Chris when he made one too many comments on your form during your training session with her. You weren’t even sure why he’d been there, but you could probably fathom a guess if you judged by the looks he sent her whenever she wasn’t looking.
After the exciting discovery that yes, you were good at something, Mr. D had come by to say you could either call your mom now or never. You chose the former option, obviously, and you only regretted it slightly as you heaved yourself up from the ground — already missing the sound of her voice.
You didn’t let it linger, instead you pushed the creaky door of the Big House open as gently as you could, even though it still swung back against the wall, and nodded at the pair sitting on the porch, currently in a heated card game you couldn’t recognise. They didn’t look at you for long, Chiron muttering something about meeting the Demeter kids by the fields to test your gardening skills before putting down a card that made Mr. D grumble in his seat.
You were trudging through the grass, huffing when the longer bits tickled your legs and made you go all itchy, when you spotted a body sat by the hearth in the horseshoe of cabins. You lit up, changing course and jogging over to them, “JoJo!”
Luke looked up at you, frowning, “What?”
His curls fell over his eyes and he shook them away, only to squint at the sun that shone into them. You sidestepped, your shadow proving ample shade so he could focus on you, and you stammered a bit when his face fell into focus. He was pretty.
You let out a breathless chuckle, folding your arms, “From Horton Hears a Who.” He shows no signs of recognition, “You’ve never seen it?” Again, his face did little to answer you, so you shrugged, “Whatever. I’ll get an answer out of you one day, I’m sure. We’ve made steady progress.”
“Have we?” He hummed, picking at the worn sleeve of his hoodie.
“Of course we have, ya’ nutmegger.” You quipped with a short chuckle, grinning when his eyes snapped back to yours.
“You still haven’t told me where you’re from.”
You tutted, “Where’s the fun in that? You gotta find out.”
He huffed, “Whatever.”
Since his outburst about New England the day before, Luke had done a considerable job at avoiding you. Well, you didn’t think he was doing it on purpose — he just wasn’t obligated to spend time with you anymore now that you were cleared to roam camp on your own. You’d seen him at breakfast, perched silently on the end of the bench and staring sadly at his soggy oatmeal, but then Clarisse had whisked you off to the training fields with Chris hot on her tail and you hadn’t seen him since.
You weren’t completely sure why you were so determined to break his shell. Maybe it was because you knew he never used to be this way — that underneath the deep frowns and annoyed huffs, was a happy boy who would spend days in the sun with his teeth bared in a wide grin — and you yearned to get a peek of who Luke Castellan used to be. To bear your eyes on the side of him he kept away and to find out why he did so, to understand him on a level deeper than anyone around you did, or even deeper than you understood yourself.
Or maybe because he’s hot.
Either way, you weren’t letting him slide away that easily. No sir. You straightened your back, “Going to the gardens.”
No reply, as usual.
A huff, “Mind walking me? I don’t wanna get lost.”
He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and standing, “Fine.”
You grinned then, wide and sunny, “Great.”
You knew where the gardens were — hell, you could see them from where you stood, the two teenage sons of Dionysus chasing each other with sticks while the Demeter kids scowled at them. But you were new, and Luke was ‘the guy’ for all the new campers, so really he wasn’t allowed to say no.
You were desperate to know more about him; his favourite sport, movie, colour. Anything irrelevant that you could see in public and think: Luke. You just didn’t know where to start — he could shut down at any given moment, so which question was more fitting to ask before he built up his walls and fucked off?
You settled for something easy — something subtle that wouldn’t hint towards you asking about him. An easy question that any reasonable tour guide would have to answer.
“So, do you guys host any…mortal activities?” Looking up at him in question, brows raised as he once again made no indication that he’d even heard you speak.
But he had, “Not usually. Sometimes on weekends we’ll play volleyball on the beach, and I think Lee Fletcher has a soccer ball he kicks around but…” He shrugged, “No. Not really.”
You hummed, “You said we. Do you play volleyball?”
Nice one.
Luke stiffened a little, sort of appalled that you’d swerved the question on him so easily, but he answered with a grumble, “Not anymore.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, “Grew out of it.”
“Huh.” You said then, facing forward with a nod and continuing your trek through the long grass, occasionally reaching down to scratch your calves, “I don’t think I’ll ever grow out of baseball.”
Come on, Castellan, take the bait.
“Baseball?”
“Yes!” You exclaimed, a little too excitedly for it to be a simple answer to a simple question. You lowered your volume and gave a more collected nod, “Yeah. Yes. I’ve played since I was old enough…little league.” You let out a weak chuckle, suddenly shy about the subject.
Luke nodded at you, “First base?”
“Left field.” You corrected with a proud smile, “I got legs.”
“Oh.” He replied, a little caught off guard at that. Although, he was also caught off guard when you said you played baseball.
You were debating whether or not to press when a gangly blonde boy with dark purple eyes jogged up to you and held out a wicker basket, “You’re the new kid right?” He didn’t wait for an answer before thrusting the basket to your chest, “I’m Pollux. We’re picking strawberries, c’mon, I’ll show you the best way to get ‘em.”
You weren’t sure there was a specific tactic to picking strawberries, but you stepped to follow him anyway. Turning your head to send a thankful smile to Luke for walking you down, you spotted him looking between you and Pollux with furrowed brows — then he noticed your stare and swallowed, nodding, “Uh, see you later.”
“Bye.” You replied, slightly starstruck. He walked off, but he did it slowly as if he was unsure of where to go next. You were positive he had somewhere to be — big shot counsellor and all — but as you stood, one foot in front of the other, face turned back to watch him go, he seemed to stutter in his steps at the top of the hill, deciding where to turn. His beaten converse led him west, and Pollux yelled you out of your stupor so you could help him and his brother pick strawberries.
As suspected, your strawberry-picking skills were pretty much the same as everyone else’s — really, how can one person be any better at picking strawberries than another? It’s a very simple task. Either way, Castor and Pollux didn’t envision you as their long lost sister, and the Demeter kids apparently couldn’t smell it on you that you were one of them, whatever that meant, so you were back to your search for daddy dearest — at this point, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to find out anymore. All this hassle and for what? It’s not as if he was going to attend the daddy-daughter dance with you, no matter which god he might be.
“So, do you, like, know Luke or something?”
Henry Furstatt was a Demeter kid a couple of years younger than you, who had been set the task of walking you to the lake where you would rejoin the Hermes cabin on their canoe lesson. He wasn’t very talkative until you’d put some distance between yourselves and the strawberry fields, where he posed his question.
You glanced at him with a thoughtful frown, “I mean, he’s been showing me around the past couple days, so…I guess —“
“I meant like,” He swallowed, waving his hands around, “from before. Did you know each other before you came to camp?”
“Oh.” You responded, tucking a loose hair that had fallen in front of your face away, “No. Why’d you think that?”
Henry shrugged, his loose-fitting camp shirt doing wonders to hide the movements, “Dunno. He just hasn’t talked to many people since he got back from his quest…but he’s talking to you.”
“Well.” You were suddenly a little sheepish — were you pushing Luke too much? Was your constant questioning making him uncomfortable? You were only on a mission to find out more about him because he interested you, but did you interest him, or was he ready to boot you as far as you’d fly? “He has to, doesn’t he? He’s still a counsellor, even if he does hate everyone here.”
“True.” He settled with a nod, fiddling with a daisy he’d picked while you were walking.
You breathed a content sigh when you finally stepped out of the grass — the summer blooming made it slightly unbearable to walk through, tickling at your legs the whole afternoon. The beating sun didn’t make you feel any nicer, but you just wafted your shirt a little as you walked past the Hermes cabin and towards the dock.
Camp was always noisy; something you’d grown accustomed to the longer you stayed there. You never really noticed it until you were alone, but the chatter of the kids filled the air the whole day and only really faded out when they all went to sleep. It was slightly unnerving to sit in the silence, and the loud murmurs often comforted you — made you feel less suffocated as the new kid. Less eyes on you, the better.
You were so used to the noise, in fact, that you almost completely brushed past the argument that was brewing outside the Ares cabin just a few metres away. Fortunately, Henry spotted the commotion, and pulled you to a halt in favour of staring at the ever-growing crowd.
You followed his eyeline and spotted a burly looking boy with black hair — when he moved his head and the sun hit the right spots, you could see dark red highlights swimming in his locks. You thought that was a little bit much, but you forfeited commenting on it considering the giant machaira that hung on his back.
The boy in question was sneering at someone in front of him, but the corners of his mouth were perked up in an amused smile that made you think he wasn’t angry yet, but he sure was getting there. You couldn’t see who he was talking to, but as Henry ventured closer, you were forced to follow and eventually his words reached your ears.
“—big shot golden boy finally got himself a quest and doesn’t fancy sharing the details.” He laughed, deep and low in his throat.
Henry patted someone on the shoulder, and they stepped aside to let him into the circle. You stayed behind him, watching over his head and finally checking out the opponent. Your eyes stopped on the familiar figure, and his familiar curls that hung over his eyes — eyes that were glaring daggers in the Ares kid’s direction, casting shadows over his cheekbones and making his scar look a little menacing.
The boy continued after Luke showed no signs of replying, “We get it, Castellan. You failed, but that doesn’t mean you get to gatekeep the whole thing.”
“Dean, man.” You finally noticed Chris, standing off to the side of Luke and glancing at his brother in apprehension at the boy's words. “Back off.”
Dean just snorted, “Don’t defend him, Rodriguez. We let him mope, now it’s time for him to spill the beans.” He took a step closer to Luke, “What happened on your quest?”
You had only known Luke for two days. You weren’t sure if he was the type to fly off the handle, swing before reasoning, but you suddenly became aware that neither did anyone else. Sure, these people had known him for years — but you’d heard it from enough people to know that he was a different person these days. After his quest a couple of weeks ago, people had been walking on eggshells around the boy. Maybe a month ago, he would’ve calmly walked away and let Dean simmer in his anger. But now? Nobody could be sure, but judging by the look in his eyes, darkening by the second, you might be able to fathom a guess as to what he’s going to do with his hands now that they were rolled into fists.
“I mean, is this about glory? Because you won’t exactly be sharing it — ya’ can’t share what you don’t have.” Dean let out a chortle at his own joke, looking between his friends around him and grinning with them.
Luke stepped forward. And — you couldn’t blame anyone, really. After that last comment, you were all expecting fists to be swung. It was only reasonable. Maybe the old Luke wouldn’t have done it, but this new Luke was looking increasingly more angry at the world as the days went by, so when he took one measly step forward, the crowd around him let out a collective woah! and put their hands out to stop him from lunging. Including yourself.
Only he wasn’t about to punch Dean. His hand stayed dormant at his side, the only clear movement was the single step closer he’d taken to match the one the Ares boy had made earlier. He was only really stepping forward so his next words would hit harder — that’s all it was, words. They died on his lips when he realised the implications of his actions, looking between the outstretched arms and tense faces.
He looked at Dean, “We can discuss quests when you get your own.”
Then he walked off, past the crowd that didn’t bother stopping him. Looking around, you saw the looks on their faces — shame, from assuming Luke would evoke such violence off the sparring mat. You definitely felt it, but you didn’t stick around long enough to confirm that with anyone else. Instead, you left Chris to berate Dean in place of the head counsellor and followed the boy in question as he huffed up the hill towards the edge of the woods.
“Hey!” You said, breathless (you were not an uphill climber). “Hey, Luke!”
He hesitated in his steps like he did earlier, but he didn’t turn around. His head twitched a little, like he wanted to look but was holding himself back, but you simply rounded him until you were face to face. The anger had long since dissolved from his expression, replaced with soft confusion.
“Hi.” You huffed, still recovering from that incline, “Are you okay? That guy’s a dick.”
“I know.” He replied, short as usual.
You licked your lips, still catching your breath, and nodded. He remained silent, looking around you like he was just waiting for you to leave. You decided to take the hint, muttering lowly, “Okay, sorry for bothering you.”
But his hand reached out, circling your wrist just as you passed him. You looked at Luke, raising your eyebrows, watching as he stammered on his words, “I, uh, you aren’t bothering me. I just…”
He let go of you and you stepped back to your precious spot. Behind him, the crowd had dissipated, Dean long gone. Chris remained, staring up at the pair of you on top of the hill. You couldn’t pinpoint his expression, but he seemed to hesitate before turning his back. You looked up at Luke.
“Why did you…come after me?”
You scoffed a laugh, “What? Anyone would’ve, it’s like…common decency.”
He twisted his expression, looking amused and devastated all at the same time, “But they didn’t.”
He was right; before you’d set off up the hill, everyone had just been watching him walk off. It seemed a little out of character, but then again, you didn’t know these people as well as you thought. Luke let out a sad chuckle, shaking his head, “Everyone’s sorta given up on me now that I’m…”
“Moody and depressed?” You finished, raising a single brow. You smiled at him, and it lifted into a grin when he smiled back, albeit only slightly. But you’d take it. “I just think that they’re a little unsure.”
“They’re scared, is what they are.” He said firmly, staring at the ground in mirth, “Their precious golden boy won’t clean up all of their messes anymore and they’re scared that they’ll have to start looking after themselves.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” You said, even if you didn’t believe it. How could you? You didn’t know these people, Luke did. “They’re just worried about you.”
He scoffed, finally moving his head up and meeting your eyes. He went to say something, presumably another quip about the campers, but stopped himself. Backtracked. Instead he said, “Aren’t you angry that you haven’t been claimed yet?”
That was a deep question. You sat on it for a couple of seconds, reeling at the sudden shift of conversation, until you finally let out a low puff of air and shrugged, “I don’t really know how I feel. Why? Should I be?”
“This camp, it’s —“ He huffed, “It helps you, sure. But it also forces you to…mould yourself into the perfect kid for — for a parent who doesn’t care enough to watch you grow up. Help you live, use their divine powers when a dragon is clawing your fucking face off!”
He’d stepped closer to you, unknowingly, that final shout making you wince a little at the volume. He stopped then, evening his breaths and stepping back with an apologetic expression. You brushed it off.
“A dragon clawed your face off?”
“Yeah.” He chuckled weakly, “Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”
You smiled at him, shamefully admiring his face. Now that he wasn’t glaring in anger, and his face was more relaxed, you could see the whites of his eyes. His lashes, unreasonably long, and his lips that were so plush you were close to asking him if he took a trip to see Dr Miami while he was on his quest.
“Gods.” You murmured under your breath, “You’re so pretty it sorta pisses me off.”
Luke laughed then — a genuine chortle that shook his chest and made passers by glance in his direction. His grin was uncharacteristically wide and for a second, a brief moment, you saw it. Luke Castellan, the one everyone looks up to. The one they turn to in times of peril, the one they giggle and gossip about under the shade of the fir trees.
Then you knew your answer to Luke’s question. No — you weren’t angry that you hadn’t been claimed. In fact, you didn’t think you’d care even if you were so long as he was smiling at you like that.
He calmed down, catching his breath, his face relaxing back into that cool expression he’s always got on. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you were sure he looked a little less tense than before. He nodded, waving a hand, “Alright, Sunny. Let’s go canoeing.”
“Sunny?” You asked, walking alongside him.
He clicked his tongue, glancing down at you, “If Apollo won’t claim you as a child of the sun, then I will.”
“Alright.” You smiled softly, looking forward so he wouldn’t see it and run off. You picked at your nails, “So long as I can call you JoJo.”
“Let’s watch that silly movie it’s from and I’ll decide if you can call me that.”
“Deal.”
🏷️ @katherines-imagines @lovingjasontoddmakemewanttocry @jennapancake @cobaltskiez @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @m00ng4z3r @mischiefmoons (comment to be added/removed!)
i feel like mizuena would have the most passionate slow-burn ‘frenimies to lovers’ arc that’s is just so ‘will they won’t they???’ core
but the thing is they do ‘will’ but they literally never talk about it after 😟 they make out once a month and the next day they go back to normal
😜 frenemies with benefits if u will
BUT MIZUKI LITERALLY BE SO FLIRTY OUT IF NOWHERE SOMETIMES
they’d be so fucking cocky mizuki would say shit though would keep ena up at night for days on end
but obviously as soon as ena says anything mizuki freezes and dies irl xx
i feel like they would be super male-gazey on accident as well
like… the chin lift thing ?? mizuki would do that .
they would so be like cringe anime fanfics and ena would pin them against a wall like a bakugou wannabe
but it’d be cute tbh 😄 sometimes the male gaze is right because i love gay ppl ❤️
oh nothing yeah just thinking on casually like sitting on luke’s lap and like i dunno playing with his hair or something or like maybe i dunno kissing him all over his face with bright red lipstick you made sure to wear just for that…hmmm luke castellan yeah
i actually like the fact that being a marauders fan is my secret alter identity. it adds to my intrigue. i’m like spider man.
regulus arcturus black - fic recs
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works by @iamgonnagetyouback
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run away ➾ potter! reader, where the night sirius ran away, so did regulus's freedom and fuck he just needed someone to listen
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regulus with a yapper girly ➾ you think regulus tunes you out when you talk (this is so impossibly cute I'm crying)
the arranged marriage or regulus's dreams ➾ (i could read this a hundred thousand times over)
works by @cherryslyce
(series) second son ➾ forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son. (STOP THIS IS SO GOOD IT HAD ME HOOKED I COULDNT STOP READING— and just their love is too cute 🥺)
unearthed ➾ muggle! reader
other works by amazing writers
holy hands will they make you a sinner by @juleswritesstuff ➾ as you keep staring at his hands, you seem to have a little secret. Regulus figures you out immediately. (HOLY SHIT, this is one of the sexiest fics i have ever read--)
1000 secret kisses by @agreeeeeeeeeee ➾ you play truth or dare, barty thinks reg is a viring, chaos follows (i love this so much omg)
Alright! So I finished hand binding Crimson Rivers by @mayzarbewithyou :) this was my first time bookbinding so excuse the mistakes I am far from great, but all in good time! This fic basically changed the trajectory of my life so I thought I’d give it the love it deserves! the spine is regulus standing looking up at the tree and he is purposely put on the last book because he finally learned how to climb and grow. I’m so emotional over the end of the fic so this is very emotional to me. I did the typeset myself and there are some cool details I’ll try to put in another post, but basically I added all of Zar’s end notes as footnotes to the specific scenes he talks about! All very fun and the dingbats match the theme for the books and the backs each have quotes the correspond. I split it into 5 just because it didn’t feel right to have the epilogues in the same book as the war. They were two completely different parts of the story so I separated them. Anyways I’ll make another post. This was a labor of love and I hope I did it Justice :)
part two NOW 💳💳💳
☆ PARENT TRAP
in which, a plan is devised to set the two of you up (1.9k)
contains: luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. baby percabeth (they are 12). percys pov. loser older brother luke castellan 🔛🔝
kashaf’s note: i think we can tell i love my music references by now. (answering requests soon!)
i. remember the time - michael jackson
PERCY HAS ALWAYS liked afternoons: sitting on the green couch in his apartment, the smell of his favorite blue cookies wafting through the air, and the constantly running episodes of gilmore girls on the tv — that you had convinced him to give a try — and sometimes the addition of grover, who was prone to start passionate tirades on climate change.
though after summer camp, his relatively quiet afternoons now included at least two mentions of “seaweed brain” and two of “wise girl”.
percy’s trying to stay focused on rory freaking out over thanking dean for something (annabeth is almost laser-focused), but the doorbell rang a while ago, and you still haven’t returned.
“annabeth,” he whispered, to no avail — he guessed dean really had that effect on people. he tried again, waving a hand in front of her face. she blinked twice before being lifted from the spell of gilmore girls.
“what?” annabeth asked.
“who’s at the door?”
annabeth’s eyebrows rose. she turned around, looking past where you were still holding the door open, one hand animatedly gesticulating, the other still on the doorknob.
“that’s my brother,” annabeth said, turning back to look at percy.
but percy isn’t paying attention to her right now, instead, he’s focusing on the bits of conversation audible between you and this stranger, who’s smiling very peculiarly down at you.
“— no way, me too,” the stranger is saying, grinning.
you’re saying, “deadass? prove it —”
“— are you always so skeptical —”
percy gets up off the couch, annabeth beside him, striding over to you and the stranger, who, for a reason he can’t quite put a finger on, seems weird.
“hi,” percy says, looking at you, pointedly ignoring the stranger. you and the stranger seem to freeze, your hand halting mid-tuck of your hair behind your ear, something percy has only seen you do around one of your ex-boyfriends.
“hi,” annabeth says, looking at the stranger, who smiles in response. again, weird.
“ready to go?” the stranger asks, “or are you going to take over their spare bedroom?”
“luke, you’re not funny,” annabeth grumbles, but she doesn’t look that put out by luke’s teasing percy notes.
you’re smiling, but you’re not looking at annabeth. you’re looking at luke, your one hand still on the doorknob. interesting.
“you’ve got your yankees cap?” you confirm as annabeth laces up her converse, as you and luke are engaged in a tiny conversation of your own. percy wordlessly hands the worn-out cap to annabeth once she’s finished, saying his goodbye.
once annabeth and her brother are long gone and you’re no longer leaning against the door, you’re still smiling widely, and percy wonders why.
ii. shoop - salt n pepa
gilmore girls is on again, and luke is here to pick up annabeth. again. but for whatever reason, annabeth still hasn’t left, and you and luke are sitting in the kitchen, alone, conversing loudly.
annabeth isn’t as hyper-focused on dean and rory’s argument as percy had thought she would be a week ago — he assumed that dean’s appeal died the minute he got mad in that banged-up car. annabeth is saying something about architecture, eyes shining, though he’s not sure which one she’s talking about, hagia sophia or st. basil’s cathedral. your loud laugh seems to ring from the kitchen every minute or so, and well since you’ve begun babysitting him, he can’t say the sound is unfamiliar, but the frequency is suspicious. he doesn’t trust luke.
“annabeth,” he says, when she’s stopped talking.
“percy,” she responds in the same tone, her smile bright.
“how long has your brother been in the kitchen for?” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but missing the mark horrifically.
annabeth looks at the watch on her wrist, “woah —”
“what does woah mean?” percy knows he’s being impolite, and his mom taught him to never interrupt people, but he can’t help it at this moment.
“i was just getting to that, seaweed brain,” annabeth rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “we were supposed to leave an hour and half ago.”
this was bizarre. “no offense, but what does my babysitter and your brother even have in common to be talking nonstop for an hour and half?”
“no idea,” annabeth says, thoughtfully. “is she in a band? luke’s in a band.”
“no,” percy says, but he thinks he remembers your last boyfriend being in a band. “is your brother a senior?”
“yeah — does she do boxing? luke does.”
“i actually don’t know,” percy pauses, “i think we should see for ourselves,” he stands up.
“wait,” annabeth says, “they might go quiet if they see we’re around. let’s just turn off the tv and eavesdrop.”
percy grins, annabeth was such a genius, “you got it, wise girl.”
they’re both so silent, he wonders if you’ll notice, but with the way you’re laughing again, borderline giggling, actually — which is odd — as you say, “shut up, you know what i meant,” he doesn’t think you’ll realize.
“erm, actually i don’t,” luke says, nasally (in what percy hopes is mockery).
percy looks at annabeth, who rolls her eyes at him and mouths, ‘he’s being ironic’. percy stares at the patterns in the carpet, and annabeth stares at the picture of percy and his mom hung on the wall, as they continue to strain their ears — which isn’t hard because of how noisy you and luke are together.
“you’re so insufferable.”
“and you’re the one who invited me in, so.”
“i was being nice,” you sound like you’re protesting, but percy and annabeth note the amusement in your voice with another shared glance.
“you? nice? let’s be forreal.”
“i’m literally not even mean.”
“you literally are.”
annabeth peeks at him, and percy thinks he’s had enough of listening to this conversation, which is quickly becoming weird. and mushy. he can practically see how you’re looking at luke, and how he’s looking at you, which is not at all something he wants to imagine.
he nods at annabeth, and they both try to make their footsteps as loud as possible when they start approaching the kitchen, just in case.
he’s grateful to every higher being out there when he and annabeth find you and luke in the kitchen simply sitting next to each other, no funny business involved.
iii. doo wop (that thing) - ms. lauryn hill
you’re on the phone, giggling. annabeth is over again, and there’s no luke in sight, but percy suspects he’s on the other end of the line.
percy sighs and turns to annabeth, who always seems to know what to do because this little situation has gotten unbelievably out of hand.
“is that your brother on the phone?”
annabeth’s concentration on the teetering jenga tower on the coffee table lingers, doo wop (that thing) playing on the tv in the background, “yeah, i think so.”
“how do you know?” percy asks, watching annabeth carefully choose a jenga block to remove.
“they like each other,” annabeth says, looking at him, as if it’s as obvious as grass being green.
“no, they don’t,” percy pauses for a minute when annabeth raises her eyebrows at him. “how do you know?”
“luke’s always calling her at home,” annabeth said, “and he made her a mixtape.”
“that doesn’t mean they like each other, that just means he likes her,” percy points out, crossing his arms.
they hear you giggle in the kitchen again. annabeth looks at him as if that proves her point.
annabeth blinks, her face lighting up, “oh my god, percy, we should set them up.”
percy stares at her. he can’t deny that for as long as he’s known annabeth, she’s seldom been wrong, but he doesn’t think this is the best idea. but, percy trusts annabeth, so he agrees.
iv. this is how we do it - montell jordan
percy’s spying on you. well, he doesn’t consider it to be spying exactly, he’s just making sure nothing happens to you because despite annabeth’s constant defense of her brother, percy still doesn’t trust luke. percy’s always thought of you more than just his babysitter, after all the attempts at making blue hot chocolate and the comforting after nightmares, you’ve turned into his sister.
he’s at annabeth’s place now, and both of them decided to put their — what annabeth swears is fool-proof — plan into action. step number one: getting luke to invite you inside when you come to pick him up (which was so unbelievably easy, considering how luke has perpetual heart eyes when you’re around).
currently, you’re in the kitchen with luke (the two of you are always congregating in kitchens for some reason), and annabeth decided that she and percy absolutely had to keep an eye on the two of you.
you’re gasping, “luke castellan, you are such a liar.”
luke is laughing, “no i’m not.” his cheeks are red.
you’ve seemed to notice this, and percy can see your gaze soften as you look at luke, but that doesn’t stop you from making your point, “no, oh my god, you call me the mean one but here you are, talking shit about your rivals, just because they’re better?”
percy has seen you argue with your ex-boyfriends, but not like this — not bright-eyed, and smiling, and none of them have been able to just flow the way you seem to with luke. this is it, he thinks, annabeth was completely and utterly right (as she is 90% of the time).
“you take that back right now, those motley crue knockoffs aren’t better than us,” luke says, sounding kind of angry, but percy can see his smile.
“you’re totally bugging,” you say, “what’s wrong with motley crue?”
luke looks scandalized, and almost as if he’s pleading, he says, “please tell me you’ve at least listened to guns n roses,” pushing his hands together in a namaste position.
“i don’t live under a rock, castellan,” you rolled your eyes at him, pushing his hands down. annabeth shares a look with percy.
“i mean, you never know,” he says, and you scoff, shoving him.
percy raises his eyebrows at annabeth, and she seems to know exactly what he’s thinking — time to put step two into action: set up a going-out idea.
percy and annabeth pretend to walk closer to the kitchen, to give the two of you time to spring apart, because you and luke weren’t a very pg distance right now — maybe pg-thirteen, but percy wasn’t supposed to be watching those, so.
annabeth jerks a finger at percy, as you and luke looked up at their arrival, addressing luke, “percy doesn’t believe that your band actually plays in public.”
percy’s head whips toward annabeth, trying not to glare at her, because the look on luke’s face right now was not at all amusing, but at least you were smiling, so you’d definitely stop luke from killing him.
“yeah, luke,” you say, smirking, “where do you guys even play?”
luke frowns, “the usual but we’re playing at the fair next week if you’re so interested.” the last part is aimed at percy, but their plan is going well so far, so percy doesn’t think he’ll have to sleep with one eye open tonight.
“when?” you ask, interested.
percy watches luke turn to you, surprised. “saturday — why, you wanna come?”
“yeah,” you admit easily.
percy looks at annabeth, who’s smiling and percy can’t help but feel proud of their idea.
“really? we don’t go on until like seven though.”
“yeah, someone has to be there to cheer for you so you don’t feel too bad when no one else does,” you grin.
luke turns to you, masking his smile with a fake air of irritation, “gee, thanks.”
“what are friends for?”
percy shares a disappointed glance with annabeth who begins to shake her head, as luke’s smile freezes in place, and you suddenly look extremely remorseful.
time to come up with a new plan.
© ughmiyuki on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.
the sun ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊
ECLIPSE - PROLOGUE, PART ONE, PART TWO
luke castellan x child of dionysus reader
ABOUT - you come clean to luke over a bottle of wine as you stare at the sky.
A/N - part two!! this is written from the readers perspective this time :P might write the prologue sooner or later idk
WARNINGS - alcohol consumption, kissing, crying, swearing i think?? but idk i don’t remember
two hours later, and you and luke were staring at the lake as you sat together, the bottle of wine now half full.
the other few demigods that came along now were either swimming, or too drunk to stand, or talking amongst themselves.
you didn’t expect to be sitting with luke alone; nor did you expect the conversation to be so fun.
but then again, you didn’t care if the conversation was good or not. you wouldn’t even care if he was calling you names or simply ignoring you.
you had learnt that to love is to make sacrifices, and you had 4 years of first-hand experience.
the air was relaxed and easy, and the conversation was interesting. the fact that your rival was sitting right next to you, sharing a bottle of wine, felt surreal.
luke said something stupid and light hearted as you giggled quietly, taking another swig of the bottle. your breathing slowed down a bit as you turned to look at him.
“are you feeling tipsy yet, castellan?” you asked quietly, the moon hitting the side of your face in the most angelic way.
your hair was almost as bright as the starts at this point- your lips stained red due to the pigment of the wine and the irritation caused by drinking from the bottle.
“tipsy?” he scoffed, grabbing the bottle from you and taking a sip. “even if i am, no way am i admitting it to you.”
the warm breeze blew through your hair, the moon’s light bouncing right off of it and illuminating the area. he stared at you as you sat next to him, your eyes wide open as you stared out at the lake.
you looked magical.
“you really are beautiful.”
your head turned to face him, your lips slightly parting in shock at the abrupt compliment.
‘luke castellan said i was beautiful?!’
you felt your breath hitch, your cheeks turning red- but you couldn’t tell if that was from the alcohol or from his compliment.
“yeah, you’re tipsy,” you whispered playfully in an attempt to brush off the comment.
you sighed, ruffling your hand through his hair before taking the bottle from him.
“shut up,” luke scoffed, looking away from you in embarrassment.
you laughed dryly, leaning your back against the grass and staring up at the stars.
“no, i wont shut up,” you argued, a big smile on your face.
“castellan said i was beautiful!” you exclaimed breathily, giggling quietly as you kicked your feet against the grass.
the corner of his lips twitched into a smirk for a moment. “i really hate you, you know that?” he laughed, taking another swig.
“besides, no one will believe you,” he teased, nudging you playfully.
you shook your head, pressing an index finger against your lip as you made a ‘shh’ sound.
“i’m not going to tell anyone. your words are gonna be my little secret,” you whispered, looking up at him as he continued drinking from the wine bottle.
even under the moonlight, he still shone like the sun.
‘i guess that’s why luke and i clashed. he was the sun, and i was the moon.’
“you’re going to drive me insane,” luke mumbled, passing you the bottle of wine.
was he blushing? his cheeks were certainly more red than before, and he couldn’t maintain eye contact with you anymore.
you retracted your finger from your lips, letting out a dry chuckle.
you sat back up, grasping the bottle of wine and taking a large swig.
“yeah, what do you expect? my dads the god of insanity, castellan,” you retorted playfully, a smug smile plastered across your face.
you were the moon and he was the sun- it was a simple yet poetic description of their long, complicated rivalry. maybe if you were a bit more sober, you could come up with a less stereotypical comparison. but you were not sober, so the moon and sun it was.
you were his rival, but it was starting to feel like something more. the banter between you two was becoming more romantic, the tension more evident. or maybe it was all just in your head.
luke chuckled as you took another big swig from the bottle of wine, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.
it felt like everything you wanted for the past 4 years was finally happening.
you put down the bottle, looking out at the reflection of the moon twinkling on the lake as you took a deep breath in.
“do you ever see something and think ‘oh, that’s me’?” you asked, suddenly turning around to look at him.
luke was caught off guard by your sudden question, pursing his lips as he turned to look at you.
his brows faintly rose as he watched the moonlight gleam off of your eyes, hair, and lips. “what do you mean?” he asked softly. luke’s eyes darted to yours briefly, only to go back to looking at the moonlight as it hit the lake.
you looked back over at the moon, feeling a strange sense of comfort overcome your being.
“it’s like… i’m the moon. i am her,” you said.
“but i’m also the arctic fox, and the glow in the dark star stickers castor stuck on the roof of the dionysus cabin, and the tulips and the lily of the valley and- it’s like…” you mumbled, pressing your fingers against your lips as you let yourself get lost in thought.
“like i’m made of all these little things i see and feel close to.”
luke’s eyes burnt into yours as you spoke, taking in ever word you uttered. you would’ve forgotten he was even there if it weren’t for the sound of him breathing.
“and what am I?” he finally spoke, his voice soft as he leaned forward to look more closely at you. the moonlight casted a glow on your face as the breeze blew your hair away from your eyes. it felt so natural to be here with him, in the dark, with the moon.
you smiled at him coyly, your cheeks red and your vision a little warped from the alcohol. you took another swig, thinking over his question.
you passed him the bottle, your fingers grazing against his momentarily as you stared at his face intently.
“you’re the dandelions. you’re the orange slices, the quiet dog sitting by the window,” i said quietly, taking in his features.
“you’re the sun.”
he paused. it looked like he had just been punched in the gut, overwhelmed by the sudden sentiment.
luke looked away suddenly, blinking quickly as his jaw clenched tight. he took one deep breath, and turned to look at you again.
“that’s bullshit, and you know it,” he snorted. it seemed like the alcohol had made him a little too confident. you furrowed you brows in response, crossing his arms as you waited for an explanation.
how could he not look in the mirror and be blinded by the sight of himself?
“look at me. i’m no sun. i’ve got all these scars and bruises all over me, i’m too destructive.”
he rolled his eyes, looking down at the grass defeatedly.
you shrugged your shoulders, taking another swig of the bottle.
“yeah, but you’re the sun,” you repeat blankly, a soft smile still on your face.
“you’re the sun; scars and all. too hot too touch, too bright to ignore.”
luke froze at your words.
he shifted uncomfortably as he felt his hands shake. your eyes took in his stressed appearance, feeling a little embarrassed at your sudden outburst of praise.
luke was embarrassed by how much his body was betraying him. for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to say whatever witty response would get under your skin. he was completely at a loss for words- and you could tell.
but either way, you decided to play nice.
you paused, staying completely silent. suddenly, you started giggling, shaking your head awkwardly in an effort to make him feel less uncomfortable.
“sorry about that. i just realised how stupid that sounded,” you chuckled, looking back over at the moon.
luke looked a mess. his cheeks burned red, and his heart pounded faster and faster.
“shut up,” he growled. “you’re going to make me act weird.”
you turned your head away from the moon to look back over at him, your eyes narrowing in confusion.
“huh?” you furrowed your brows, taking the last sip from the bottle.
“you already act weird,” you teased, gently pushing his shoulder playfully.
you playful push and the feel of you touching him suddenly made any rational thoughts of his go completely out the window.
“okay, but this is different,” he grumbled, leaning his back against the cold earth and closing his eyes, his breath even and steady. “you’re making this weird.”
you pouted, laying down on the ground next to him. your head was inches away from his, your hair grazing his face as it messily fell over the grass.
his face turned towards yours as you stared up at the stars, thinking over his statement.
“how?” you asked, your speech a little slurred.
“just…” he sighed, looking up at the sky. “it’s not that complicated. i’m your rival. we’re not meant to be…like this.”
luke paused, looking back over at you for a second. he thought you looked so pretty with the moonlight casting beams of light on your face. he could’ve looked at you like this for hours.
you rolled your eyes, staring up at the sky.
“are we even rivals anymore?” you asked, resting your hands on top of your tummy.
“i mean, we used to be when we we like… 15. but we’re 18 now, and things are definitely different. less hostile,” you said, breathing quietly.
“fine, we’re not as vicious as we used to be. but it’s still a rivalry. you’re too competitive.”
you stayed quiet, processing his words.
he was right. you were too competitive.
that’s why it would never work between you and him- but it was also why it did work.
your stubbornness and his attitude fuelled the ongoing rivalry between you two for years, the only thing that ever weakened the conflict was time.
time wore you two down as you matured, replacing foul insults with witty comebacks and substituting sarcastic compliments with genuine praise.
but it was still a rivalry.
he leaned towards you suddenly, opting to change the subject with a teasing comment. he lightly tapped your forehead. “you’re drunk.”
you giggled, rolling your eyes as you playfully pushed his hand away.
“no, you’re drunk- look!” you abruptly cut yourself off, gasping at the sky.
“it’s the little dipper,” you exclaimed breathily.
it had been years since you had seen the constellation; considering camp half-blood was only protected from new yorks monsters, and not new york’s light pollution.
luke glanced up at the sky, blinking as he saw the constellation.
“yeah,” he grinned as he looked back down at you. “i’m just surprised you can tell in this state of mind.”
luke chuckled as he looked into your eyes. they had a dull shine to them- they looked tired. his lips twitched into a playful smirk as you shrugged your shoulders.
you smiled softly as you turned your head to look at him- a few stray pieces of grass in your hair.
“maybe it’s ’cause when i drink i get all observant and shit,” you said simply.
your eyes darted over to scar on the right side of his face. it had been there for years, but you never seemed to get tired of looking at it.
it was like a river- or a permanent teardrop stain. and it was gorgeous.
luke watched you with a smug grin as you stared at his scar, noticing how much you seemed to adore the sight.
“yeah,” he smirked. “you get so observant that you start talking about me being like the sun.”
you rolled your eyes, letting out a dry breath as you looked into his eyes.
“you’re not like the sun, you are the sun.”
you slowly reached your hand out to touch his scar, your thumb tracing over the shape as your lips slightly parted.
you definitely would’ve never done something like this sober.
he didn’t fight against the warm gesture, his cheeks turning red as his brown eyes widened at the sensation. your touch was soft, and his skin was so smooth.
maybe he loved you back? maybe all that sacrifice and competition wasn’t for nothing?
the desire to come clean was suffocating you. you needed to say it- he needed to know.
you cupped his face in your hands, the alcohol putting you in a trance.
‘sober me is gonna really regret inviting luke to drink with her.’
you continued rubbing your thumb over his scar, looking into his eyes.
“luke,” you whispered, getting lost in his features as you laid still on the grass.
“i’ve loved you since we were 15.”
he was dumbfounded by her sudden confession. your heart continued pounding so loudly that you could no longer hear the quiet sound of his own heartbeat.
“… you don’t have to say anything,” you said softly, continuing to stare into his eyes.
“but i just wanted you to know.”
you slowly retracted your hand from his cheek, turning over to lay on your back again and stare at the stars.
luke stared at you blankly, his lips parted in shock as he realised what you said.
the silence was killing you, forcing you to come to terms with the reality of the situation.
he was quiet for a reason, wasn’t he?
“you don’t love me,” he said softly. “you’re drunk.”
you shook your head, your eyes fluttering closed as a soft smile emerged from your features.
“no, i do love you,” you whispered, reaffirming the drunken confession.
his hands gripped his arms tightly, trying not to let you see how much your words were shaking him up.
“if you love me so much, then why do you constantly challenge and compete with me?”
you shrugged your shoulders at his question, opening your eyes and looking back over at him.
“it’s the only was i can get your attention, i guess.”
you and luke had always competed with each other- it was no wonder the competitiveness evolved into a rivalry. you just wanted his attention, and he wanted yours. you both wanted to so desperately be seen by the other, and neither of you would admit it.
a deep sigh left his lips as he thought, closing his eyes to try and make sense of things.
“well, you’ve got my attention now,” he murmured.
you laughed dryly at his comment.
“yeah. i do,” you sighed, your chest rising and falling with each slow breath you took.
‘he doesn’t love you, idiot! why’d you have to say that? now he’s not gonna give you any attention, because it’s gonna be awkward!’
“anyways,” you mumbled, looking back up at the sky. he pursed his lips as he watched you, furrowing his brows at the sight of his rival all defeated and wistful.
“why won’t you look at me?” luke’s voice was soft, pleading; begging you to see him.
you sighed, continuing to stare up at the sky defiantly.
“i already know what you look like. spent so long staring at your face, i don’t need to look at you,” you explained breathily, letting your head sink further back against the grass.
“… and i don’t think i want to see how you look right now. i’d like to imagine you all happy instead.”
his eyes widened and his jaw unclenched at her words. you were content with staring at the stars, not even acknowledging what he said.
“please, look at me. look at me when you speak to me.”
his words were firm, but emphatic enough to cause you to give in.
you rolled your eyes, letting out a quiet sigh before turning to face him.
“i’m looking.”
luke stared into your eyes, his body frozen as he watched your breath rise and fall. it seemed like he had no clue what to say.
you sighed, your eyes gazing over at his features.
seconds passed that felt like hours, your thoughts racing as you lost yourself in his pretty eyes.
‘you’ve fucked it. it’s ruined. it’s done!’
‘gods, i’m never drinking again. sorry dad.’
you suddenly closed your eyes, letting your hands cover your face as you turned on your side- bringing your legs up to your chest as you let your hair protect yourself from everything that was going on.
you suddenly let out a quiet sniffle, muffled by the way you were hiding yourself in your limbs.
luke’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the sight, his thoughts blanking as he heard you… crying?
he had never seen you cry before, unless you were acting with the apollo kids, or trying to garner sympathy, or foolishly trying to make your dad feel bad for yelling at you for sneaking out.
your palms became a little wet as you cried softly, trying your best to fight back against your emotions.
“sorry, i don’t know why i’m crying,” you whispered.
“i don’t know what i expected either.”
you quickly wiped away your tears, looking back up at him. “pretend i didn’t say anything,” you said quietly, your voice hoarse.
you heard luke sit up and scoot over to you. suddenly, you felt him gently wipe his fingers under your eyes.
“your eyes are a little red,” he murmured, letting his fingers trail down your cheeks.
you groaned in response, your cheeks turning red as he wiped away your tears.
“obviously,” you sighed, choking back more tears as you closed your eyes again.
your nose was red and damp, your eyes bloodshot. your breaths were short and sharp as you continued fighting your feelings. but it was a loosing battle.
luke let his fingers trail your jaw, then your neck. this only caused your to cry harder, the feeling of his fingers against your skin only reminding you of what you do desperately want but can’t have.
“luke…” you whimpered, opening your eyes to look back up at him.
“shh…calm down,” he said softly, his fingers beginning to trail her lips. luke’s breathing became erratic as he leaned in, closing his eyes and grazing his lips against yours.
he suddenly pressed his lips forcefully against yours, his arms wrapped around you as he held you close against his chest. your back lifted off the grass, willingly leaning your chest against his as you kissed him back.
you could hear the sound of his breath picking up as he deepened the kiss.
you brought your hand up to cradle the back of his neck, holding a handful of his hair between your fingers.
your fingers twisted into your hair, his mouth becoming more demanding with love and need and longing, and everything else he’d felt towards you.
your other hand reached up to caress his scar, running your thumb over the permanent imperfection.
but it wasn’t imperfect; it was beautiful.
your breathing slowed down as your tears became silent, your body melting into his as the kiss continued.
he slowly dragged his lips away from yours, kissing the side of your neck as he held his hands against your back to keep your torso upright.
you sniffled as he kissed your neck, your arm wrapping around him as you held him close.
he finally pulled away, taking a deep breath and looking at your flushed features. you were still holding onto him tightly, your arm wrapped around his shoulders.
your eyes were still closed as a tear slid down your cheeks. luke wiped it away gently, causing you to slowly open your eyes again.
“luke,” you whispered, your eyes silently pleading with him as your pupils dilated.
“please, luke. i need to hear you say it.”
luke paused, letting the request linger in the air for a bit. his breath hitched as he looked into your red and wet eyes, his thumb gently tracing your cheek.
"say what?" he whispered, their eyes locked as they sat there in the grass. he was shaking, and you could tell.
“tell me you love me too. even if it’s a lie,” you whispered, gently running your hand through his hair as you looked into his eyes.
his lips touched yours again, quickly kissing you before slowly pulling away.
“I need you. I will always need you,” luke said- but it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.
your breath hitched, your eyes threatening to cause a flood.
“… but do you *love* me?” you asked, your lips slightly parted as you searched for any sign of affection or love within his deep brown eyes.
his breath came out of his lungs harshly as his eyes widened. he stayed silent for a moment as he looked at you.
“yes,” he whispered. “i do.”
“say it,” you demanded, sniffling as you rested your forehead against his.
“say it. say it, please,” you begged him, your hands clinging to his shirt in a desperate attempt to convince him to love you back. “say that you love me- all of it.”
he smiled softly before leaning in towards you, the action of you pulling on hos shirt revealing his collarbones.
“i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you.”
luke’s hands gently gripped your waist as he spoke, his eyes locked with yours.
you turned red, your breathy shaky as you pulled him in for an urgent kiss. you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him even closer than before.
‘jesus christ, if my dad saw me now…’
actually, he might be proud. dionysus is the god of wine, insanity and fertility first and foremost. and hes my dad more than he is the camp director.
luke kissed you back, pressing his body against yours and letting his hands slide to grasp onto your hips.
you ran your hand through his hair, your fingers racing circles into his neck as you kissed him frantically.
your lips were probably swollen at this point, and you didn’t mind paying the consequences for having luke be so close to you.
luke’s hands glided up your body, his fingers grazing over your skin. his hand went to hold your back, pulling you even tighter against him.
he kissed you harder, more intensely, his mouth devouring yours.
you could hear his breath hitch with every kiss.
you moaned softly into the mouth, your limbs tangling as you searched for more. more of the feeling of his body against yours, more of the warmth of his hands against your skin. more, more, more.
you continued kissing him for what felt like hours, before slowly pulling away- now a panting mess with red cheeks and swollen lips. you stared into his eyes, your lips slightly parted in shock.
and he did that to you. he stared down at your lips, almost as if he felt proud of what he had done.
your swollen and red lips were like a trophy. you had won- he loves you.
luke licked his lips, savouring the taste of you before speaking. “gods, your lips are red,” he said, kissing your cheeks.
you laughed nervously, overly flustered by how softly he was kissing your cheeks.
“shut up, so are yours,” you retorted, wiping your mouth- but the red was imprinted upon your lips and it most definitely was not coming off anytime soon.
luke couldn’t help but find himself laughing at your mannerisms. the way you nervously wiped your lips as if the redness would come off with a single swipe of your fingers.
you sat in silence for a moment, simply staring into his eyes with a bashful smile. you had him. he had you.
and he was so bright.
even when sitting under the dark night sky, the sun was shining- burning your skin. and you were basking in it.
you’d let yourself get their degree burns if it meant you got to feel the sun against your skin.
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