Part Two NOW 💳💳💳

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STOP ILL START CRYING AGAIN <3

sad, beautiful, tragic

distance, timing, breakdown, fighting

silence, the train runs off its tracks

kiss me, try to fix it

could you just try to listen?

hang up, give up

and for the life of us, we can get back

peter parker x reader!!

(treacherous part 2)

PLOT - in which peter parker tries to talk to his rival after multiple drunk make out sessions the previous night.

WARNINGS - sexual references, no smut, make out scenes, allusions to sexual activity, weed, smoking, kiss and makeup attitude

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“just talk to her, don’t be an arse” gwen smiled, swaying with the movement of the subway. the sun peeked through the windows as the train made its way out of a tunnel and closer to their destination.

“what exactly are you supposed to say to someone you made out with like, 3 times while drunk?? especially if you used to hate their guts”

“i don’t know, ‘sorry i hated you before, i just internalised my fetish for goth stoners as hatred- let’s make out some more’ or something-“ gwen joked, before being cut off by a frustrated peter.

“are you kidding me? she’s gonna spot us across the carriage any second now and i won’t have any idea what to say to her!”

y/n sat cross legged in her seat, reading some depressing book from the early 1900’s about some depressing characters, written by a depressed closeted gay man. she tucked a chunk of hair behind her ears before re-adjusting her headphones. “i bet she’s listening to fucking my chemical romance or korn or some shit,” peter chuckled as his eyebrows furrowed, gripping onto the hanging bars of the train carriage.

“nope, look on spotify,” gwen corrected. peter turned away from y/n to look over at gwen, his eyes drifting to the screen of her phone.

“it says she’s listening to… taylor swift?” she said, a confused expression painted on her face. peter jolted his head back in shock, overcome with anxiety. “aunt may loves taylor swift…” he murmured, the rustle of the train carriage pulling him away from gwen.

“let me see what song,” peter insisted as he gestured to see gwen’s phone. she passed it over to him, watching his face move as he read the title.

“sad, beautiful, tragic… i’m pretty sure that’s from red, right?” peter questioned. gwen shrugged her shoulders in response. “i don’t know. i’m more of a midnights and evermore type of girl” she replied. peter scrolled down to the lyrics of the song, his eyes widening and his lips pursing.

“gwen, i’m totally fucked”

y/n had slept on what had happened the previous night. spider-man saved her from getting robbed and gave her some very unhelpful advice. what the fuck would spider-man know anyways? he doesn’t get any bitches. y/n may have also ghosted peter, but who cares? y/n put her heart out on the table, for some reason expecting more from the person who constantly teased her everyday for 2 years. sure, she should’ve saw it coming, but she didn’t. which is why she was going to be as dramatic as possible.

this meant a new playlist. no more limp biskit; nobody cries to ‘break stuff’!! it was time to listen to the entire red album on repeat, along with ‘ultraviolence’ and elliott smith. y/n was fully ready to be a sad little bitch.

on monday morning, she scored a seat on the subways and started listening to her new playlist, putting on one particular taylor swift song on repeat while she read her sad little bitch book. she looked up for a split second to see peter and gwen talking.

‘oh, so he can make time to talk to gwen, but not the girl he snogged three times?’ y/n thought.

y/n turned up her volume and put away her book as she listened to the lyrics of the song. the train pulled up to the station within walking distance to her school and so she stood up. catching the eye of peter as she walked to the doors, she quickly averted her gaze and took a few steps back.

peter flinched at the sudden eye contact, turning his full body towards gwen. “gwen. do something” he anxiously muttered. gwen nodded, smiling innocently, before beginning to casually walk over to y/n.

“y/n! how’d that hangover treat you?” gwen asked, pulling in y/n for a comfortable hug. y/n smiled hesitantly and embraced the act of affection. “so, so badly,” she replied, thinking back to the incident that followed the day after the party.

“the hangover is the least of my troubles” she stated and she glanced over at peter, who was watching both of them. “oh, do you mean…” gwen asked as she gestured over to the lanky boy trailing behind them, walking onto the platform as the train doors opened.

“what? no! i was mugged,” y/n announced, arching her eyebrows. peter didn’t look surprised. y/n took note of this, feeling somewhat offended that he didn’t care.

“y/n! are you okay?? how did that happen?” gwen asked, completely and utterly shocked. peter walked over. “wait, yeah… are you okay y/n?” he asked, breaking out of his anxious state for one moment.

y/n sighed softly, rolling her eyes. “i’m fine, spider-man saved me and then gave me some very unhelpful advice.” she said as she pursed her lips, her eyes darting between gwen and peter. “he’s a total ride though- i hope he’s not like… 46 or something,” she continued. gwen chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand as her cheeks turned pink. “did you get to feel his abs?” she asked as the trio walked across queens to get to school.

“yeah, they were rock hard. i didn’t expect him to be so fit!” y/n exclaimed. peter tried to stifle his blush as they got closer to the school, blocking out their conversation.

as they entered the gates, gwen quickly walked towards her class, leaving the two alone.

“um, we have math-“

“i know, peter” y/n interrupted. her voice was cold and unemotional- a stark difference form her previous cheerful demeanour. this was the guy that she was squabbling with for years now… the guy that she also maybe had a few steamy dreams about as well. her preconceived notions about peter were contradicting with her fantasies and the realities of what happened over the weekend- causing her to spiral into a semi-depressed state of rage.

peter, on the other hand, knew exactly what he thought of y/n. he always thought that she was attractive, but a total arse. now, he found her being an arse super endearing. but that could have something to do with the fact that they made out 3 times and he almost touched her boobs.

the two walked in awkward silence to their math class, a strong tension in the air. they took their seats and sat painfully silently for an hour.

y/n tapped her pen on her notebook, not listening to a word the teacher was saying. ‘fuck it,’ she thought, ripping out a piece of paper.

she scribbled a few words down before passing it over to peter.

‘make up for ghosting me by skipping second period and hiding in the unisex bathrooms’

‘sure :)’

the unisex bathrooms were dimly lit, far away from the rest of campus. surrounded by unused classrooms. the unisex bathrooms were a prime hookup spot… but for y/n, it was her own personal hotbox.

she lit the end of her joint and put her lighter in her jacket pocket as she leaned against the bathroom wall. y/n took a drag as she stared at the wall. she took another short hit, before passing it to peter. he did the same, his legs crossed.

“so why didn’t you text me, dick face?” she started, crossing her arms. smoke escaped her lips as the talked, mesmerising peter.

“dick face?” peter repeated, stifling a grin as he shook his head.

“um… i guess i didn’t know what to say,” he replied, passing back the joint. y/n smiled awkwardly as she rolled her eyes. “classic parker…”

“well, do you know what to say now?” y/n asked, sliding down to the floor, head level with peter. he shrugged his shoulders. “kinda,” he muttered.

“are you gonna say it, mcslutty?”

“i don’t appreciate the name-calling, y/n.” he said irritably, his voice somewhat breathy.

“you ghosted me too, remember?” peter added, raising his eyebrows.

“yeah, but i was mugged!” she said defensively, opening her mouth in shock. “obviously i was too busy!”

peter laughed, covering his face. “fair point.”peter pursed his lips, looking down before taking another hit of the joint.

peter took a deep breath in, tapping the floor anxiously. “i really like you, y/n” peter averted his eyes. “i used the think i didn’t, but i was just lying to myself so i wouldn’t have to confront the fact that there’s actually nice stuff about you,” he’s smirked.

y/n chuckled. “what nice stuff?”

“your face, obviously. your musical skills, your rolling skills. you’re also really funny, and you’re so generous. you’re not nice to everyone, but you still help everyone- if that makes sense? but yeah… shit like that i guess,”

y/n smiled sincerely, slightly tilting her head to the side. “that’s pretty sweet, shithead”

it took them a whole 40 seconds before they started jamming their lips together, peter’s hands gripping y/n’s waist as she sat on top of his lap. her hands cupped his face gently, occasionally pulling a hand away and running it through his hair.

she pulled away for air, before continuing her attack on his lips, her hands trailing down his torso as she fiddled with his shirt. peter pulled away, looking up at her before her eyes drifting to her hands.

“what are you doing there?” he asked teasingly, his voice limited to a hoarse whisper.

she began to frantically kiss his neck, her hands still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. “felt something hard. wondering if you’re ripped or just really horny.” she muttered breathily, one hand resting under his shirt as she caressed his torso, while the other hand gripped a bundle of his hair.

he looked as her curiously as she felt up his chest, watching her pull away with a look of shock and confusion. “peter? what the fuck?” she exclaimed, her hair messy and cheeks red.

“what? what’s wrong?” peter asked, panicked as his eyes drifted down to his pants, before meeting her eyes again. his face turned red, putting up his hands in surrender.

“hey, you were the one grinding against my-“

“no, you’re fully ripped!” she whispered, her eyes wide as her hand retracted from under his shirt. “jesus christ…” she muttered, lifting his shirt to take a peek.

peter burst out into a fit of dry laughter, tilting his head back and lightly hitting the wall of the bathroom stall.

“oh, yeah. that.” he said casually. y/n grumbled, standing up.

“right. i was not expecting that.” she huffed, her face completely red.

“anyways, i’m not fucking you in a hot-boxed bathroom stall at school. if you decide to stop being a little bitch and message me, maybe i’ll forgive you for ghosting me.” y/n proposed, leaning against the wall as she looked down at peter.

peter nodded, standing up. he opened the door, turning to face her. “yeah, i definitely won’t be ghosting you anytime soon. sorry about that, by the way.” he murmured.

“it’s fine. just as long as you send me a picture of your abs after school.” she demanded, her face completely serious as she looked peter up and down. peter nodded, his eyes wide.

she bit her lip, meeting his eyes once again. “seriously, they’re almost as good at spider-man’s.” she added, exiting the bathroom- leaving peter alone to deal with his thoughts.

i love you .

jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist

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

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was cute. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly. 

“And that?” 

“The Amphitheatre.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.” 

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

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

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

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

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

But you really needed to pee. 

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

“That’s not your bathroom.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

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

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

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

“Be quick.” 

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

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

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

“And then what happened?”

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

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

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

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

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

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

“Archery.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?” 

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

“So, where are you from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A chuckle, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you do to him?”

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

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

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

beelzebub and woman regulus and unfinished sirius

MDNI. dark!luke castellan x fem!reader

you get captured by luke castellan, but not for the main purpose you think it’s for

warnings: dark!luke ( finally ), evil luke, capture (?, reader’s a nemesis child, wounds, teasing, flirty luke 😏, swearing, manipulation, seduction

₊˚⊹♡

The air felt chilly against the bare skin of your arms. Cold stone pressed against the back of your thighs as you sat huddled on the floor, the air thick with the unmistakable tang of salt. You were likely trapped somewhere near the sea, that much was clear.

A throbbing pain pulsed in your head, a relentless echo of the knockout that had sent you into a temporary darkness.

You strained your ears, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic crash of waves against distant shores. And then, a slight noise. Fidgeting. Straining your eyes in the gloom, you made out the silhouette of a figure standing motionless on the other side of the cold, rusty, iron bars. The figure shifted, and a voice cut through the silence.

"Comfortable?"

Luke drawled. You didn't respond, a defiant silence swirling within you. You refused to give him the satisfaction of a response, darting your gaze away.

"No words?" he pressed, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "Hm” he says, nodding. Luke's amusement morphed into a predatory glint. He walked closer to the bars, his movements deliberate, calculated. He crouched down, his frame lowering to your level on the floor dangerously. "I suppose you want this back" he said, his voice a low rumble.

He reached into the shadows beside him, producing a glint of metal. He tossed something through the bars, the object landing with a clatter at your feet.  It was your dagger.

You didn't reach for it, though the urge to snatch the weapon and fight your way out was strong. But again, what would it be useful for now? Cut his fingers off? Instead, you locked your gaze on a spot beyond him, your jaw clenched tight.

Luke chuckled, as if your stubbornness was something he was having fun with, but his words pierced; “Are you deaf or just dumb?”

"Fuck you" you spat, your voice surprisingly steady.

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Wow, you can talk" he said, his voice laced with mock surprise. "What? Not happy to see me?"

His smile twisted into a smirk, the amusement returning to his eyes, but this time it held a cruel edge. You glared at him, refusing to back down. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to remain silent.

With a sigh, as if he was tired of you already, he reached through the bars. His hand, calloused and strong, clamped around your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. The touch was cold and unwelcome in your skin.

He studied your face silently for a moment, his eyes lingering on the split lip you'd acquired during your capture. "I see you know how to put up a fight" he remarked, his voice low and gravelly. His dark gaze scanned your features as he tilted your head sideways, lingering on a small cut marring your cheekbone.

He was obviously enjoying this.The powerful dynamic.

His thumb followed the trail of blood from your split lip, tracing it down your chin before slowly lifting. You watched, a mix of disgust and a strange fascination warring within you, as he brought his thumb to his own mouth. His tongue darted out, swiping away the crimson stain before retreating back into his mouth.

"Too bad you're not capable of forming a sentence" he commented dryly, his voice laced with a cruel humor that sent chills down your spine.  "But you're pretty, I'll give you that."

You noticed the way his eyes snapped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. You clenched your jaw, a surge of defiance battling the fear that threatened to eat you. "What am I here for?" you blurted out, the need for answers overriding your cautious silence. "Why do you want me here?"

Luke seemed genuinely surprised for a moment. He leaned in closer, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you with a newfound intensity. "Why do you think?" he stated blankly, his voice devoid of the earlier amusement.

"One of the Furies," you began, piecing together the fragments of your capture. "She said you'd be pleased to see me. That I was hard to catch. Why?" You pushed yourself closer to the bars, the need for understanding warring with the terror in your chest. "Why, out of all the demigods you could take, am I here?"

A slow chuckle escaped Luke's lips. He leaned back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling of the cave for a moment as if contemplating his answer. Finally, he sighed, a hint of frustration flickering in his eyes.

"Well, let's just say..." he trailed off, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I've been looking for you for a while."

You scoffed. "Why?"

"Hm," he hummed, a sly smirk returning to his face. His hand reached through the bars once more, his finger working on placing a piece of your hair behind your ear, as if he was taking care of your appearance even in a moment so vulnerable like this.

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty?" he murmured, his voice a low, seductive whisper.  His eyes held you captive, a dark intensity that seemed to pierce through your very soul.

You jerked away from his touch, anger flaring within you. "Seriously, Luke," you spat. "I suppose you want me to join your army. But why? Why not take someone who's more powerful? More of a threat?"

A ghost of a smile played on Luke's lips. He reached out again sharply, surprising you, this time wrapping his hand around the back of your neck, holding you close to the bars.

"And who said you weren't powerful?" he countered, his voice surprisingly gentle despite his grip. "I know power when I see it, princess" he continued, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. "And you have more than you think you do."

You scoffed, a flicker of defiance igniting in your chest. "How are you so sure?" The question tumbled out, more of a challenge than a genuine inquiry.

His touch lingered on your neck, over your pulse. A single finger reached out, tilting your head back slightly for a deeper inspection.

"Because," he cooed, his voice surprisingly gentle for someone holding you captive. "I'm always right about these things."

His fingers, warm and calloused, began to trace a path up your cheekbone, eventually sinking into your hair. His touch sent conflicting signals through you – a primal fear warring with a strange sense of familiarity. The gentle massage of your scalp was a stark contrast to the harshness of your surroundings, a soothing melody amidst the chaos.

"You have your reasons, don't you?" he continued, his voice dropping to a soft murmur.  "You and your siblings – cast aside, ignored by the camp that should have put you under its wing? They haven't given you the chance to prove yourself as the warrior I know you are."

His words, laced with a deceptive sweetness, wormed their way into your ears. A flicker of truth resonated within them. Years of being ostracized at Camp Half-Blood, of being overlooked despite your relentless training, boiled up inside you. Luke's words, though spoken by the enemy, held a twisted validity and truth.

"You're strong" he continued, his voice a seductive melody. "And skilled. I've seen you."  He leaned in closer. "And here, with me, I´ll give you that value." His voice was like poison, sweet and tempting, whispering empty promises into your brain.

It was like a starving person being offered a delicious feast, and your loyalty, your very identity, felt like the price of admission.

"Besides," he added casually, leaning back slightly, "I'm sure you'd prefer to stay once I tell you your half-brother's here."

Luke's smirk widened as he noticed the shift in your gaze. "Ah, yes" he hummed, drawing out the word for dramatic effect. "Ethan. A great warrior, I must say."

His fingers continued their absentminded exploration, tracing patterns along your scalp. The touch, though unwelcome, held a strange sense of comfort – a twisted echo of the affection you craved and had never received. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed.

"He told me a lot about you," he murmured, his eyes lingering on your lips for a fleeting moment before returning to your defiant stare. "We could say," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper,  "He's a little eager to see you."

You shook your head, the initial wave of surprise receding. "So that's why you wanted me?" you asked, your voice regaining its strength. "Just another little soldier to play with?"

Luke's face hardened for a moment, the playful facade slipping. “Tsk” he clicked his tongue, "It´s not that" he countered, his voice firm. "You're useful," he stated flatly, his voice cold once more. "You're worthy. But you´re blind to your own skills."

He paused, his gaze intense. "I want to show you your value," he whispered.  "I want to show you the power you truly possess."

His hand moved again, his fingers wrapping a loose strand of your hair around his finger, tugging gently. "You´ll only grow stronger with each day under me" he continued, his voice low and seductive.

A flicker of vulnerability crossed your face, a flicker Luke noticed with a triumphant smirk. He was right. You couldn't deny the allure of his offer. Years of neglect at Camp Half-Blood had left a gaping hole in your heart, a yearning for recognition that gnawed at you constantly. There, wherever it is that he was, Luke offered a twisted form of acceptance, a chance to finally prove yourself.

He knew he had you on the ropes. He pulled you closer to the bars, the space between you shrinking to a mere breath.

"You'll explode your potential here, princess" he murmured, his voice a seductive rasp. "You'll never have to feel ignored ever again." And then, he smiled. "Not even by me" he added, the arrogance in his voice grating on your nerves.

Confusion clouded your mind. "What?"

Luke chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Some birdy told me you had a thing for me," he teased, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous amusement. "Is it true?"

His amusement was evident, a cruel glint dancing in his dark eyes. Memories swirled in your mind – a careless remark made to a friend, a fleeting crush held in the innocence and care of camp back then. You wanted to disappear, to melt into the shadows and escape his mocking gaze.

“Maybe not as much as you having a thing for me, but…” his fingers slowly traveled over the column of your neck, “more like you thinking I’m…” he hummed to himself as he thought of the word, “hot?” he finished, his grin widening with tease.

You remained silent, suddenly too aware of your own presence, and wanting to die of cringing. “See, that’s another reason why I wanted you here” he continued, “I already said it. You’re pretty” And then began a slow, agonizing torture.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, “With those lips,” he begins, “that pretty face,” he murmurs, his hand still trailing a path over your features. “those eyes, that hair...” he whispers, his fingers slowly moving back into your hair, tracing the length of it. But his praises didn’t stop there-

"That neck" he breathed out, needily. He used his thumb to tilt your chin upwards, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. You unconsciously let your eyes flutter shut.

He dared to trail his nails down your neck, a light scratch that sent goosebumps erupting across your skin. The touch, cruel and strangely arousing, left you breathless, stealing a little gasp from your lips.

He seemed to ignore you. "That perfect body" he stated, his voice low and husky, his eyes slowly traveling down your form. His gaze lingered on your curves, sending a flush of heat radiating from within you.

"You're like a little doll" he praised, as if he suddenly was possessed, under a spell. His words felt like a violation, a mockery of your strength and independence.

He let his index finger fall down your sternum, lingering provocatively at the dip between your collarbones, trailing a light path until it rested loosely against your chest. 

"So beautiful" he rasped, his voice laced with desire.  "So delicate."

He leaned just a bit closer. "Made to be touched. And I'm just the person to do it”

A strangled laugh escaped your lips, laced with a mix of disbelief and morbid amusement. "So what?" you scoffed, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the turmoil churning within you. "You want me as a warrior and-, yours?"

A sinister chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending shivers down your spine. "Now you're getting it, princess" he whispered, leaning closer so that his warm breath brushed against your cheek. "Be a soldier," he continued, each word a promise, a threat, a seduction rolled into one. "Let me train you. Let me unleash the potential you possess, and make them regret every time they overlooked you” he says.

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with a fiery intensity. "Let me," he breathed, his voice thick with unspoken desire, "let me touch you, and make you mine."

You remained silent, confusion and strangeness growing inside you. Oh how the tables have turned.

"You're a weapon" he breathed, his voice a near caress. "Sharp as a blade. You're meant to be trained, to be held." His voice dropped to a whisper, sending chills down your spine. "Your skills, your strengths, your body” He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with a predatory intensity. "By me."

His words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken threat clear. His grip tightened on the bars, knuckles turning white.

"And I want to hear every little sound that comes out of that pretty mouth you have" he added, his voice returning to its teasing tone. The lustful glint in his eyes was undeniable, leaving no room for doubt about his intentions.

"So, what will it be, angel?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Will you join the other side-, and become mine?"

He was playing you, of that you were certain. But a part of you, a part starved for validation, couldn't help but be swayed. The allure of power, the promise of respect, it all shimmered enticingly before you. And then there was him.  The arrogant smirk, the possessiveness that both repelled and intrigued you.

The weight of the situation, the tangled mess of emotions, it was all too much to bear. You wanted it all. The glory of battle, the thrill of power, the acceptance you craved. And Luke, with his seductive promises and unsettling touch, offered it all on a silver platter.

“Yes?” Luke asked, your silence taking more time than necessary.

"Yes," you whispered, the word heavy with betrayal and a strange sense of liberation. "I'm on your side, Luke."

Silence descended, thick and heavy. Then, a slow, sinister smile crept across Luke's face.

"Good girl" he purred, his voice laced with a chilling satisfaction.  "You know what's good for you-,

Welcome to the winning side”

winning side, lol

Loves of my life

The girls are partying to abba definitely

i got 3 reposts i’m so giddy ^_^

tysm y’all xx i’m thinking of writing a few one shots or even a full fic for tumblr n ao3 so if anyone has any ideas send them so my inbox!!

thinking about post-prank remus lupin who has NO FRIENDS and NO JOB and NO SNEAKY LINK. he gives the marauders the cold shoulder in the dorm room. he sneaks out in the middle of the night KNOWING the marauders are still awake. then he comes back to the dorm at 3 am, and passes out.

what’s he doing? talking shit with regulus.

their little ritual of meeting up to talk absolute dog shit about their friends started in remus’s third year when he was going through his little skinhead phase. regulus was having issues and would just read in the astronomy tower every night, until remus started showing up.

at first he’d tell him to fuck off, but regulus would eventually warm up to remus, forming a very quiet friendship.

remus would slowly stop showing up after gaining security in his friendship with the marauders, but was still nice to regulus.

that’s until the prank, of course.

post-prank remus CONSTANTLY visits the astronomy tower; he lives there. and so does regulus, even after all this time.

remus tells regulus all the shit his brothers been up to (leaving out the werewolf part, obviously) and regulus reciprocates the gesture with terrible tales about sirius.

eventually regulus tells remus about his weird attraction to james- how he gets flustered when james goes to shake his hand after a game of quidditch. how he even invites him to a few celebratory parties in the gryffindor common room. how it makes his head spin.

remus and regulus form a sort of alliance where the just complain about everything together. they don’t give advice, nor do they comfort each other- yuck. they just complain.

the thing about remus is that his friendships mend. they get fixed. he grows. remus doesn’t stay in the astronomy tower forever. regulus on the other hand, doesn’t have a choice. so when weeks pass without talking to remus, regulus remains bound to the quiet corner where they used to spend hours talking.

the strange thing about regulus and remus’s relationship is that it meant more to regulus than it did to remus, yet remus would act like regulus was his only real friend. until the marauders made it up to him again- leaving regulus alone yet again.