YEAH THIS GUYS GETS IT

there are genuinely not enough moonwater based fics omd

i’m opening my inbox for oneshot requests!! i write for most marauders ships and characters and i do x readers (except 90’s hogwarts and severus lol)

i am obsessed with this man i’m not okay

soulmate trope | various bnha x reader

summary: a villain’s quirk causes your class to be assigned soulmates.

uh, soulmates aren’t real. they’re fictional.

choose-yer-own-adventure oneshots. no one knows how to handle any of this, due to every single character being a dumbass.

anticipated characters: bakugou, shinsou, todoroki, monoma, aizawa, and maaaaaaybe one of the villains. haven’t decided.

Keep reading

i periodically enter my tedromeda phase where i can’t stop thinking abt these two idiots like…i love them

————

this broke me and put me together

⋆· ༘* love, every summertime !

pairing ★ jock!luke castellan x drum major!reader

synopsis ★ the one where you start over. or, a montage playing in the heat waves. (4.7k)

content ★ no reader pronouns, luke pov for finale chapter lfggg!!, long-distance relationship moments, silly silly teens, so much fluff it will make u sick to the stomach

notes ★ wc went crazy for the end of an era omagosh.... ily all so dearly, ty for making iss17 so very fun for me <3

series masterlist

Luke might be high, or something.

Except, he’s never gotten high before because he’s an athlete, and of course that’s bad in general for his health.

But you’re laying on his bed, back pressed into the mattress, arms stretched to hold his phone above your face, in a tank top because the heat’s starting to make the both of you woozy, so.

Maybe it’s the summer’s stifle getting to him. Even with his back pressed against the cold wall of his room, he can feel it—the oppressive lick of a heat wave settling over the city.

The spiral of the ceiling fan has already gone lazy, the sound of the blades’ chut-chutting petering out to a lame beat.

You tap your index finger against the back of his phone in the same rhythm, keeping time. A chime, half-flourishing and all-congratulatory, and you give a winning smile.

( Luke’s been looking for your smiles a lot, actually. There’s something in the sharp flash of your canines that make the vessels in his chest grow taut. )

“New streak,” you cut short some syllables and draw the others long; he knows you’re smug about beating his win streak. “I think I’m better at this than y—ack!”

The device slips loose from your hands and lands flat on your face. Luke doesn’t dare laugh aloud as he watches you process with your hands still frozen midair, but the way his body shakes the bed is telling.

You kick him with his phone still stuck to your nose. “Asshole.”

“Oh no, I must beg your forgiveness,” he croaks like an old, wizened man. Gandalf maybe, who knows—who cares, Luke’s picking his phone off your face and flopping down with an arm slung over you.

It’s too hot to share body heat, yea, but he’s Luke Castellan. Don’t care is his middle name.

“I’ll stop watching the GPs if you don’t.”

Oh, how scary.

“My poor baby,” Luke’s cooing out the term of endearment, pecking all over your face like a sap. He guesses he must be a maple tree then, syrupy-sweet. “Gravity got you bad, huh? Maybe we should go to space together and never have to worry about dropping your phone.”

You get your palm on his face, holding him and his mouth away. “Let me know if there are aliens on your solo trip to the asteroid belt.”

“That’s rude.”

“Okay?”

The moment you let your hand fall away, he’s hunting that spot of skin along the juncture of your neck that he knows is sensitive, attacking with his mouth and blowing a raspberry.

You squeak, thrash, jab your fingers under his jaw—ah fuck, now he’s the one squirming around, tearing up ‘cause why did he ever think it wise to tell you where he’s most ticklish?

“Stop,” Luke gasps into your neck, words stuttering as he hiccups his last giggles, “stop, I surrender.”

You pull your fingers away and he finds himself missing your touch already, no matter how mercilessly you’d tickled him.

Sun yellowed, careworn. An unmade bed and laying over blankets that should’ve been put away last season. Luke likes you like this, edges soft under the afternoon rays and sweat sticky on your temples.

Well, he likes you like this and likes you like that and just. Likes you whenever, wherever.

Yea, he just likes you. Totally casual, not that deep—you’ll probably drift apart come fall, when you separate for college. You raise a brow at his staring, pupils stretching, mouth just past ajar.

( The shape of you has long been carved into his bones. )

Okay, maybe he likes you a lot more than that, to the point where he hopes you don’t mind video calling too much.

♫ TV Girl ・ Taking What’s Not Yours

[ IMAGE: a snapshot taken in the reflection of a rearview mirror of a truck. Four teens sit in the vehicle—Luke at the wheel, you in shotgun, and Charles and Silena in the back. Charles holds up his hands in a ‘hang loose’ gesture, and Silena is laughing jubilantly. Luke is rolling his eyes. ]

Liked by beckydwarf, luvvbeaus and 264 others

majmajmaj snr ditch be everyday post-grad

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beckydwarf had me thinkin we got school tmrw 😭

↳ majmajmaj u praying for september to come quick huh

lukestellans 🩵

↳ travstole NASTAYYY ↳ conmanstole ig he found sm1 to match his 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴

Life on the road is scarce.

The only movement Luke can spot is with the tall grass lining the lane of cracked asphalt, lit by the twilight. He’s pulled over under the shadow of an apple tree and already Silena, Charles, and you are hounding him to unlock the doors of his dad’s pickup.

“Open up!”

You pull at the collar of your shirt. “Why’s it so hot in here…”

“My dad hasn’t fixed the AC.”

Charles, bewildered, “Why couldn’t he fix the AC?”

“He’s a lazy ass.”

Silena slaps the flat of her palm against the window. “Lucas Castellan, unlock the doors!”

“The fuck, my name’s just Luke?”

The locks pop open with a resounding snick, the cheerleader being the first to dart out and grab the things in the truck bed.

( Luke doesn’t doubt that she’s taking the first pick of soda for herself. )

He’s unbuckling and striding around the front in a blur, fast enough to beat you to the punch. Luke snags the handle and opens the door for you, all princely and angelic.

You give him a look that says—if he’s reading it correctly and not being delusional—free kisses when Charles and Silena are too preoccupied with staring into each other’s eyes.

He ends up being right. While the other couple are stargazing in the meadow, you sneak back to the cracked, curbless road, you climbing into the passenger seat and Luke begging to let him straddle you.

Kissing comes easy now, almost second nature. He knows that you like it slower, his hands balling in your shirt and yours at his waist.

Luke also knows that you go crazy when he has to tilt back to yank off his foggy glasses, because when he does, you dive back in and mumble a breathless fuck against his lips, which in turn drives him insane, so he grips the front of your shirt harder which in turn drives…well.

You get the idea.

Though it’s starting to get dark out—crickets starting choirs and all—Luke’s senses are still hyper-alert, soaking in every trace of you against him.

He’s about halfway down the trail he’s planning to blaze along the line of your throat when Silena coughs. Alright, maybe he isn’t as alert as he thinks he is.

“I think it’s time to go back,” she says, eyebrows raised and hand on hip and all.

“Uh,” Luke fixes his hair and tries to slide off your lap, but you’ve got your traitorous fingers hooked in his belt loops, “where’s Beckendorf?”

Right on time, the big drum major parts the tall grass with his…back? Charles moonwalks to the door, being careful not to make eye contact with anyone; he’s got his head in his hands too, wearing a veil of disappointment.

Charles groans, “I hate both of you.”

“Raise your hand if you’ve ever been personally victimized by Luke and major?” Silena suggests, and her boyfriend’s arm shoots up immediately.

“Right,” you cough, “sorry.”

That doesn’t stop you from drumming your fingers on Luke’s thigh—while he’s driving in the dark! A true show of restraint as—Charles and Silena slump against each other in their sleep.

TO: monza baby

(15:32) did u know percabeth works here or (15:32) they r staring at me w beady ass eyes scary asfff 😨

FROM: monza baby

(15:34) NOWHERE in this town is safe istg 😭😭

“Need another sample?”

Percy’s grin is all too wide, teeth gleaming under the bright lights in the yogurt shop. He’s got his eyes curved into joyful crescents, but his creepy little irises still manage to peer out.

Annabeth stands behind him, a similar expression on her face, just without the creepy eyes. She holds out a small cup, paper gone flimsy between her fingers.

Little shits.

Luke takes the sample cup with a ginger hand and steps back cautiously to join you by the dispenser wall.

“Little shits,” he mumbles, craning his neck so that his mouth meets the shell of your ear. “How’d they both manage to score a job here?”

( It’s not like it’s hard to get a job at the yogurt shop. Luke got his first paycheck here, just before sophomore year; that summer, the heat had been suffocating, and on top of that, the AC was broken.

He doesn’t know if you remember it, but you came in with your friends during the deadest hour of the day. At high noon, with the aircon broken, the yogurt came out in spurts of watery mush. You tipped him nonetheless. )

You laugh softly, mulling over your options. Strawberry, plain tart, mango, etc. Luke doesn’t really care which one he’ll taste on your lips later.

“Short staffed, probably,” you tell him. “Or maybe they said they were from Kane Academy. Everyone knows that Mr. Boreas hates kids from ZC.”

“Honestly, his beef with the staff is insane,” he says, pulling down one of the levers.

A gentle hum permeates the cool, quiet atmosphere as the yogurt—solid this time, not like a few years ago with the broken AC—slides easily into his sample cup.

You lean over, tongue scooping over the top of the sample. “Didn’t you work here? I swear I remember you in that stupid apron.”

Luke’s raising the cup up to his mouth when you say that. He coughs, “Uh, just for a week or so. Needed money to buy my sports gear.”

“Right, ‘cause your dad didn’t want to pay unless it was for track or cross.”

“Yep.”

“Man, he’s a shitty guy. I’m honestly glad to be free from Heralds.”

Sudden, “I thought you said you liked it.”

Luke pivots to face Annabeth. She gazes up at the two of you with wide doe eyes, innocent and completely innocuous.

As if Luke doesn’t know how much of a gremlin she really is.

You shrug at her, eyes narrowing at the fact that she and Percy have been eavesdropping. “It’s mid as hell, I just couldn’t say so since I was the editor. Join yearbook instead, the cameras are way nicer.”

Luke jerks his head back. “Nah, yearbook was ass. Nobody knew anyone’s names—like, half the pictures are unlabeled or just wrong.”

Annabeth stares for a still moment, processing. Percy is looking over from behind the register, straining over the counter with his feet hanging off the floor.

The girl laughs, lips peeling away from her teeth, eyes squeezing shut with her hands on her stomach and all. Luke looks at Percy—the boy’s jaw has gone slack, eyebrows rising, blinking slowly like he can’t believe it.

Percy Jackson is fucking starstruck through the goddamn heart for the kid Luke has considered a sister since forever. You’re laughing with her too—a smear of yogurt stark on your bottom lip, mouth tilting in that crooked grin he’s learned to love.

Maybe it’s not that bad, after all. Luke looks at you like that too, even though he’ll never admit it.

lukestellans posted a story ・ 3h

[ IMAGE: a candid photo of you standing bleary in front of a TV with a bowl of popcorn in hand, dressed in an old sleep shirt and basketball shorts. You’re facing away from the camera and gazing at the screen which has zoomed in on the F1 Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc. He is wearing his helmet with the visor flipped up, eyes shining as he looks at something offscreen. The caption in the lower right-hand corner reads: mr steal ur bae. ]

majmajmaj replied to your story:

AND WHO WAS RHE ONE WAKING ME UP AT 6 AM TO PARTICIPATE IN HIS FORZA FERRARI RITUAL !!!

luvvbeaus replied to your story:

AS IF UR NOT THE SAME. GOOFY AHH MF 💀

You peer at him with your eyes at half-mast over the slope of your bicep, where the sleeve of your sleep shirt has ridden up.

“If you kiss me right now, we’re breaking up.”

Over the course of the night, you’ve buried yourself deeper into his bed—stomach to the mattress, one arm slung over a throw from the couch, another wrapped around a head pillow. The singular, thin sheet has long been kicked off, and his ceiling fan is at full blast to ease the heat, if only vaguely.

It’s about half past six in the morning; sun just beginning to wake, crickets disbanding choirs. And Luke, in all his stale, sleepy glory, goes whaaaaaat. You level him with a look, eyes going narrow and nose wrinkling.

( Your eyelashes have crust clinging to the roots, and maybe there’s a spot of dry saliva on your cheek. Luke think it’s the cutest you’ve ever been. )

Emphatic, “I’m serious. No liplocks with morning breath.”

He sinks back into his pillows with a discontented hum, hopes that you can hear his eyes rolling around in their sockets. “You’re so mean.”

“Brush your teeth first.”

Luke responds only with his knee, wrapping around the back of your own. The action pulls you closer, chilled skin on chilled skin—well, his skin isn’t ever chill near you. He just hopes the sun hasn’t gone too high to shine light on the warmth blooming in his cheeks.

Your sleep shirt is all rumpled. Sclera tinging with the barest, bloodshot red. Gaze unfocused, blinks slow and breaths even slower.

“I thought you said the race started around noon,” you murmur, words eddying with each rotation of the fan; nearly lost to the same old, lame chut-chut of its blades. “‘S too early, yea?”

Even quieter than you, “But we gotta get the snacks out and give some to Saint Leclerc.”

Luke watches your eyes rove, landing on the A4-size cutout of the Ferrari driver’s face pasted over the image of a saint. It watches over the frame of his door, left noticeably open to appease his parents—well, his mom more than his dad.

( He just printed it out to be funny. He doesn’t really have a Ferrari shrine, though he has a whole shelf dedicated to mini Mercedes models. )

Your gaze returns, more alert and awake, and you tilt your hand slightly forward to wrap one of his curls around your finger. It sends something racing up his spine in a tingle.

“Are the two religions of Italy really the Catholic Church and Ferrari?”

Luke’s laugh is muffled by his pillow. “Maybe.”

♫ Djo ・ Roddy

[ IMAGE: a living room in the late morning. The afternoon has just risen, curls of sunlight streaming in through the shuttered blinds while the rest of the space is lit by a TV screen. It is showing the live broadcast of a race. Luke is leaning forward on the couch, elbows on knees, head in hands, and very clearly distressed. ]

Liked by anniebethc, luvvbeaus, and 127 others

majmajmaj anw who’s that guy in orange…?

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lukestellans not bothering to steer u away when my forzas cant even ferrari

↳ luvvbeaus so if i said that max is a hottie u wont kill me right ↳ lukestellans but he is?? ↳ perciusjakcsn ^ WOAHH WAIT A DAM MINUTE 🫵🤨

Halfway through the race, in the middle of a yellow flag that’ll definitely turn into a safety car, Luke takes a glance at you.

The screen is reflecting in your eyes, glassy and all-enthralling. He watches a race car fly across your pupils, traces the track winding around the circumference of your irises.

Luke thinks about Saint Leclerc guarding his door. Could he grant the wish where you’ll still be here—settled into the couch with a half-eaten bowl of popcorn in your lap, eyes glued to the drivers taking a chicane—next summer?

FROM: monza baby

(9 mo) when r u loading up

TO: monza baby

(9 mo) alr packed (9 mo) leaving next week n miss u already 😞

FROM: monza baby

(8 mo) u up?? its like 3 am here

TO: monza baby

(8 mo) ots 5 here GO TO SLEEP

FROM: monza baby

(8 mo) damn not even a good night

TO: monza baby

(8 mo) its actually good morning but wtvr

[ video call from suzuka boy… ]

TO: monza baby

(7 mo) u comin home for winter break?? (7 mo) jst booked a flight back next week 😁

FROM: monza baby

(7 mo) break started early LMAOO alr back in town

TO: monza baby

(7 mo) LFG NEW YEARS KISS !!!

TO: monza baby

(7 mo) bad news 😞

He coos at the blurry you on the screen. The wi-fi here back in his dorm is ass, and the audio gets jumbled more often than not, but at least he can see most of the details of you. Still, he’d prefer it if he could see you in person.

You look like you might be in bed, covers pulled up to your neck; it’s hard to know that only a while ago, you’d been sleeping with the summer sheets, cottons soft and breathable.

Now, Luke would give anything to burrow under a thick blanket with you.

“Sorry, baby,” Luke sighs, laying his head on his desk. Outside, there’s a storm raging in the dark, rattling the windows. “Nothing’s going right. Flight cancelled, everything’s all booked until after break. Can’t even give you your first New Year’s kiss in person.”

“‘S—…ine,” you say. “It’s—…etter to be safe than—…orry.”

“Yea.” Luke lets a soft laugh escape his throat. It comes out choked. “Just miss you, is all.”

You smile, the edges of your mouth pixelating on his screen. “Me too. What time—…over there?”

Luke knows that you know; you have a clock with his time zone on your phone, and he yours. But you ask anyway, because being able to hear his voice when you aren’t half-asleep on your textbooks is a blessing in itself.

“Almost midnight.”

Somewhere on the far-off horizon, Luke can hear the distant pop of premature fireworks. It takes his thoughts by the hand to last spring, in that little Ferris wheel car—everything had been so easy then, with all the muddled carnival lights and sugar-rushed highs.

If time would allow it, he’d go back again and kiss you right there at the apex of the Ferris in all its gently lit glory; maybe that way, you’d have more memory of being together than apart like this. But as they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder…so.

You make a sound akin to a laugh, and upon hearing it, Luke feels like his sternum might crack. “We just fin—…dinner here. Maybe we—…blow a kiss over—…phone?”

( Even now, sleepy with a full stomach, you’re always coming up with the ideas that make him question his own senses—why didn’t he think of that before? Not that he minds being the brawn to your brains, even though it’s reversed half the time. Distanced or not, Luke’s always going to be fond of you. )

He can feel his eyelids start lowering to half-mast and his mouth make the barest, upwards tilt; watching the feed of himself at the top corner of the call, he’s almost taken aback by how smitten he looks.

“It’s 11:59 now.” A pause, and he just basks in the sound of your soft, bated inhales. Maybe if he closes his eyes, he can imagine that you’re sleeping in the same bed, knees hooked around each other and fingers knotted together. “Thirty seconds to midnight, baby.”

It passes in a haze.

We should count together.

‘Kay.

20—…18, 17, 16, 15—…12, 11, 9—wait, that’s not right.

He laughs softly, continues: 8, 7, 6.

You say the last numbers—5, 4, 3, 2, 1—together, and there’s a silent off-beat because you fumbled and skipped 10. He laughs again, and you’re with him, and then there’s fireworks and cheers from the other kids who couldn’t make it home.

Happy New Year, Luke.

Where my kiss at?

( The first words of the year, and he’s asking for a kiss already. )

Luke turns his face to the side, pointing at his cheek with an absurd exaggeration. He hears you pucker and blow a kiss, pretends that you’re really here and putting your lips to his; when he looks back at his phone, you’re looking at him with those half-lidded, hazy eyes—the kind where he can almost see the hearts lining your pupils.

And to make it fair, because he’s always been nothing but fair for you, Luke stays on call until it’s midnight at home to send his kiss bouncing along the satellites and wishing you a happy new year.

( And many more. )

FROM: monza baby

(6 mo) happy vals !! ur honestly the best bf like idk where id be if the Prom Incident did not happen

TO: monza baby

(6 mo) happy vals! and im literally ur first and only bf so far

FROM: monza baby

(6 mo) !!! (6 mo) AND YK WHAT WE SHOULD KEEP IT THAT WAY 😁

TO: monza baby

(6 mo) OH STOPPP IM BLUSHING

FROM: monza baby

(6 mo) ur never beating the babygirl allegations i just know u kicking ur feet

TO: monza baby

(6 mo) WHO TOLD U THAT 😨

FROM: monza baby

(5 mo) so abt spring break (5 mo) the cancelled flight curse struck ME this time

TO: monza baby

(5 mo) HUH WHAT

FROM: monza baby

(5 mo) long story short, parents abroad, flight cancelled, cant come back bc i dont have a key (5 mo) but srsly i rlly miss u like why does this always happen…. 😔😔

TO: monza baby

(5 mo) next time next time,,, miss u too 💔 (5 mo) my mom’s crying in her head rn bc she had all the musubi stuff ready for u

FROM: monza baby

(5 mo) NOOOO tell may im so sorry and give her a hug! u better eat all that spam on call i need to live thru u vicariously 😭😭

FROM: monza baby

(3 mo) happy birthday to the best guy around (ig??)

TO: monza baby

(3 mo) turning a blind eye to the last part LMOAOAO (3 mo) but thank you, ur literally the best ever ily 🩵

FROM: monza baby

(3 mo) woah think i just passed out hi…. ily2

TO: monza baby

(3 mo) have u ever regretted choosing ur major bc engineering uhhhh (3 mo) [ GIF: a crying emoji with its hands up, disintegrating ]

FROM: monza baby

(3 mo) glad u asked bc the answer is EVERY FUCKING DAYY 💀

FROM: monza baby

(2 mo) and if i said anniversary then what !!

TO: monza baby

(2 mo) I WAS ABT TO TEXT THAT HEY

FROM: monza baby

(19:00) wya the games starting (19:00) first time i see u in 9 months and we r lost already 😭😭

TO: monza baby

(19:01) wdym “we r lost” its just u (19:01) im in the stands close to band,, if u see percy then he’s next to me (19:01) THE SIDE EYE HE IS GIVING ME ITS LETHAL SEND HELP RN!!!!!!

It’s just a midsummer practice game on home turf, but Luke knows his team’s been grinding to make it possible.

Well, it’s not even his team anymore, but he still feels responsible for that rowdy group of kids in that stinky locker room next to the sports medicine classroom. Maybe that’s why he dropped twenty dollars—ten dollars per ticket, just to see an unofficial match!—so he could finally see you in person again.

It’s just practice for everyone—band camp requires at least one live practice, so the newer kids are shuffling around the back, instruments unsure in their hands as the boys who just made varsity jog in place to shake off their jitters.

( You both have only seen games from the field and never the stands. He remembers that first touchdown at the beginning of senior year, remembers looking back to the bleachers and spotting you in uniform; brows tight, arms crossed, haloed in the floodlights. He thinks he might have fallen in love with you there. )

Nine months. Four quarters, two semesters, a couple breaks; none of which you’d spent together. Luke can’t expect you to be the same; hell, he’s changed during his freshman year in uni.

Annabeth and Percy would be juniors come September. Travis graduated, and so did Ethan and Sherman and Alice; Connor is drum major, Michael Yew is the captain of the football team, and the memory of you and Luke only lives with the upperclassmen. The freshmen don’t even know who you are.

It’s a cold comfort.

Luke doesn’t even hear the whistle go off to signal another play, because he finds that your touch is sliding between the gaps of his hands, warmth bleeding into his side.

The stands rise in time for some kid’s touchdown—and that’s Jason Grace catching the ball in the endzone! What a stunning play, he transferred from Jupiter High and he’s already scoring so well for Zeus City—but it doesn’t really matter.

He can’t hear any of it; the screams, the band playing the fight song, the cheerleaders going Z! C! H! S!

All he knows is your fingers knotted in his, you with your crooked and tilted grin, you sitting next to him and waving hi to Percy in the drum section and Annabeth with the flutes and flipping off Connor with his silly baton.

( You. )

Luke squeezes your hand, a heartbeat rhythm. “Hi, major.”

You hold him just as tight, and he has to take a breath because his chest feels full and ready to burst. “Hey, Castellan. Miss me?”

Fuck yes, he does. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder—not that he’ll admit it openly, but if the two of you weren’t somewhere with a lot of eyes, he’d be having a repeat of the Prom Incident.

But you’re here in the bleachers, not in uniform and just a bit older, more mature than you were when he last saw you, and honestly, Luke wouldn’t have it any other way.

Zeus City High School Varsity Football isn’t his team anymore. Luke doesn’t go to this school, he hasn’t been in the area for months. But when you stay sitting as everyone else stands to cheer, leaning closer until your soft breaths brush his cheek and he lets you press a chaste kiss to his mouth—it feels like homecoming.

♫ Ariana Grande ・ Daydreamin’

[ IMAGE: a snapshot of you and Luke sitting together on the bleachers while everyone else is standing in the moment. Luke has his varsity jacket in his lap, facing away from the cameraman, head tilted to wholly give you his attention; you are wearing a shirt with the names of everyone in marching band and looking at him with your mouth just past ajar, saying something with a small grin. ]

Liked by majmajmaj, perciusjakcsn and 273 others

conmanstole so sick they got me pulling out ARIANA

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majmajmaj I MAY BE RETIRED BUT NO PHONES ONTHE FIELD TFFFF !!!

↳ conmanstole IF U SNITCH I SWEAR

beckydwarf ariana is a queen wdym #CONNORSTOLLNOTMYDRUMMAJOR 🙄

↳ lukestellans #CONNORSTOLLNOTMYDRUMMAJOR vs #CASTELLANSUCKSASS who will win....

perciusjakcsn ?? @.anniebethc

↳ anniebethc Yogurt shop. Tomorrow, after practice. ↳ perciusjakcsn !!!!!!

p.s. ★ full circle!! boy what a journey.....challenged myself to not get teary but the moment i wrote "it feels like homecoming" i just lost it,, begging for ygs to share ur feedback, i love watching ppl scream and go crazy w me <33

sharing is caring, please reblog & interact ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᡣ𐭩

luke tags; @melllinaa @amortencjja @arsonnaire @ma1dita @m00ng4z3r @ishouldbepushindaisies @witch-lemon @ahh-chickens @spiderbeam @jennapancake @traumatrios @omg--bluexx @dangelnleif @apolloscastellan @hiraethavis @lukecastellandefender @bookshelfminstrel @cherr-y-eji @solangelotus @liviessun @thaliagracesgf @ddarling-ddearest-ddead @l1a-pjosversion

© klineinie 2024 :: do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or use ANY works to train ai

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 :)

why is this photo the header for the luke castellan x reader tag . IS IT JUST ME OR IS THIS THE PHOTO???

my fic was not even that good n doesn’t even have the most notes whatttt ?????

best friends best friends best friends

a study session you wouldn't want to interrupt

they're smiling but

THIS IS SOOO CRAYZ GUYS THIS IS SO CRAZY

the last days of judas iscariot — luke castellan + reader : betrayal hurts the saints the most. 

tags : mdni, dark!luke, angry kissing, religious imagery & symbolism, body worship, angst and smut, love confessions, p in v sex, corruption kinks, implied blood kink, hints of cannibalism

there was something off about luke castellan. 

he used to be caring, sweet and selfless— he did everything for the people around them, offered them smiles even if it was difficult on his lips, did anything to ease their pain, built himself up into a saint. but eventually, saints will fall, whether it be their own doing, or a martyrdom. 

this was no martyrdom, he was not crucified, strung up on an olive tree, nor stoned. 

this was a conscious decision that nobody else, besides his own self, would understand. it was so, so unlike him, luke was never one to betray the people around him, well, at least he didn’t portray himself that way. if you really knew luke, you’d know how much he hated the gods, he felt as though he was a despicable creation of theirs, and he’ll return the same despising looks. 

but the story starts days before that, luke was as he always was. he offered you a smile from across the training field, and you returned it full - heartedly, waving at him. he moves to approach you, ignoring his sparring partner, “hey, do you need a partner?” 

you glance around for a second, “don’t you already have one?” 

his lips curve to a smirk, “i’d rather be with you.” 

luke castellan had a thing for flirting with you, even if he was just being a tease, and didn’t entirely mean what he said— sometimes you thought he didn’t, or he never did, but in all honesty, he meant everything. 

he admired you beyond proper comprehension, and you did the same with him. having been friends for years, it was no shock when your gazes would linger on each other for longer than they should, when he would do anything to make you smile even if it costs him his reputation. 

on the first day, luke was as he always was, confident, grinning and sweet. 

then the second day came, and luke’s smiles began to fade faster, he looked more tired, there was a certain mournful air that clung to his skin and radiated off of him. you picked up on it immediately, frowning at him and pulling him off to the side even when he was busy, “are you okay?” 

“what?” his saliva feels thick in his mouth, like globs of nectar that feel poisonous underneath their sweet skin. 

“i said— luke, what’s going on?“ you can’t deny how he seems to be out of order on everything, he was even fighting angrier, too, with a revengeful glint in his eye. 

“i really, really don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“yes, you do.” 

and it only got weirder from there, on the third day, he looked straight up exhausted, like he hadn’t slept the past two nights, and now he was being told to take a break from sword fighting because of how rough he was being. smiles were common from him now but cut off quick, and laughs became rare. he wasn’t trying to make anyone else around him smile or laugh, and he always just looked angry, guilty angry. 

when you waved at him, he didn’t wave back, nor approach you. 

he didn’t want to speak to anyone, so he just didn’t talk. 

he’s suffering from something, you just don’t know what, and whenever you asked him, he shrugged it off with, “i’m just tired.” 

“i know, you look really tired, luke, do you need melatonin?” 

his teeth grit together, and the taste of nectar in his mouth had disappeared, now it was all just bitter poison, “i need to be left alone.” 

“luke—“ 

“please leave me be.” 

if anyone were to ask you now, they’d know you regret leaving that night, not forcing him to speak about it with you. the next night, another camper told you about what luke had done, and you hate the way you don’t feel entirely shocked, not even a little bit, not even at all. 

luke castellan had a fig tree branching out in front of him, so many possibilities, so many stories to be told, and yet his fingers wrapped around the only rotten fruit on the whole ripe tree. two thousand years ago, there was a man exactly like luke, one who went by the name judas, and in luke’s complete distaste of the bible and anything to do with it— he found himself undeniably following the same path of the man who betrayed jesus. 

“ i desire the things

that will destroy me

in the end ”

  — sylvia plath. 

it was a bad idea to seek out luke that night, you knew it well, and luke knew it too when he frowned at you almost immediately after seeing you. he was still in the woods, only alone now, closer to the shore, closer to the riper fig that called his name— the one labeled captain. 

“why are you here?“ his tone is sharper, harsher, but you don’t shy away. 

“why’d you do it?” you watch him visibly swallow at the question, as if he doesn’t want to answer it, even when it’s on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason it would hurt to say out loud. 

he bites the bullet, “you know— the gods, they’re awful, don’t you think they deserve this?“ 

“is that where your heart lies?” the question seems to scorch his skin more than the last, because it’s just a continuous waking to what he’s truly done, how the prophecy haunts him even in his desperate attempts to evade it. 

“i’ve suffered enough, because of them, because of him— so yes, that is where it lies.” 

“you think your suffering is just a one way street?” you pester, anger bubbling in your veins— this was selfish, entirely selfish, he was never the selfless man you once knew, this wasn’t the luke you knew, “it’s not, it wasn’t— you had the chance, luke, to deprive yourself from it.” 

“are you just here to lecture me?” luke’s jaw locks. 

“why are you being like this?” 

luke’s eyebrow twitches, as if he’s mentally debating saying it out loud, but albeit all odds, his lips part, “why don’t you ask that guy you’ve been hanging out with?” 

“what?” it’s hard to realize certain things when you’ve been so focused on one person, you were so caught up on your fears for luke you didn’t even realize that the whole time you were thinking of him, you were blatantly speaking with another man in front of his eyes. 

to the trained eye, they’d know you never had any real feelings for the man you spoke with, but luke was too blinded by his own guilt and resentment that he didn’t realize it himself. it was a wild string of miscommunications formed into a single spider’s web, exactly like judas’ betrayal of jesus. 

INTERLUDE : JUDAS ISCARIOT ( A STUDY ) 

judas iscariot is often portrayed as the traitor in the story, fueled by greed and his resentment that jesus has something he never will. in the original story, judas is put in the narrative as satan’s pawn, judas’ fate is already written down, and he has no way of pushing it back. satan selects him from a group as he is weak, easily moved, and satan had possessed him body and soul and lived out his personal purpose through the vessel. 

the son of perdition : the one doomed to destruction. 

god personally protected all of his other saints from satan, so why not judas? why was judas never enough? was he never righteous enough to be saved? jesus loved him, jesus held his face in his holy hands, and yet he never shielded him. 

judas is a pawn, a thief, a coward, and a denier of the lord. 

judas, in all fairness, is the spitting image of luke castellan. 

“is it ever anybody else, luke?” 

as if arrow met skin, luke’s brows furrow together like you’ve hit him. 

there’s a pause, a deafening silence. 

“i miss you,” you speak again. 

luke’s nose crinkles, “uh-huh.” 

“i miss you, luke.” 

luke castellan is going to hell tonight, he’s going to be scorched in the underworld, so he bites his tongue and he moves in. the kiss is angry, teeth clashing, tongues twisting, lips bruising, but luke wouldn’t want it any other way. he wonders that if, in this kiss, do you forgive him? having been someone praised by the gods, the favored one, did you forgive the one who seemingly betrayed them to most? 

the kiss says how could you? and i’m sorry at the exact same time. 

his hands are quick to grip on your skin like you were his lifeline, tugging you in closer, and smiling against your lips when you melt into his touch so easily. you knew how cruel of a man he was, all the things he did wrong, all the people he had hurt— and yet you’re easing against him like he’s a saint. 

his teeth show his hunger well, nipping at your lip until you hiss and pull away with blood bubbling from a fresh wound. at first, he wants to smile, but he finds some mercy, moving his hand to hold your chin, thumb smudging the blood, “‘m sorry, didn’t mean to, swear.” 

you knew he was lying, you knew he wanted to see you bleed, he liked the way your skin trembled under his touch, the way that even when shock dilates your pupils— you don’t want to pull away from him. in fact, something about it is oddly attractive to you, how sick is that. 

his other hand grips your waist, fingers curling cruelly, “could i..” 

undress you? touch you? luke isn’t sure of the proper words, they sit on the tip of his tongue, but something has him too afraid to say it so bluntly. that’s ironic, considering he didn’t hesitate to steal and lie. luke was still the loser he’s always been, deep down, he’s never known how to actually speak to women. 

you knew this well, it was something you always made fun of him for, but now you only smile sweetly at him. “of course, luke.” 

luke’s hands are desperate when they move to take off your clothes, quick and ruthless, but still so caring at the same time. it was confusing with luke, everything he did had two different sides that would merge together in an unlikely unison. harsh and gentle, bitter and sweet, mean and kind. 

his brows furrow when he dips in, pressing his lips to the skin of your neck, pushing you back into the scratching bark of the tree behind you. adam and eve, right after the bites of the apple offered to them. luke wants to sink his teeth into you, to bite until he draws blood, to devour you whole and call you his. 

that’s… normal, right? 

he doesn’t care, he’s only focused on the shallow breaths that pass by your lips with every scrape of his teeth on the skin being pulled between his lips. his fingers lead themselves further, dipping below the waistband of your underwear and further until you’re gasping and gripping at his wrist. 

“luke.. luke,” you plead, whimpering out for his fingers to have some mercy on your clit— luke ignores you, focused on the pleasure that’s coursing underneath your skin. he memorizes the thump of your pulse against his lips on your neck, the way it speeds up when his fingers dare to graze your entrance. you want it so bad, and it’s taking everything in luke to not be a cocky asshole about it. 

he eventually pulls away from your neck to admire his work, “have you always wanted me to touch you like this?” 

there’s something so poetic about someone who has betrayed the gods you love the most, ruining you. you truly could be awarded for how much you worshiped them, so unlike to everyone around you. they thought their parents were like anybody else, albeit just a little cooler, but you— you felt like a prophet. 

maybe you were, maybe luke was. 

maybe when the oracle whispered the prophecy she mentioned the fall of a saint, and the way he tugged another down with him. 

you look at him fondly, lips parted and puffy from biting, “always.. please.” 

please ; a simple plea, but it makes luke grin like a devil. his eyes follow your hands when you move to undo his belt, tugging at his jeans as if his fingers aren’t making your knees buckle. luke licks his lips, and finally allows you some mercy when his fingers leave your underwear, although you frown from the loss of friction. “i’ll make it up to you, yeah?” 

luke’s boxers and jeans are falling to the floor in seconds, he stifles a chuckle at your shocked expression to his size, only growing cockier and cockier with each second of this ordeal. it reaches it’s peak when he’s pushing into you, hand on your thigh holding up your leg with ease. 

his nose brushes against your cheek, whispering sweet nothings in between faint grunts with each thrust. you’re so pretty, always dreamed of this, better pray the gods aren’t watching. the last comment should piss you off, but it doesn’t, not at all— in fact, it only makes you wetter, the idea that the people you have given everything for are watching you being fucked by someone who despises them. 

his free hand moves up to your neck, wrapping around the bruised skin there, and gripping it enough to barely constrict your air flow. 

due to the choking, and the force of his thrusts, along with all his taunting words, it doesn’t take long for you to cum on his dick— and he doesn’t last long either. 

he finds himself panting against you, slowly pushing out. 

“you really should pray for forgiveness.” 

ik houd van pech jackson en de olympiërs 😭

ik krijg het boek misschien in het nederlands omdat ik beter wil worden in het lezen van nederlands

ik ben zo slecht in nederlands omd ‼️

post-prank marauders being awkward 😬