I Hate It When I Look At My Screen Time And It’s 5 Hours On Tumblr. What Is This?? 2012???

luke can put backbiter to my chin like that idc

u ever remember one of your fandoms "oh yeah thats right im into this too" and then dive head first into the rabbit hole again

going thru my inbox today!! get excited y’all 😋

luke castellan avid manspreader

yeah this is it this is the one yeah YOU NEVER MISS YOU NEVER MISS

very slightly suggestive content; fem!reader

thinking about luke castellan being all giggly, trying so hard to pull you away from whatever you're doing for just fifteen minutes. its the same promise he makes over and over again, falling from his pink lips as easy as breathing.

and each time, you basically refuse to believe him. pushing his hands away from your hips and waist, dodging his kisses with laughs you can't disguise. "luke," you say over and over again, trying to get him to break off from his spew of convincing arguments and listen to you.

"it'll be quick, babe, I promise. just need to kiss you a little bit. missed your lips all day. gods, you smell so good too."

it's almost impossible to ignore him when he's pressing ticklish kisses into the crook of your neck, under your jaw, over your shoulders once he has your shirt thrown off (somehow).

and when that doesn't work, you try to get sterner. "castellan," you say, voice briefly losing the humor as you warn him.

he looks at you with teasing eyes, probably noticing the way your tone doesn’t meet your gaze as he sings out a small “oo” through pursed lips.

"you know how much i like it when you call me that. really does something to me.” he has one of your hands in his, guiding it down to his crotch where he encourages you to feel the bulge there.

you force yourself to recoil, but it’s not genuine. your hands meekly push at luke’s chest, creating distance between you two as he sends you a grin.

that’s all it takes for you to fist his shirt in one hand and pull him close again.

“just make it quick for real. i have shit to do.”

his head tilts, he pulls you even closer by your belt loops. he smiles, nudges your nose with his, then tells you, “yes ma’am” as he kisses you.

this is the best thing since sliced bread.

part two immediately.

⋆· ༘* god, it's brutal out here !

pairing ★ jock!luke castellan x drum major!reader

synopsis ★ the one where the football team hasn’t won a game in a nearly a decade. luke castellan changes some things. (4k)

content ★ no pronouns used for reader, bad teenager humor, inaccuracies bc i am not a band kid, very vague smau, not proofread, best viewed on mobile

notes ★ when i tell u that i switched writing styles for this, jubi and iss17 r so different. pls enjoy the crack tho, bc frankly, i think im hilarious

series masterlist

Opinion | Football team reaps the rewards it does not deserve

Heralds Vol. 77, Issue 1

Zeus City High School’s VAPA groups have won more championships that the football team ever has. Just last school year, marching band took sweepstakes in nearly every round, placing first in regionals and second in nationals. Other groups such as cheer, choir, and color guard also took competitions by storm, setting the highest win rate in the history of the high school.

However, their efforts aren’t as recognized as the football team, even though ZCHS hasn’t won a single game in a decade. Meanwhile, performing arts struggles with the leftovers of the football team’s funding.

“It’s really unfair and discouraging,” freshman Percy Jackson provided in a statement. “It’s my first year in band and I had to duct tape my broken snare harness because we don’t have money for new ones. Look, the football team got new equipment and a locker room renovation. My recycled uniform smells like […] and they get custom practice jerseys.”

Jackson’s sentiment is shared widely among the student body associated with VAPA. Members such as junior Miranda Gardener feel that their passions are put aside for a sport that contributes nothing to the school other than spirit.

“Being in color guard is stressful, especially because a lot of us take hard classes, too,” said Gardener. “I love performing, but I’ve honestly thought about not trying out again because we work hard for nothing, and the people who barely work get everything.”

The administration office and football team have not reached out in response to inquiries.

It’s around that time of year where you could walk out of the classroom and see four people blowing their nose down the hall and one person pretending to use the bathroom but really just searching up the answers to a test.

Luke Castellan is one of them. Your fingers are picking at the edge of the hall pass, a click click against the plastic that echoes hollow in the hall.

He hears you coming, back curled in the position he’s taken over the water fountain. Castellan gives you a cursory glance, goes back to drinking, and then looks at you again. You walk faster.

Double-take, his spine unfurls to stand upright, wrist wiping away the droplets on his mouth.

“So I read your article,” he says right as you cross tangent paths. He leans against the wall, pseudo-casual, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. “Just wanna let you know that football’s definitely gonna get a win this sea—your pass is a toilet seat?”

Your face burns, heat licking from your neck to forehead. Your eyes flick to a deflated rubber duck sitting atop the fountain’s porcelain edge, the tail of which is punched out and threaded with a tag that reads HALL PASS.

“And yours is a bath toy?”

Red blooms over the high of Castellan’s cheeks, and he snatches the duck off the fountain, hiding it behind his back.

“Shut up,” he grits, the bath toy making an airy sound in his tightening fingers. “Who even let you write that article anyway?”

“I’m the editor-in-chief,” you say, smug-like, shrugging like it’s nothing. You take a look at his face, the downward draw of his brown and the brutal set of his mouth.

Castellan’s exhale comes out from his nostrils in a hiss, jaw feathering.

“We’ll win this season,” he says, low, quiet. He’s so close that you can almost see something wading in the dark, inky pool of his pupil. “I’m making sure of it.”

( How did you go from casual conversation to this? )

“Is that on or off the record?” Your grin could be classified as shit-eating, mouth splitting too wide and eyes curving too crescent. Castellan sneers and pushes off the wall, jostling his tense shoulder with yours.

“So fucking annoying,” you hear him hissing as he walks away. You laugh in a huff, watching his wound-up back shrink in the distance.

What an asshole.

[ IMAGE: A snapshot of Percy Jackson from an up-down angle with the zoom set to 0.5x. The flash is on, washing his skin, hair, and eyes pale. The background is dark, save for a group of teens behind the curve of his cheek in ugly orange band uniforms and black slacks. ]

Liked by majmajmaj and 35 others

perciusjakcsn not even cooked WE R GRILLED 😨 📸 @.travstole

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majmajmaj ur gna be well done xtra crispy if u forget to count those fucking rests again,,, 😒

↳ perciusjakcsn PLZ HAVE MERCY SARGE ↳ majmajmaj DRUM MAJOR NOT DRUM SARGEANT PETER 🖕🖕🖕 ↳ perciusjakcsn JUSTICE 4 PERCY 😞💔

groovewood did u srsly just replace me as cameraman DUDE 😭

“Are we actually incapable—” The band continues to push each other around, the noise of nearly a hundred mouths in motion reaching an all-time high. “—of lining the fuck up?”

Charles’ wide, orange-fitted frame sidles up next to you, a megaphone in hand. You take the device in silent thanks, switching it on and cringing at the feedback.

You raise the megaphone to your mouth. “ATTENTION!”

It’s a mad dash into formation, teens in orange scrambling to their places. Someone yelps when a tuba swings in a wide arc above their head. A flutist trips over a saxophone. Drumline frantically assembles, sliding clumsily into harnesses and setting off more than two cymbal crashes.

“What a goddamn clown show.” Mr. D, absentee band director, walks up behind you and Charles, scowling at the mess. He takes a swig from the Coke can that’s practically glued to his hand before snatching the megaphone. “PETER JOHNSON, YOUR HARNESS IS LOOSE. LEE VASQUEZ, WRONG SECTION. COLE STALIN, IF I HEAR CARELESS WHISPER ONE MORE TIME, I WILL THROTTLE—”

From the crowd, Connor Stoll’s face twists in pseudo-confusion, hands coming up to pat at his ears and shrugging. A laugh ripples through the ranks.

Mr. D looks like he’s going to have a stroke with the way his expression pinches, sour. Mouth crumpled in on itself like the opening of a drawstring bag, eyes glaring narrow and beard bristling.

You take the megaphone back gingerly, dialing down the volume with a grimace. “Alright, first prelim game of the season, we’re against our one-sided rivals, Jupiter High.”

The band groans. Mr. D wanders off elsewhere.

“I’m not supposed to say this, but we are definitely losing. Even so, please do not boo if our team gets a touchdown. Don’t laugh if you hear something demeaning from the other team. And—clarinets—it is absolutely unacceptable to be bribed by Travis and burst into Squidward’s theme mid-play.”

Travis lets out a squawk of indignation, the shriek of it echoing around the side of the field. Charles holds out his hand for the megaphone, which you pass over.

He clears his throat. “Thank you, major. Uh—Jupiter is one hundred percent going to decimate us sports-wise, but we’re better than them in VAPA and test scores. Please don’t tarnish our reputation as regional champions, I don’t think I can survive that.”

Short and sweet, he sets down the device and gestures for the band to start marching around the track for warm-ups. You follow the path of the oval, feet tracing the white running lines, dust running over your shoe prints.

At the far side of the field is a giant inflatable centaur, the breakaway banner held between its feet. It’s a football thing for the players to run out at the beginning of the game. Except, you’re pretty sure that most schools do not run out under the legs of a stupidly expensive, balloon-ified mascot.

The football team is gathered behind the banner, hiding under the shadowed belly of the centaur. Some players are stretching, drinking water, closing their eyes. There are cheerleaders milling around, making small talk with glossy smiles.

Luke Castellan catches your eye over a girl’s shoulder. You recognize her, the slight of her build and the curl to her honeyed hair and most of all, the pep flags in her hands. Charles stiffens from beside you, back going rod-like, chest puffing out.

Silena Beauregard turns, waving cluelessly, innocently. Your fellow drum major nearly stumbles. You—and half the band—give Castellan an downturned thumb when she turns away. Someone from the trombones plays a limp womp-womp.

Castellan looks mortified, like he’s going to dig a hole for himself and die in it.

( If so, good riddance. )

[ VIDEO: A shaky clip from the lit-up bleachers at Zeus City High School’s football field. The camera pans over the heads of the seated marching band, a sea of half-asleep teens in orange, instruments drooping with the nodding of their heads.

The spectators groan, the commentator remarking that Sherman Yang has missed yet another throw. Someone from the rival side hollers loudly—Zeus City? More like Zeus Shitty!—to which their lavender-hued cheerleaders titter, sending a ripple of amusement echoing through the opposite bleachers swathed in purple.

A majority of the ZCHS marching band cackle and jeer. The camera zooms in on the two drum majors standing upfront. You’re shaking your head and thumbing the space between your brows. Charles Beckendorf wears the face of saddened disappointment. ]

Liked by beckydwarf, majmajmaj, and 138 others

travstole 😬😬

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majmajmaj reporting this to d, no phones on the field tf??

↳ travstole snitch much?? ↳ majmajmaj what was it? ah, ‘die graecus scum’ - JHS octavian, most definitely

conmanstole poor becky d,,,

↳ perciusjakcsn ‘poor becky d’ as if ur not the reason y he has premature wrinkles 🫵🤨

The classroom is cold-hued, almost sterile under the cheap incandescent lights. Everything is blueish, backlit by the evening as it rolls over the horizon. You sigh when the ligaments in your neck rub just right to pop the bubbles between your bones. The door creaks, a tall figure, sticky with shadows, stepping in right before you try to move on to cracking you knuckles.

You almost don’t recognize him in that soft-looking sweater, a pair of black frames propped over the bridge of his nose. Castellan settles into the chair at the opposite ledge of the desk, the legs straining against the floor in an ear-itching scrape when he scoots closer.

“Hey there,” he says, borderline breathless, to which you give him a narrow look. He gives you a quick grin in return as he fumbles with his laptop; you catch a deep etch to his smile lines at the corners of his mouth before they disappear. “So, I’m just going to ask you a few questions about stuff like band, Heralds, school life.”

“This feels like an interrogation,” you tell him, unimpressed, “instead of something for yearbook. Are you sure you aren’t trying to get me arrested? If so, I have the right to remain silent.”

“No, just yearbook. Purely professional.” The other boy laughs, the sound of it rattling behind his ribs. It sends something spiraling down your stomach, like a marble run made with your intestines. “About last week, in the hallway—I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through some stuff. So, sorry about that.”

He slides his phone between the two of you, the glossy screen emblazoned with a red button waiting to be pressed. Castellan sweeps out his hand in offering, palm-up.

You click the button, the first waves of sound appearing on the pixels in zig-zags.

“What is your name and the extracurriculars you partake in?” Castellan asks, even though he should know, because you’ve gone to the same school for years. You tell him, and he tests it in his mouth, feeling the weight of it around his tongue like it’s the first time he’s heard of it. The marble run of your insides starts to roll faster. “Cool. I’m Luke—football, volleyball, and obviously yearbook.”

“I know.”

It falls quiet for a moment, the snick of keys pressed into their beds being the only thing filling the silence. “Okay,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “How’s it like being a Heralder? Any notable experiences?”

You keep your answers short and sweet, easy for damage control. “It’s basically a free period. We print every three weeks, so I have plenty of time to write and format the spreads.”

“And off the record?” he asks, a small grin sewn over his face. You think you have an idea of what he’s trying to do.

“It’s peachy.”

He tuts, a snick of the tongue. The laptop he’s typing on is drenched in cold light too, the screen reflecting onto the lenses of his glasses, something blue-gray in the glassiness of them. “And what about band? I remember you wrote something about VAPA kids having a hard time with balancing their schedules.”

“I didn’t write that,” you remind him, a near snap to your words. “It was a quote from Miranda Gardener.”

“But you agreed with her,” Castellan counters. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have put it in your article.”

Conceding, “Fine. The actual band period start at seven-thirty during zero—we use that time to practice songs—and after school, we all head out to the field for drills from five to nine.”

“How do you have time to do homework?”

“I said Heralds was a free period, didn’t I?”

He laughs, the sound of it a little hollow with the way he’s fully concentrated on his laptop. “You did. Okay, moving on—favorite school snack?”

“Cup noodles from the teacher’s room.”

Castellan makes a confused face. “Uh, favorite class?”

“Obviously band.”

“Worst class?”

You think about it for a moment. “Stats.”

He smiles in agreement, eyes going crescent. “First choice of college?”

“Anything but an Ivy.”

Castellan shakes his head, chuckling.

You wait for a minute, watching his screen go by through the surface of his glasses. Castellan’s eyelashes aren’t long, but they’re thick and heavy. His eyes are a mid-toned brown, just darker than hazel. Like fresh-turned dirt. Or milk chocolate brownies. Or—

He hasn’t asked anything in a while. You cough awkwardly. “Am I free to go?”

Castellan looks like there are words fighting on his tongue, fingers carding through his messy curls. His lips are blushed, almost a bruise with the way they’re so damn red. You think about Charles. And then Silena. How Castellan had walked into the classroom breathless.

You know that you shouldn’t assume, but you’re going to assume.

“Never mind, don’t answer that.” You make a show of checking your phone, retinas seared with the sudden brightness of the screen. “Mr. D needs me on the field. Connor might be starting another riot with the saxes.”

“Yea,” he says tightly, “go ahead.”

TO: becky d

(19:35) so. (19:35) not 100 percent sure but i think silena and castellan (19:36) yk what ill ask her during p1 tmrw

FROM: becky d

(21:58) NO?? (22:10) SARGE PLS TURN OFF DND 🙏 (22:11) not even cooked im deep fried 😭

TO: becky d

(08:45) so funny story i was on dnd until p1 and (08:46) LMAOO DID U REALLY JST CALL ME SARGE CHARLES 😐 (08:46) but srsly why didnt you yell at me during 0 we coulda avoided this,,,, (08:47) btw i didnt ask her she was talking to drew tanaka abt some other guy that def wasnt luke 👍

FROM: perciusjakcsn

(11:38) hey sarge do u know how to find annabeth (11:39) i need her to explain the crab cycle. preferably before p5

TO: perciusjaksn

(12:34) * Major, not Sarge (12:34) ** Krebs cycle (12:35) This is Annabeth. To paraphrase Khan Academy, the Krebs cycle describes a chain of reactions in the mitochondria to produce energy in living cells through cellular respiration. I won’t go through the details because the reactants and products are not on the test, and neither is the order in which the reactions proceed. If you have any more questions, my username is ‘anniebethc’.

Annabeth stabs her spork into her bag of salad, the flimsy plastic warping and crinkling as she draws out another mouthful of lettuce.

“So,” you start, idly twirling your own spork as you read the message she sent through your phone, “giving hints about the test? That could be considered cheating.”

Her cheek dips, held captive between her teeth. “It’s nothing.”

You give her a suspicious look. “And when Connor asked you about glucose and you told him to fuck off, that was also nothing?”

The girl’s look is withering as she chews her lunch slowly. You hold up your hands in surrender, letting go of the topic.

Annabeth’s gaze catches something behind you. You follow the line of her sight, tracing it along the lunch shelter and landing on Castellan. He’s got a laugh tremoring in his shoulders, grinning at something a girl—Silena again—is telling him. You whip your head back to see Annabeth’s eyes go fuzzy and sparkling.

“What?” she asks, noticing your twisted face.

“Nothing,” you huff. “But, uh—Percy’s a good guy.”

The girl squints, bewildered. “What—I don’t like Luke. We’re neighbors, so it’s weird.”

Neighbors?

“We’re halfway through the semester and you’re telling me now that Public Enemy Number One lives next to you?”

“He’s only Public Enemy Number One to band.”

Emphatically, “Which you are a flutist of?”

A lunch tray clatters onto your table, Travis sliding onto the bench and joined by Charles. The Stoll boy cracks his wrists, the pop of air loud even over the chatter of the shelter.

Charles peels open his school lunch, cringing at the clumpy mac salad sitting in the bowl. He looks over at your food, eyes tracing the outline of the plastic cup and watching the steam escape over the lip.

“Where the hell did you get instant noodles from?” blurts Travis. You tap a half-empty thermos in the pocket of your backpack.

“Ask Clarisse nicely and her dad’ll get it from the teacher’s lounge.”

Travis gives you a narrow look. It would’ve been almost threatening if his eyes weren’t occasionally glancing at your noodles.

“How nicely?”

“Six dollars.”

The old Stoll turns to Charles, irises sparkling, wide, expectant—a poor attempt to make puppy eyes at your fellow drum major. Charles sighs, fingers digging through his backpack to return with a twenty.

“Ah,” he warns right as Travis reaches for the money. “Two noodles, one for each of us. And then you’ll go to the vending machine for chips and a soda. No more, no less.”

Travis nods eagerly, snatching the bill and running off. You watch his back as he leaves; he nearly topples Luke Castellan in his excited haste.

“You know that’s a scam, right?” Annabeth's voice brings you back to the present. She’s got her brows quirked as Charles shuts the lid to his mac salad.

“It’s better than this.” He holds up a bag of damp baby carrots and cringes. It is at this moment that you know what your next article will be about.

[ IMAGE: Luke Castellan posing in semi-formal dress, standing in a dark classroom. The photo looks like it’s been taken on a digital camera, nostalgic and slightly grainy, bright spots blooming at the center. He’s got a fitted white button up and a pair of neat, pressed slacks on. His tie is black, rumpled, the knot loosened around his neck. Over his shoulders is a slouchy pastel orange cardigan with the equestrian mascot of ZCHS sewn into the breast.

His head is turned, showing his sharp side profile. Luke’s face is pensive, one hand in his pocket and the other at rest, fingers laid over his thigh. There are a pair of computer glasses sliding dangerously down his nose. ]

Liked by anniebethc and 345 others

lukestellans ‘cause we never go out of style

📸 @.luvvbeaus

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luvvbeaus 🔥🔥🔥

↳ tankadreww men who listen to tay >> ↳ conmanstole @.majmajmaj aint no way ppl actually find him hot 🤣🤣

anniebethc You knotted your tie backwards, Luke.

↳ lukestellans ask ur dad to help me pls 🙏

You don’t get to write your article about how shitty the school lunch is. Instead, you get assigned to the homecoming game, scribbling out lede after mediocre lede onto the reporter’s notebook balanced in your palm, the paper of which scrubs uncomfortably against your gloves.

“This is probably the highest score I’ve seen on that board,” comments Charles, fiddling with the seam of his uniform. “Another touchdown and we’d actually win our first game in ten years.”

“There are six seconds left,” you say, glancing at the clock. You’re starting to sound like Annabeth when you say, “It’s pretty close too. The likelihood of an actual win is so low that—”

The rest of your words are swallowed by the commentator.

AND THAT’S LUKE CASTELLAN RUNNING INTO THE END ZONE, HE CATCHES THE BALL—TOUCHDOWN FOR ZEUS CITY!

You jump at the roar that engulfs your side of the bleachers, parents and students and alumni rising in a tidal wave of celebration.

The cheerleaders jump and scream, pep flags dancing in the air, pompoms glittering. People are hugging, cheering. You even see a grandma shed tears and kiss a toddler on the cheek.

“What the fuck.” Nevertheless, you’re compelled to turn and face the music, raising your hands and signaling for your bandmates to play the fight song.

Luke Castellan runs a victory lap, zipping around the field in his ugly, bright orange jersey, arms thrust skyward in celebration. You think that the big, taunting 11 painted on his back will haunt you for the rest of your days.

His pace peters out by the time he reaches the stands, giving sweaty, full-bodied hugs to whoever’s closest to him in his conquest. You frown when he strolls along the stands, helmet pulled off and hanging from his fingers.

He’s all damp, curls plastered to his forehead and sweat beading over his brow. His breaths come out as icy puffs in the mid-October air, an exhausted blush blooming red over his cheeks, eyes glassed over, lips bruised and chest straining for air.

Castellan points at nothing in particular, angling his finger at the bleachers with a winning smile. A number of girls giggle—even color guard—and many pull out their phones to snap pictures of him.

He’s looking straight through you, though. Like he has something vengeful to prove. The floodlights are blinding, a glimmering sheen painted over the player.

You frown, brows drawing together furious, mouth pinched. Castellan sneers back and turns away.

And then, your journalism advisor comes up to Castellan with a dark-haired woman. The teen hugs the woman but ignores the man, bitter.

Frankly, you’ve never been able to put your finger on it until now, why Mr. Hermes had seemed so familiar to you. Now you can see it.

Luke Castellan looks very much like his mother, same eyes and lips. Bony shoulders, full face, straight and dark brows. He’s got the same arrow-like nose as Hermes, however, the same inky black hair.

He turns for one last look at the emptying stands. Behind you, your bandmates begin to pack up, carrying their instruments down the bleachers.

You’re the one offering a sneer now, though you doubt he can see it from this far. Luke tilts his head with a furtive smile and you lose sight of him when he ducks out into the parking lot.

You look down at your reporter’s notebook, the scratched-out ledes and the Heralds logo printed at the top.

You’re fucked.

p.s. ★ i moved around some canon ages to better fit the story if ur wondering why luke is 17/18 while percabeth r like 13/14,,,, also—the inclusion of articles and social media was inspired by phanatics’ big reputations on ao3, aka one of my fav slash fics (pls note that there r some spicy scenes tho)!!

sharing is caring, so pls rb and also lmk ur thoughts ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᡣ𐭩

luke tags (open); @melllinaa @amortencjja @niktwazny303 @arsonnaire @ma1dita @m00ng4z3r @saltair-and-palemoonlight @witch-lemon

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

oh this has a little kick to it 🤭😋

I was wondering what oral sex with Luke Castellan , would be like I really like your writing a lot.

y’all need to send me more brain rots cause 🥴🥴 phew [nfsw 17+]

with luke, you already know it’s hot, wet and loud. and maybe a bit rough around the edges where his nails dig into the skin of your hips, or he’s holding you so tight that light bruises are painted on the plush of your thighs, or when he likes to suck and bite on the inside of your thighs, leaving marks for you to find the next morning.

basically... he’s a munch!

he’s so eager to please you and make sure you’re enjoying this as much as he is. giving you head is like, a fixation of his, strangely enough. and it’s nice to think that he loooovveees to moan and spit at your cunt, making such a big mess while he grinds against the covers to find some kind of release at the sounds of your moans. especially when you pull at his hair and scrape your nails against his scalp. he’s a sucker for that shit.

he’d go at it until his jaw locked. even when you’re squirming and whining and crying out his name, it all spurs him to keep going, maybe even adding a finger or two into the mix while he tugs at your clit with his teeth and lets out the most erotic groan you've ever heard, making you even wetter than before, if that was even possible.

“one more. you can give me one more, please,” he’d mutter against you, only pulling away to look up at you with his beautiful brown eyes and pouty lips covered with your slick. how could you possibly deny him what he wants? when he's looking at you so pretty?

oh yeah, you give him whatever he wants, and you take whatever he gives you because you know you’ll get the chance to return the favour sooner or later.

hes so hot is ridiculous

Hi I saw you're taking requests, what about enemies to lovers and academic rivals with reg? ❤️

Almost | R.A.B x u

Pairing : Regulas black x animagus!reader( platonic marauders x gn!reader , sirius x Lupin )

Plot : stolen glances , almost smiles , regulas black couldn't stand you , there's loathing and hatred and something you are yet to discover in his cold contempt eyes , he's inclined towards dark arts and excellent at dark unforgivable spell but yet Sirius knows he would never hurt you . Regulas black seems to love the black cat he met as he feeds and strokes , why are you purring and meowing and not scratching him ?

J.d note - i understood that this one was supposed to be a fun fic , but I wanted to do something big , so here i present Regulas black journey from Hogwarts to death Eater to death , with the love of his life , and they almost made it . Thankyou for requesting ❤️ request now can you reblog for merlins sake ?

Themes - academic rivals , implied Sirius x Remus , everything same except reader added in marauders , death Eater! Regulas , this is their fifth year timeline , few months age gap between Sirius and regulas so they are in same year , gn!reader , no blood status , no house mentioned, marauder!reader , mutual pinning . Witty!reader , animagus is cat , black cat , overprotective!Sirius

Part 1 / ?

The Noble and most ancient house of black

Toujours pur

" You are not here " harry said after scanning the bottom of the golden tree closely , " I used to be " Sirius said , pointing at the holed tapestry like a cigarette burn , harry looked at the next name with curiousity , " That's my younger brother .. Regulus black ..he became a death Eater"

Sirius seemed to drown back in house of memories , it was harder to stay in this house ...when he laid half asleep he realised something he had left , he was on his feet , dragging himself out of bed , in his house laid many dark objects , dark and expensive , lavish like the house black , he soon was in quest to found it , it was in his hands , the brown parchment was no ordinary..the black brother's did tremendous things when they were sixteen , he ran away , Regulus became a death Eater

" - why ? " Sirius choked at very glimpse of parchment, it was the last birthday present he got from him , " You can ask me one thing ...it will answer you correctly " Regulus smiled , he was holding on the a hand that was so fresh in his memories ...yours .

He never ever used it , what can he ask ? Are you a death Eater ? He already knew , he wasn't sure what he should ask but the lump in Sirius throat was thicker , so as he couldn't breath .

So he did it , The last time he met regulus was when he was sixteen , standing near the mirror was erised ,the dark mark glowing on his left forearm .

So he took a quill as scribbled down the words ...

" Reg , what did you see in the mirror of erised ? "

He waited as the ink dissolved ,and something scribbled out , it was a very familiar word , a very familiar name .

-

" ouch.. that's my toe Sirius " you whimpered while Sirius filled the air with hushed apologies , " i can't see .. can't we use some light " Sirius asked after he stepped three time in a row on your toe , this time you bumped your nose into him , " ow- "

" shut up idiots " whispered james , the one leading , " invisibility cloak doesn't muffle noise - "

" james that's not your wand , that's my finger "

" this is the fourth time sirius , my toe is smashed - "

" Okay , here " james removed the cloak as you were finally in the restricted section of library , " lumos " you said , your wand Swiftly passing over the books , some had dried blood over them hooking you over , " no wonder they ended up here " Sirius winked at you, " oh ...it must be around - " you paused to examine the cursed dark arts series you wanted to read ," merlins beard " you gasped , " you found it eh ? " James rushed with tiptoeing towards you , " no but where's the second part , i already read it "

" you are miserable ! " james mouthed , " hey! " Sirius opened his arms , gesturing to protect you , " where's the standard bewitching magic book ? "

" i think it must be there " you pointed towards the narrow shelves , you all are working on becoming animagus , it's nearly down except some spells that don't end you up with claws and tail , " found it " james smiled as he grabbed , " let's go ..i am so sleepy " Sirius yawned so hard that even you felt your eyes flutter .

" james , Sirius - " you smiled

" NO - " james cried

" YEAH ! " Sirius threw his hands up

" you two can go ..I would take only a few minutes "

" i am not going without you " Sirius looked at james who liked your idea , " i would need to find it , i wouldn't take much - "

" no , we all are staying " Sirius said , you didn't knew where you would find the second part so it wasn't worth making Sirius yawn and james tapping his feet out in so cold .

" Off you go " you raised your wand , giving Sirius a funny push , " jamie " you winked and james took him by shoulder taking him away , " take no more time than .." Sirius thought of a deadline "- five minutes " he was finally out , no hushed footsteps and you were alone .

" where are you little one ? " You looked around , shelves filled with dangerous magical books , ready to corrupt you .

You heard something , you freezed , footsteps that came from other side halted too .you took a step , your wand raised , you felt something warm behind your neck .

That fragrance..oh no !

" caught you ." He coldly said behind you , his hand grabbing your waist while the other poking his wand on your throat from behind . he's none other than Regulus black

" ahh , can't leave me for a minute ..can you ? " you smirked , you eyes suddenly catching a glimpse of what looked like a shabby red small book, with gold roman letters glowing , ' PART 2 ' it read .

Your eyes glinted at the sight of it .

" you are giving yourself too much importance "

" still angry ? Professor slughorn knows talent MR. Black "

" got one thing correct and you are all so witty " he pressed the wand deeper , making your Adam apple shift through inside .

" that's not how you use a wand " you said , eyes still fixed on the book , " i shouldn't be wasting time on stupid people like you - " Regulus black snapped , pushing you forward so now you were face to face , wands raised high .

" i don't like that smile of yours " regulus hissed, his eyes glancing back and forth between your eyes and lips , " sometimes I want to wipe it out " he hissed again .

You smiled more , eyes narrowing at him , there's something so magnificent about him that is yet to be discovered , the way his eyes look , there's so much more than utter loathing and hatred , a thin line yet to be crossed .

" still mad about yesterday ? " Your triumph from yesterday's potion lesson made your eyes twinkle .

" just cramming up few lines doens't make you great " black got a point but still when a question was shot , he was the first one to raise his hands high , it was always this way

You admired him , he was smart , witty , though he kept himself composed but there would be moments when his mouth would almost , almost curl up in a smile at some Sirius jokes , but it would be gone , so soon , no trace left behind those cold eyes , you thought it would draw his attention to you when you would be as good as him , all spells tounge tied , all ingredients of potions scribbled in your heart but that seem to disappoint him , that begin the famous rivalry of you and him , even professors would get in a dilemma when two hands shot up so high , " nevermind, let's get along with class " they would say hesitation in their tone .

" i guess performing spells that could lead one to azkaban makes you great , no ? " you smirked , he looked theatened .

" you seem to fancy me way too much , i am afraid " he said " shouldn't it be a disappointment to peak , but i like you much enough to demonstrate my capabilities here " he flexed his wand , keeping one foot in front , " say which one darling ? " he smirked , you were sure of him , you have seen him practising , the way he said " cruicio " with so much rage inside him , he didn't look like his age , rather a ...you were afraid...a death Eater as they called them , you would not deny peaking at him while he practiced his dark spells in Deserted classrooms , the secret books he got from restricted section , he was upto something .

" i was thinking about the imperius curse ...you would obey me , won't you ? "

" shut up regulus black "

" you filthy - "

" REGULUS ! " Sirius came running , his wand raised , Regulus looked like if disappointment had a face , he would resemble it .

" I TOLD YOU TO COME ALONG ! " he was screaming in a low whsiper at you , " Sirius " regulas sighed , he glanced at you for a moment and then at him , Sirius shot him a angry look .

" you should tell your friend to stay out of my buisness "

" your buisness doesn't look so great , reg " he really sounded like big brother .

" you ruined my moment " he coldly said , " accio dark arts 2 " he called , and the book flied across to him .

" oh no " you cried , " it's okay ..he can't keep it forever " Sirius caught your hand as he dragged you out , for a moment you saw a wince of pain and uprising in Regulus eyes when it flickered at you and sirius and it was gone soon enough but you almost saw it , almost you knew what it was , almost you forgot .

-

" he could have hurt you " Lupin said as dipped your quill in ink , " oh he wouldn't have - " Sirius said , " my brother ain't so much of a bad guy "

Sirius bent in to copy your essay , " no siruis ! " you slapped his hand .

" Two more lines and it would be done "

" hear me out , make it big " james threw his five inches parchment at him , no more than instructed while you sat there with your seven and half , neat small handwriting , siruis copied a rubbish line which was mere james headcannon about the goblins rebellion in ugly big letters , Lupin let out a snort .

" how do you know he wouldn't ? He was using.. imperius curse - "

" shh " james hissed , siruis gave a very unsual expression , hard to read ..." I can't tell you " he winced , you narrowed your eyes , " don't give me that look " he looked away . remus who looked utterly lost in the book he was reading , " moony " siruis called , now that you have all managed to become animagus, siruis - a big Black dog , padfoot as you all called , potter was called prongs and wormtail who was home in the Christmas holiday , you were a cat , black shiny fur just like Sirius .

" Padfoot " Lupin said , with affection ..he was so emotional when all of you showed up in your animagus form , it was just some months ago when you had your back pressed against Regulus black , it hasn't been since , he seems to loath you more , the more you got points for every correct answer, the more his eyes glinted at you in mere affection that is a lovely hatred .

-

The whole castle was fast asleep when you woke up from your vivid dreams , you soon found yourself strolling in Hogwarts desserted corridor , you knew Regulus was staying back too but it was not often you saw him , for he and you rather avoided each other but just then you heard a little whisper , you looked back it was Regulus black in plain velvet Black robes with a green silk collar , does he sleep with those on ? You thought and rather shushed the imagination of him flooding your brain , even with your funny thoughts you felt everything inside you freeze , it was only your shadow in moonlight that assured you were strolling in your animagus form , a black cat . He wouldn't know for no one knew you were unregistered animagus , you tried to move away when you felt his hands touching you , you screamed but it came as a meow , he was stroking your black shiny fur , " beautiful, aren't you ? So pretty " he caressed your skin , he was good with animals than with you ...it struck you as a desire to be a cat all your life , to be ..to be loved by him.

" Come here " he picked you up , stroking you gently and you were liking it , for you could have scratched him , ran out , ran out for your life because even if as a cat , your brain was bursting and heart stuck somewhere your throat .

You purred in his lap as he walked , slowly ...he wasn't exactly tiptoeing around but walked with some pride .

" i wonder if you are hungry , are you ? " he touched the skin under your chin when you have reached the Slytherin common room , you never thought of it that one day you would be in Regulus black lap while he fed you sweet cake with his own hands , he had a smile that really made your forget, that sort of affection and look that he had , it looked like the thin line you always wanted to cross yet you never reached , almost you have lost , but now it's here in front of you , the Regulus black you never saw before ...he smiled so much that it felt as if it were illegal , you purred , meowed and he talked and you felt like falling somewhere , yet to be known but it was enchanting , a bliss , a gust of snow in breezy hot day , such a sweet boy reg was , you thought .

You wondered how your friends would react when you would tell them , especially siruis , you don't think they would beleive you ... would siruis know his brother this way ?

" you must be cold " he said , wrapping you a black satin fabric that was really warm , it was many moments when he just talked to you , about nothing but everything , he was talking as if you were a person , a soft smile , almost a smirk , then he dozed off , you thought about his reaction if you turned back to human form while there , while he carresed you lovingly , he would have died of shock and that made you smile .

You carefully got out of the Slytherin common room , the satin fabric as your hood and found yourself running.

You didn't know why you were taking the shawl with you but you wouldn't trade it away no matter what .

You didn't tell anyone anything about the nighttime stroll .

" you look quiet " siruis was pushing back the toasts he stuffed all at once and gulping pumpkin juice to help it down .

" Shut up , i have to go library " you scooped the last bite of porridge and ran for your life because the pink glow wouldn't leave , " Oi ! " you heard him shout but you wouldn't risk .

And with those hurried footsteps and smiling to yourself, you bumped straight into nerd with atleast two large landing on your toe which has enough resistance due to Sirius attempts to squash it down in nightime strolls under the invisibility cloak , " damn - merlins beard " you muttered , " I swear on Salazar if - " regulus stopped as he saw you , " you ? " his face went pale then a sweet red glow glorified his beauty , " oh ..umm , er- "

" PATHETIC " he muttered and picked up his books , " strange ..." You ranted straight for one hour as you scribbled the notes , how could he have more love for cats than humans , he really wasn't the same person he was two nights ago , " ARGhHHGHG " you really screamed and it didn't came out as meow for you were sitting in library , several heads popped out to see you , you were grateful that you didn't get much detention Except cleaning some shelves without magic , you were on the tallest Planck of stool when you heard some giggles from other side , " have you ever seen regulus black smile ? He said pathetic to ...he smiled .... really ?...yes ...so beautiful " you were so passionate to hear more that you were really leaning hard until you stumbled , a steady hand came , swiftly pressed on your back as you were about to crash land , a slow cliff hanger , " Careful " he said , those genetically beautiful black family looks , he looked like the person who called you ' love ' if only your animagus form .

" oh yes .." you lost your speech and you straighten up , " PATHETIC " he muttered as he left and you wonder if he almost smiled .

crying screaming foaming at the mouth

wound too tight | h. brown

❥ — PAIRING hobie brown x gn! bassist! reader

❥ — SUMMARY you and your neighbour are the loudest people in your apartment building - drowning out the sound of each other's music with your own. You hadn't realised that your neighbour saw it less like a competition and more like a collaboration.

# A/N i keep seeing “drummer reader” this and “drummer reader” that so, as a fellow bassist, i’m giving us little guys some food

Your neighbour did not like you.

Luckily for them, the feeling was mutual.

Whenever you had a spare second, you'd take the opportunity to grab your bass and unwind, pulling out a CD you had burnt with all the songs you could play. You had strong feelings about paying a subscription fee to listen to music without ads, so you opted for totally legal youtube to mp3 converters.

You had never really been a noisy neighbour, keeping your amp as quiet as possible and stopping as soon as you knew people would be going to bed. Generally, the people that knew you in the building were fond of you.

So when the old lady in the flat next to you moved out, needing to live with family for the support, and a young man your age turned up, guitar case slung over his shoulder, you were curious. Eager to be friends, even.

The first week was quiet. There was an occasional clatter on the wall that connected your flats, but other than that you could've forgotten your old neighbour had even left. You occasionally saw him entering his apartment as you left, or vice versa, and he'd spare you a momentary glance as you offered a smile. A little rude, in your opinion, but not uncommon.

After that first week, your curiosity had died down and you had been following your regular routine, sifting through your CDs. You had one with a specific set of songs and you couldn't find it anywhere. After an hour, you had turned your entire apartment upside down to no avail and frowned at your own mess. You'd clean it up later.

Not bothering with a CD, you plugged it into your amp and checked the tuning of your bass, instinctively playing the familiar bassline of Boys Don't Cry - it had become habit for it to be the first thing you played, having been the first song you learnt.

What you didn't expect was, hardly five minutes later, an incredibly loud guitar strum to echo throughout your flat, barely muffled by your neighbour's walls. You listened in (not really having a choice due to it's volume) and recognised that he was playing a song you knew; one of the ones you had on that missing CD. It was a favourite of yours.

Biting the inside of your cheek you listened to him finish the first verse, aware that you couldn't practice with him making so much noise. When he reached the chorus, however, you used your foot to bump up the volume of your amp and play along, hoping that he could hear you (and that he was smart enough to realise he had been disturbing your practice).

It carried on like that for at least an hour, both of you gradually increasing the volume in an attempt to overpower the other.

When you finished, you immediately felt guilty for being an annoyance to just about everyone else in the building. You'd apologise for the disturbance the next morning.

That morning, you made a quick trip to your local cornershop, buying some baking ingredients so you could apologise with more than just a promise not to get carried away again.

None of your neighbours disliked you, easily accepting the apology and baked goods when you sputtered out an explanation for all the noise. A couple of them even invited you in for a cup of tea, which was always welcome.

"That boy," the middle aged woman across from you leaned closer, a devious glint in her eyes, "the one that just moved in, are you friends?"

"Uh, no," you tilted your head to the side, feeling like you were 17 again and being questioned by aunts about 'when will you bring someone home?', "we haven't even spoken, actually."

"Oh," you watched her deflated, "that's boring. I thought you two would've been fast friends."

It was difficult not to laugh at her lack of subtlety and you took it as a sign to leave before you had to dodge any more questions. Maybe in another universe she was a pestering aunt - you didn't think you'd hate that.

As you walked across the hall to your apartment, you noticed your neighbour was leaving, no guitar in sight.

You caught eyes momentarily before letting unlocking your door. As you made your way inside, you couldn't help feeling like there were still eyes on you.

This became a frequent routine - you'd practice bass, only to get interrupted by your lovely, polite neighbour deciding he wanted to play guitar whenever you didn't want him to, and a war over who could play louder would ensue.

It would've been funny the first time, but it was causing you to lose enjoyment out of practicing and a significant portion of your paycheck was being spent on ingrediants that you didn't even get to enjoy the results of. You were certain that the patience of your other neighbours were running thin, too.

So, like any normal person would, you began waiting for the familiar click of your neighbour's door closing before you even thought about touching your bass. The door, for whatever reason, had always been a sound you could hear from your apartment - you'd mostly tuned it out but now it proved vital in letting you practice bass in peace. And it worked.

For all of two days.

The last thing you expected when walking past your neighbour on the stairs was for him to reach out and grab your arm, stopping you in your tracks. His fingers were calloused, undoubtedly from guitar, but soft on your skin.

The contact made you turn to face him and you both stood like that for, what felt like, minutes. Just looking at each other. You hadn't noticed all his piercings. You hadn't noticed that he was as attractive as he was irritating.

"You the bassist?"

His words took you by surprise. Obviously he knew it was you - you didn't live with anyone, so there couldn't be multiple suspects.

"Yeah, I am."

His face broke out into a smile, grip tightening so he could pull you into him, slinging an arm over your shoulders. He smelt of aftershave and what you could only think to describe as an old library.

Since he had moved in, a word hadn't been spoken between you - a smile hadn't been shared. Now he'd nestled you under his arm, after just one admission from you.

"Mate," he was buzzing, "you are the sickest bassist I think I've ever heard. Every time you play I gotta join in, you're jus' too good!"

All ill-will towards the man melted away at his words: he was just joining in. It was cute, almost.

"Thanks," you offered, "I hadn't realised that's what you were doing, to be honest."

He didn't respond, catching sight of the plastic corner-shop bag in your hands. Flour, eggs, sugar, chocolate chips. Today you were making chocolate-chip muffins, it was one of the bakery recipes left in your cook book that you hadn't tried yet.

"You baking?"

"For the neighbours-"

"For me?" his smile only brightened, unintentionally leaning closer to you, "What's the occa-"

"To apologise for someone's noise," you shot back, not missing a beat. The statement had paused him in his tracks, lips pursed together and arm dropping away from you. It felt like you were missing something as he pulled away. If you didnt know better, you would've thought he hadn't even spared a second thought to your neighbours, or the volume of his amp.

"Hadn't really thought about that, I guess."

He'd proven you wrong; you didn't know better.

With the lull in conversation at his statement, you took a step away from him, offering your sweetest smile as you outstretched your arm with the bag, "I think I'm overdue some help, don't you?"

reblogs are hugely appreciated ♡

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