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#wick writes sometimes

wickfursfanfics · 2 years

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WIP challange! - Fic ver.

Rules: "post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!"

Got tagged by @kiwilart and @hattoriandkudo over here and here, thank you!

I have decided to keep my fics and Art WIPs separate for this challange since I have two blogs.

My ART WIPs challange you can find HERE at @wickfur

Okay! Now then let's name some WIPs!

Oh dear god... here goes xD My hoard is basically all WIPs so this will be interesting. 🤣

I will NOT be naming all the WIPs I have. That would be a ridiculously huge post, but here are a few random ones from the pile (that have names).

Fics: (All DCMK WIPs)

#25 - The interdimensional station

#42 - Ocean depths lure one in

#89 - CATastrophe strike

#98 For the love of Tsukuyomi and the stars

#101 - Whispers to the moon

#143 - Survival of rising seas

#145 - Ice crystals shimmer under the limelight

#160 - Jungle of secret entities

#186 - It transcends time itself

#221 - Era of Wolves

#229 - Chlorophyll heart

#242 - Otherworldly inconsistencies

#264 - Unnamed Time Loop AU

#290 - DCMKEmogust 2022 - 16/08 - A quiet place survival AU turned monsterfucker

Feel free to shoot an ask about any of the WIPs that might intrigue you! 😊 or idk just blindly shoot at a random number between 1 and 291 🤣

Now let's tag! Only if you would like to, no pressure! And sorry for any double pings that might occur. I know some of you write and do Art both, so xD

@granny-anthem @katsukifatale @xnicowritesx @browa123 @itoof137 @kit27x @airu27 @dee--eer @raventhekittycat @glitchedcatto @wingsoutforshin @ueyyuey @angelicsentinel @rux363 @kiwi-tries-to-write and @Whomever might stumble over this and wanna participate.

I panicked slightly on who to ping and I always feel like such a monster when pinging too many people 🤣 but yes it's only if you would like! And if you want your @ removed feel free to dm, ask or whatever and it will be done 👍

Until next time!

//Wick 0v0

#tag game #wip challenge #my writing #my fic #wick writes sometimes #dcmk

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celluzu · 7 months

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The thing about kind-of sort-of living in your husbands castle is that it gets cold. Really cold, like, really fucking cold.

Roier shoves himself closer to Cellbit, if that were feasibly possible. It's Cellbit's castle after all, this is his fault and so he can pay for it. At the cost of any semblance of personal space he could offer.

The problem is Roier doesn't think Cellbit feels like he's paying for anything at all. That is of course on account of the fact that his currently incredibly neglectful husband is unconscious.

Unconcious. Sleeping was too kind of a term to describe what Cellbit was doing right now.

He mulls over the idea of leaving to go sleep in the infirmary with Forever. That would of course mean getting Cellbit to let go of him... not likely.

Roier groans. Cellbit shifts, and oh. There we go.

He takes the opportunity immediately to shove his face into Cellbit's chest. It's a great place to be, really, even when he's not freezing his ass off. But right now he is freezing his ass off. It helps, Roier can't say he's surprised. Cellbit always inevitably comes through for him, in wake and in sleep. In sickness and health... something like that.

Whatever, he's warmer now.

He's going to make sure they install a fireplace. Or maybe really thick curtains to the balcony. Then they're going to invest in a much, much thicker blanket.

But for now, he's warmer.

#idk I just think about that big open balcony in their room sometimes like they gotta get a wicked breeze yknow?#qsmp #spiderbit #guapoduo #cellbit #roier #roier qsmp #cellbit qsmp #might delete later because I am not at ALL confident in how I write them I need to study their characters a LOT more #i just wanted this out of my head into words yk

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not-quitenormal · 1 month

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Title: The Hardest Part of Losing You, Chapter 11/?

Author: KirraWhiteTigress

Fic Rating: M

Fandom: Wicked

~~~~~~~~~~~

Almost a year later. I've finally posted Chapter 11. Everyone go praise me in a review/comment.

Many thanks go to @toiletpotato for being my beta! Their advice was what helped me figure out an actual ending for this chapter lol. I'm so happy they could take time out of their busy schedule for this!

#wicked the musical #wicked fanfic #wicked fanfiction #glinda upland #max writes things sometimes

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the-patchwork-girl-of-oz · 5 months

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Yeah they probably shouldn’t be doing that. I’m a bit concerned about the fact your breasts have eyes.

#wicked #wicked the book #wicked the life and times of the wicked witch of the west #melena thropp #turtle heart #gregory maguire #I love this book but it’s ridiculous sometimes #men writing women

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allhailthepandicorn · 3 months

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Dearest People In Charge of Adapting Books into Movies/TV Shows, Here is a very easy step by step list of Things To Do.

READ THE BOOK

Have the author on the project, at the very least during the rough outline phase

Outline the book's plot.

Remove scenes that may cause the story to drag on too long

Find all the scenes in the book you decided to keep

LITERALLY COPY PASTE THE PROSE AND CHANGE IT INTO SCREENPLAY FORMAT

Add in extra scenes but DO NOT under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES try to alter the main plot in any way

If the book is outdated, either make sure to specify the year or update the tech/pop culture references

Remove any culturally insensitive things the author may have put in, intentionally or unintentionally

Remember, DO NOT AGE UP OR DUMB DOWN THE CONTENT

If the books use magic, don't skimp on the practical effects or cgi depending on the situation

Bring in fans of the show to do a test screening/script doctor so you know what you're getting into

Don't be stupid

#adaptations #writing #film adaptations #I swear sometimes these people don't have brains #I can think of exactly two (2) visual media adaptations that I like more than the books #Those being #wicked the musical #and #just add magic #seriously guys #just be good at your jobs

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ask-ursa-tonypeter · 4 months

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[fic: wicked love] Tony, how have you navigated your physical attraction Spider-Man/Peter? We know how much you love him, but are you willing to share, uh, his features that turn you on the most?

Tony: Yeah, no.

[[this 🐻ursa interlude🐻 will be too long for the tags so it's going directly in the post:

Tony has a lot of internal conflict about his attraction to Peter! He is attracted to him both physically and emotionally, he thinks Peter's hot and he likes the same blend of Peter's sass and goofiness and self-consciousness that he liked in Spider-man, but he bounces back and forth between being able to compartmentalize enough that he just lets it happen without overthinking it vs having to sit with his guilt and self-disgust.

The way he processes his attraction to Peter is also very different than his norm, and is much more focused around sex/attraction as an expression of love rather than something that can also be thoroughly indulged/enjoyed on its own merits-- he still initiates physically (though not as much as Peter) and still flirts, but it's mostly just general teasing and affectionate banter rather than being anything suggestive or dirty.

Similarly, there's lots of "I love you" and "you're beautiful" etc. while they're having sex, but very little actual dirty talk! Tony just hasn't squared away his conflicting feelings about his attraction to Peter enough to feel comfortable with that, and he does not at all like remembering what he said to Spidey before he knew his identity. (He also uhhh does not let Peter give him oral because it's an outright trigger, rip.)

In general, if Peter tries to process their relationship as "boyfriends who also happen to be father and son," Tony is the opposite and processes it as "father and son who happen to be in romantic love and I guess also have sex," and that cognitive dissonance is much harder on him than the reverse is for Peter.

(This is also why I think the whole "roleplaying Peter meeting younger Tony" thing is so interesting, because in addition to the freedom inherent to a scenario where they aren't related and Peter is using his name instead of calling him 'Dad,' by playing up what a ~sleazy idiot playboy~ he was when he was younger Tony actually would let himself be more. well. outright thirsty/dirty towards Peter during that interaction? in a way that I think they'd both be shocked by how into it they were, lmao, but ofc Tony can't just let himself have a good thing and he'd feel bad about it afterwards.)]]

#fic: wicked love #wicked love: tony #meta #ursa interlude:#look sometimes a character just isn't going to engage and you have to write an essay about it instead lmao

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not-quitenormal · 1 year

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Tagged for either WIP Wednesday or Six Sentence Sunday by the wonderful wolf-boy himself @intheinkpot.

This is 8 sentences. But it's a WIP that's been sitting on a shelf since I wrote it in November 2021. I decided to leave it intact.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind whipped at Elphaba’s face as she hurtled through the Emerald City sky. Her hands gripped the wooden handle as tightly as she could physically manage; she barely registered the splinters digging into her palms, nor the way her grip would surely shatter bone if she tried applying even more pressure. But still she flew, her only thought being to escape.

Escape where? To whom?

What had she done?

Once again, her impulsivity proved to better her. Elphaba’s jaw clenched so tightly she was certain her teeth would shatter from the pressure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging: @musetotheworld, @le-amewzing, @sassysnowglobe (if you still write? your writing is amazing), and @wickedlyqueer (please and thank you?) just to name a few. Please feel free to do this prompt if you see it!

#wicked fanfiction #wicked musical #elphaba #wicked fanfic #max writes things sometimes #little passages that hold a lot of significance etc etc

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keydekyie · 1 year

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If you're after quotes for book 1 too I have some in mind. One is the paragraph that started with Ruyak 'roared with all the fury of an earthquake', one where Kaelin 'felt a flutter of rage in her heart', the one on how Ruyak 'seemed to be trying to hack through a tangle of thorns in his mind', those are what all the ones I have in mind start with anyways, word count limit means I can't quote the whole thing. Still hope this helps!

Oml yes! these are so good! Thank you!!! <3

#aw I forgot about these lines #something about the rage in her heart dying like a sputtering candle flame at the end of its wick #man I can write pretty good sometimes!#anon #ask

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sokokoko · 10 months

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Word Of The 💫 Sometimes 💫

Write something based off the vibe you get from this word, based off the definition OR including this word. Can be anything from one sentence to a copious amount of writing.

Today:

Orphic

My go: 696 words

———

Inhale, exhale.

This was it. Today was the day. He totally wasn't freaking out or anything. No siree, Ludwin was the absolute picture of calm. He went to wipe his sweaty hands against his leather pants but thought better of it and rubbed them against his tunic. Okay, so he was a little nervous but that was normal! Fine, even. Nerves were good. His mentor herself had said that being scared to fail means you care a lot. And he did care, so everything checked out.

He needed to become a Witch. It was beyond important that he became a Witch. Maggie’s outings as Raven Hood were doing a good job keeping them afloat but they needed more. He needed this job. His work as Bast O’ Belle’s assistant gave him so many valuable skills. If he were to fail at becoming a Witch, Miss Belle would likely be opposed to associating with him any longer, right? So he needed this to work.

Ludwin felt awkward kneeling down in the empty room waiting for the ‘connection’. He was supposed to reach out and Magic would reach back, apparently. How long had he been in this room? How much longer would it be? Was he just supposed to stay in the room until he got it? Would Miss Belle be angry if they had to pick this up tomorrow? His siblings would be getting worried if he took too long.

A heat swirled in Ludwin’s face and he felt tears spring to his eyes. Magic? Are you there? Couldn't the entity hear him? Didn't it understand he needed a Witch Pact to help raise his little siblings? They were not going back to a situation where his six year old brother would be pitted against Syphons. Full grown Knights had died to Syphons. Regularly died to them, in fact! Lon had already learned to fear their parents, when to be deathly quiet and when he wasn't allowed to act like a child. He had learned he would get no love from Mother and Father. Though it was Father who manhandled Lon and ordered him to ‘train’ against the creatures, Mother was the one who purchased the Syphons and kept them alive. If Ludwin was a Witch, it would be so much easier to hide from them. His familiar would have a vested interest in keeping him alive and, by his orders, would not let his siblings die or be found. It was foolproof. But it wasn't working.

Ludwin hiccuped. Not long after, he devolved into full blown sobbing.

Oh? Oh!

His sobs stuttered. What was that?

He paused, looking around the room. Why was there a voice crooning in his ear? Something warm wiped the tears from his cheeks and he heard shushing noises.

Miss Belle? Was it Bast O’ Belle? Did she really not mind that he was too useless to be a Witch?

Want? You want? the voice purred. It was difficult to describe. The voice was high, in a giggly, gurgly sort of way? Like a fairy, he supposed. It echoed in his mind like it was being beamed straight into his head but at the same time it was in his ears like any other voice. It was in his ears, his mind, his chest, his heart, caressing his face, its arms around him—

Ludwin blinked. It was everywhere and nowhere and with him but so far away. Ugh, this was making his head hurt. He was distinctly uncomfortable yet the most warm and comfortable he'd ever been. Was this why people became Witches?

The voice again called out to him.

Want promise?

“Yes!” he said, his mind finally catching up to what it was saying. “Yes, Magic!”

Magic’s response registered to a part of him that he was sure didn't exist. The answering delighted pats touched no organ or limb that Ludwin knew of. But it filled him with a heavy relief.

My Witch, my Witch, another Witch! Magic crooned.

It was just babbling. But somehow, Ludwin knew that things would be alright now. His body grew heavier and heavier along with his eyes, the world around him darkening.

Here I go.

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supercutszns · 4 months

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rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,” you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. ��What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo x reader #pjo series #pjo tv show #luke castellan smut #pjo #heroes of olympus #charlie bushnell #i like sexy evil people making out okay.#maybe will make a part 2 to this series because i’m just so fascinated by their weird little dynamic but we’ll see #i kind of hate this but WE MOVE ANYWAYS!!

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