caz. xviii. she/they. bi. asian. enfp-t. half-hearted writer.
dni. — under 14 or over 30, racist, homophobic, transphobic, sexist, islamophobic, anti-semitic, ableist, pro ana, etc. do not spew xenophobic or sinophobic rhetoric here, that is an instant block.
𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 —
> watching... the summer i turned pretty
> reading... the unbecoming of mara dyer
> streaming... carolina by taylor swift
> writing... ill love myself if you touch me like that pt. 2
> #nsfw.caz — for the once in a blue moon h word thought. filter if you are 18+ and/or uncomfortable
> #caz.irl — more personal posts pertaining to my real life
> #caz answers <3 — answering mail
> #caz’s top notch fic recs — all of my best fic recommendations and current reads organized by the "rec — [character/au!]" tag
> #caz’s writing escapades — my thoughts while writing + sneak peaks at my wips
𝐏𝐒𝐀 —
do not, under any circumstances, repost my content; I do not consent to this and my work will only be posted to other platforms by my own doing through the accounts I have linked in my directory.
set in an alternate universe where luke and five star's relationship didn't make it past camp half blood.
or
luke and five star make their way back to each other in any and every universe.
series masterlist | smau masterlist | alternate universe masterlist
--
“hey,” luke said, appearing from behind the wall. you turned around at the sound of his voice, a bit startled as if you didn’t expect to see him there. in truth, you hadn’t expected to see him there. outside of awkward run-ins with the band at random recording studios when you'd visit your dad or short glances at each other every time chris would drop clarisse off at the dorms during their off-weeks, you hadn't interacted with luke castellan.
you gave him a curt nod, “hey.”
he watched as you stuffed your belongings– a shirt, an extra hoodie, a cap– into a bag, haphazardly, which was so unlike you.
you were meticulous in everything you did. each game, your moves were calculated, always thinking of game play that was two steps ahead of everybody. he knew because he watched every game he could. your room was always pristine. in camp half blood, you had a system for everything you owned. in college, during those rare moments clarisse let him in your shared dorm (she only let luke in when she knew you were gone), your side of the room was always tidy-- blankets folded neatly at the foot of your bed, pillows fluffed to perfection, sweaters hung neatly on the hooks.
it was odd to him to watch you shove clothes into your bag like this. it made him wonder what other parts of you had changed, what other parts of you he didn't know anymore.
your shoulders were tense, locked in a tight position, a sign that you were unhappy with your performance at today’s practice session. if things were different, he'd walk over to you like he had done a million times before and run his hands down your back– slowly, as if he was undoing the knots in your muscles with the touch of his fingertips.
“i didn’t come here to watch you lose, you know,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned against the wall.
“huh,” you scoffed, glancing at him over your shoulder, “that's funny because i didn’t think you came here to watch me at all.”
“oh, don’t give me that,” he spat, taking three steps towards you. “that’s hardly fair, don’t you think?”
“you wanna know what i think?” you asked, zipping up your bag and slinging one strap over your left shoulder. you were fully facing him now. “i think that it’s really fucked up that you decided to watch this weekend in the first place.”
“chris was coming to support clar. he asked us to come with him. what was i supposed to do? say no?”
“yeah, you could’ve.”
“that's not fair, five star, and you know it,” he sighed, "like it or not, i'm friends with clar and she's dating chris who you know is like a brother to me. of course i'd be here."
you laughed sarcastically, “my point stands. you didn't come here to watch me."
"i can never win with you, can i?" his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. "what do you want me to say? do you want me to say that i said yes to chris because i wanted to see you? because i always want to see you?"
"i just want you to tell the truth for once," you shrugged, turning your head to the side as you began to feel tears prick your eyes. it's been a long day. you kept missing the goal each time you tried and the big game is tomorrow. after losing in the semi-finals last year, all you wanted to do was raise the biggest trophy over your head again.
"the truth?" now it was luke's turn to laugh. "that's rich coming from you."
you wiped your eyes with the sleeves of your shirt, "what's that supposed to mean?"
maybe luke was just too far gone at this point because the bite in your voice reminded him of your voice when he first met you. here you were chewing him out and for some ungodly reason, there was fondness blooming in his chest because this was still something he remembers about you. maybe you hadn't changed as much as he thought.
luke shook his head, "it's been a year and i still don't know why you ended things, five star."
"i already told you, luke."
"you didn't though," he replied, taking a tentative step towards you. "and i've given you time and space because i know you like to handle things alone, but i didn't expect days turning into weeks into months and now we're here. it's been a year and i still don't know why things ended between us."
"i told you it just wasn't working out."
"but why?" luke pushed. he bit his tongue for 1 year, 2 months and 23 days. and now that he was in front of you, alone with you, he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. he needed to know. he rubbed his face with his palm, "look, i know the timing isn't ideal. i know you have the championship game tomorrow and this conversation is the last thing that you want to have, but fucking hell, five star. put me out of my misery and just tell me you don't love me at all so i can at least stop hoping that you still do."
you looked down at your feet, blades of grass still clinging on your now green-stained socks from when you stumbled on the field once or twice during your personal practice session. your bottom lip wobbled, "i-i need to get some rest. i can't be sleep deprived for tomorrow."
luke blinked. maybe this was it. he took a step back, angling his body in a way that opened up some space for you to see the door out of the locker rooms, an exit in more ways than one. "alright. good luck."
"thank you," your grip on the strap of your bag loosened as you walked past him, the familiar scent of him sending a chill down your spine. "and thank you for being here, whether you're here for me or not."
i'm always here for you, he wanted to say, but he let the words die on his tongue. he watched you reach the door of the locker room before he spoke again, "you're favoring your left leg when you go for a goal."
"what?'" you turned around, eyebrows furrowed.
"you favor your left leg when you go for a goal and it messes with your balance. you lose a little bit of momentum with your aim, makes the goalie see which direction you're shooting from from a mile away," he explained, standing still in the same spot you left him in. "that's why your attempt didn't go in during the shoot out against stanford two weeks ago. she could see where you were aiming. any other time, they wouldn't have had the chance to block you."
you thought back to that game. unc still won, 4-3, at the shoot out, with your attempt being the only one blocked. you'd been dwelling on the mistake since. a soft laugh escaped your lips, not condescending or mean. "you know everything about field hockey now?"
"no," luke cracked a smile. the real one that you fell in love with under the camp half blood sun. "just know you enough i think."
the cold metal of the door stung your skin as you twisted it open. before you left the locker room, you looked at luke, unsurprised when you saw that his eyes never left you. with a shaky breath, you whispered, "i still do."
it took a second for him to understand what you meant, but when he did, his eyes softened. he could've ran up to you then and kissed you the way he's been dreaming of for over a year now. he could've wrapped you up in his arms and held you close until the smell of your skin was imprinted on his. but he knew there was tomorrow to think about and he wasn't selfish enough to make it about him.
"me too," he settled, "see you tomorrow, five star."
set in an alternate universe where luke and five star's relationship didn't make it past camp half blood.
or
luke and five star make their way back to each other in any and every universe.
series masterlist | smau masterlist | alternate universe masterlist
--
two weeks before
"thank you, new orleans!" luke spoke into the microphone, sweat dripping down from his forehead. he grinned widely as he looked out into the crowd, hundreds of poisoned mercury fans grinning right back at him. "you have been such a great crowd. thank you for having us. we're poisoned mercury!"
travis ran down to the front of the stage, playfully bumping connor with his hip as he reached an arm around his brother. chris took his usual spot to luke's left and connor to his right. the four of them took their final bow before getting off the stage.
luke, as he always did, made a beeline for his phone, sitting untouched on top of an extra amp they kept backstage. his fingers seamlessly navigated his phone, muscle memory taking over as he scrolled to the phone app and clicked on your contact.
he placed the phone to his ear, waiting for the rings to end and for your voice to echo through the phone. when he was met by the sound of your voicemail, luke tried his best not to let his heart drop to his stomach. it was late after all and he knew you kept a strict schedule during the school year to stay on top of your school work and field hockey.
he patiently waited for the beep at the end of your voicemail before he started speaking, "hey five star. you're probably asleep right now, so you won't hear this 'til the morning but i miss you lots, baby!"
luke swiped his forehead with a towel someone handed him, grimacing as the scratchy cloth rubbed across his skin, "we just finished playing in new orleans and the energy was electric. if you have time, i think we should go here for mardi gras. it can be like a whole group trip. kinda like camp, but with a lot more alcohol and beads, i guess."
he laughed at his last sentence. he didn't know where this voicemail was going. he was hoping to speak to you, so he didn't really have anything planned. "i can't wait to talk to you, babe. i feel like we haven't talked in forever. i know we text but it's not the same, y'know? i miss your voic-"
"castellan, who are you talking to?" travis hollered, dragging chris and connor with him to where luke stood in the corner. "is it y/n? why did i even ask? of course it is!"
luke let out a laugh, removing the phone from his ear, as he replied to his bandmate, "i got her voicemail."
"y/n!" connor yelled through the phone, "we miss you! wish you and clar were here."
"i think you guys should just drop out and travel the world with us," travis added, "mr. d won't mind."
"don't listen to this high school drop out, y/n," chris scoffed, "someone's gotta have the brains in your relationship and we both know luke isn't the one to have it."
"hey, fuck you!" luke snorted, a joking tone in his voice. "you highjack my call with my girlfriend and then you insult me?"
shaking his head, luke shoved his friends away with a smile before putting the phone back up to his ear, "sorry, five star. too much adrenaline here. but i just wanted to call to tell you i missed you. i'll end this super unnecessarily long voicemail now. talk soon, baby. i love you."
the day of
it had only been two hours since you ended things with luke and he already felt like his world was falling apart. had he been so blinded all this time to realize that your heart wasn't in this anymore? was he so preoccupied with everything that he hadn't been paying attention to you anymore?
the conversation lasted maybe three minutes-- a series of rushed texts from his end while the three dots on your text threads appeared and disappeared every few seconds. as he scrolled through your text history, luke cringed at the amount of blue blocks on the screen.
his thumb hovered over the call button on your contact. maybe if he just called you, the two of you could talk it out, get to the bottom of things. with a false sense of confidence, luke pressed the button and clicked the speaker icon. he put his head in his hands, silently praying that you'd at least answer the phone.
he glanced at the door of the tour bus, looking for a sign that the boys had returned from picking up dinner at the olive garden across the street. luke let out a sigh of relief that they were nowhere to be found. this wasn't really a conversation he wanted them to overhear.
the dial tones seemed to mock luke. it felt like an eternity, the ear piercing sound of a phone ringing filled the silence in the bus. luke scrunched his face up in defeat when the ringing stopped and the automated voice on your voicemail hit his ears. it was a sound he became acquainted with over the past few days.
with a shaky sigh, he began to speak after the tone, "hey, i don't know if you'll get this voicemail, but can you call me if you do?"
"this can't be it, five star," luke gulped, "i just-- can we talk? i feel like this is too big of a conversation to have it through text."
he paused, starting to feel his throat close up as the weight of the situation settled on his shoulders, "call me, yeah? let's talk, five star. take all the time you need. i'll be here. i'll wait as long as you need-- just, make sure to call me, okay? okay, yeah. talk soon."
three weeks after
luke stood outside your dorm building, a pathetic box of stupid memorabilia from the different cities the band played in during the tour clinking as he adjusted his grip. his fingers dialed the all-too-familiar number and held the phone to his ear.
as expected, his call went straight to voicemail. he cleared his throat, recalling the words he recited in his head a million times over. he was prepared this time. "hey, y/n. i-- uhm-- we, the band that is-- we're in north carolina for a few days. which i'm sure you probably know since chris picked clar up this morning, but uhm i have some things for you that i got for you before... y'know."
luke closed his eyes for a second. it's been weeks yet he can't say the words out loud. each time he tried, the words got caught in the back of his throat, suffocating him. "but yeah, i can drop it off or something. i'm actually here outside your dorm and i can't get in since i'm not a student, but i don't wanna leave it outside and have someone take it. i'll probably have someone who lives here leave it at your door or something."
"unless you wanna meet up to pick it up," he added, then shook his head, "it's fine. whatever you wanna do. anyways, we're here til tuesday so just let me know. thanks."
luke groaned as he ended the call, knowing that he went off script. he probably sounded desperate on that voicemail. he felt a bit of comfort knowing that you'll probably never listen to it anyway.
"luke, is that you?"
luke turned around on his way back to his rental car to see clarisse standing outside of the building. she smiled sadly at him, walking towards him with her arms outstretched. luke forced a smile, stretching his arm to greet her, "oh, hey clar."
she gave him a brief hug, looking down at the box in his hand, "what are you doing here?"
"oh, i.." he scratched the back of his neck. "i got these for five- y/n while we were on tour and i wanted to drop it off, but she's not answering my calls. is she home?"
"oh she's actually not staying here while chris is visiting," clarisse explained, her eyes sorrowful, "she's staying with lena. she wanted me and chris to have some time together."
"gothca," luke replied. he cleared his throat, straightening his back, "hey, maybe you can just bring this inside for me? i don't know if she'd want them, but i didn't think i had the right to throw them out since they're technically hers. she can do whatever she wants with them."
"for sure, i can bring it inside," she took a closer look at the random knick-knacks in the box. keychains, magnets, small memorabilia from each city poisoned mercury played in. "do you wanna come in? chris is inside taking a nap but i'm sure he won't mind getting up."
"nah," luke's voice cracked, "you guys enjoy. i'm with him 24/7 so i'm sure he needs a break from me. i know i need a break from him."
clarisse let out a small laugh at luke's attempt at a joke, "okay."
"it was nice to see you, clar."
"you too," she said, "hey, luke?"
"yeah?"
"you guys will work out. i know it."
"sure," luke nodded, hoping that she wouldn't notice the glossiness of his eyes, "we'll come say bye before we hit the road again."
eight months after
luke stumbled out of the packed club, letting out a breath of relief as the chill london air hit his skin. they just played their last of five sold-out shows in london and decided that it warranted a celebration. luke was happy. the band was thriving. they were growing bigger and bigger with each show.
but something felt off. and he knew what.
he was pretty sure you had blocked his number months ago. he hasn't texted you in months, too afraid that his texts would send as green bubbles, confirming his assumptions. he wasn't ready for the confirmation. not yet. maybe not ever.
he managed to make it a few blocks away from the club, finding a small alleyway far enough away from the bustling crowd of drunk 20-somethings singing an off-key rendition of 'vienna' by billy joel.
he leaned against the wall as he mouthed the words of your voicemail tone. "hey five star."
there was no doubt in his mind that his words were slurred. he had too much to drink tonight. his bandmates kept offering him shots and fans in the club bought them some champagne to celebrate. he probably should've stopped drinking four drinks ago.
"i'm in londoooonnnnnnn," he giggled, "wish you were here. the big ben is indeed big. i rode the london eye yesterday with the boys, which i suggest you never do because travis was jumping around in the little pod thing trying to kill us all."
"i think i unlocked a new fear of heights today," he continued, "connor and i went to the touristy market place and had beer-battered fish and chips. it's not good, by the way. the chocolate covered strawberries were killer though. i think you'd like them. ooh, that sounds good right now."
"mmmhm," he hiccuped, "i miss you. i hope you're doing okay. i'm not."
he removed the phone from his ear as he felt it buzzing. chris was calling him. he hit decline and continued his voicemail. "i think i'll always love you. in a few months we'll be broken up longer than we were together. isn't that crazy?"
luke let out a laugh, "man, i sound fucking pathetic, don't i?"
"luke?" chris' voice echoed through the alleyway. his silhouette appeared around the corner. "bro? where are you? i tracked your location and it says you're here!"
luke placed a hand over his phone's speaker, muffling the sound, "i'm here!"
chris appeared, eyes widening as he saw the phone in luke's hand. "dude, who are you calling?"
"hmm, who else?"
chris snatched the phone from his hand, "luke, you promised you wouldn't call her."
"give me my phone back, chris. i need to tell her i love her."
"luke, you need to sto-" chris placed the phone against his ear, shaking his head when he realized it was just your voicemail. he pressed the red button and shoved the phone in his back pocket. "let's get you back to the hotel, yeah? c'mon man."
one year after
"hey, y/n," luke said over the phone, "sorry for calling but i just wanted to let you know that clar and chris locked their phones in their car. i called triple a to unlock the car but that'll take a good 45 minutes to get here. anyways, she needs you to let her back into the dorms later because she lost her id. she said chris will drop her off at like 8? 8:30 maybe?"
"sorry, babe," clarisse yelled, hoping that the phone picked up her voice. "my replacement gets here on monday!"
"she said she's sorry and that her id replacement gets here on monday," luke repeated, just in case you couldn't hear clarisse. "yeah, that's all. around 8 or 8:30, she'll be there. thanks."
1 year, 2 months and 24 days after
unc were national champions again. you were ending your senior year, your final year, as a national champion. luke hasn't stopped smiling since you hit the game winning goal.
he was now in his hotel room, staring blankly at the ceiling, with his thumb hovering over your contact in his phone. he clicked the call button and held his breath.
one ring. two rings. three rings. four rings.
as he was about to give up, thinking he'd hear the automated message again, rustling on the other side of the call made him sit up on his bed.
Oracles were only admired if they were royalty. For a merchant's daughter like you, prophetic claims came with marks of a heretic and "burn at the stake" threats.
You coughed up dust when you were pushed onto the stone floor. There was silence around you, one that seemed more curious than haughty.
You carefully looked up to see Queen Rhaenyra, who looked as if you were a dead lion that just fell from the sky.
"What is the meaning of this?" There was fury and familiarity behind those words, and you groaned as you registered Jacaerys Velaryon in the room. He had his eyes trained on the guards and was intentionally ignoring yours.
Great.
"She's a witch!" The first guard yelled, sounding like he had a personal vendetta against you. It might had something to do with how you kicked his balls earlier to try to be freed from him, but you weren't sure.
Daemon Targaryen laughed. The sound made you look around the room properly. Daemon and Rhaenys were seated opposite each other, both looking more intimidating than the other. There were at least five guards around the room. But perhaps the most intimidating of them all was Rhaenyra herself, who looked fierce and gentle all at once. She gave off a godlike aura, which had you half tongue-tied. Jace stood a few paces in front of her.
"A witch?" She asked, almost exhausted. "How is she a witch?"
"She's from Driftmark—" a second guard said, sounding more civil than the last.
"That explains it," Darmon interrupted, smirking at Rhaenys. The latter rolled her eyes.
"Daughter of a merchant who migrated from Westeros three years ago. Her stepmother wrote to us saying there is a witch in her family, and presented us with enough information that we had no choice but to act."
"I'm not a witch," you sneered. The first guard kicked you down to the floor.
"Silence!" He yelled; and you felt rage and humiliation rising tenfold.
When you could look up again, everyone was staring at Jace. He had his sword out, pointed directly at the chin of the guard. Everyone was appalled. Everyone except Daemon, who looked proud.
"You will not treat a lady with disrespect in Queen's court ever again, or you'll be dismissed," he said plainly.
The guard seemed to calm down considerably. "Yes, my prince."
The prince in question did not look satisfied, but he put away his sword. It went without saying that he still hasn't spared a glance towards you.
"What's this information that convinced you she was a witch?" Rhaenyra asked, skeptical.
As the third guard brought your scrolls forward, you knew you were doomed.
"My stepmother just wanted to ask the palace for money in my exchange!" You cried out. "I'm not a witch!"
No one seemed to have heard your protests. The guard gave the scrolls to Rhaenyra, who took some and gave the rest to her husband. Daemon opened them, his interest evident.
"These are just drawings," Rhaenyra turned the paper upside down, as if they'd make more sense that way. Jace looked as if he wanted to spare a glance, but he hesitated and stood his ground.
"They're her predictions," the first guard answered, almost hissing. "It speaks of many things... including Lucerys Velaryon's death." Rhaenyra paled at the words. You knew the wound about her son was still fresh, and you instantly felt sorry for her. "If she had a hand in his death—"
"I didn't."
"Then it was a concern to not chain her," he finished, triumphant. "Should I bring her to the dungeons, Your Highness?"
Rhaenyra thought for a while before answering. "This seems like not enough proof to force upon a conviction on someone. These scrolls could mean anything—"
"Apologies, Your Grace, this needs immediate attention." Maester Gerardys burst through the doors with a message in his hands. He ignored you, the guards, the scrolls — as if none of it was remotely comparable to what he was going to say.
"Jaehaeyrs Targaryen is dead."
Silence filled the room once again. You felt like you were invading a moment you shouldn't be in. But if Maester saw you, he didn't think you enough of importance so he went on.
"Decapitated... They think you ordered them to do it! That's the news spreading through the streets anyway."
"Me?" Rhaenyra looked surprised at the implication.
"Two," Daemon spoke up, his face buried in the scrolls. Your scrolls. Everyone stared at him.
"What?"
"There are two sketches of funeral pyres. Both look small enough to be children's." Daemon met your eyes. "One has the Velaryon crest, and one has the Targaryen crest."
You closed your eyes, sighing.
--
Even though the dungeon was dark and uncomfortable, you fell asleep the moment dusk arrived.
You weren't even surprised when you dreamt of him; A vegetable stall, and a boy.
A teen with dark hair and brown eyes, seemingly dressed down from the rest of the royals. Even then, his fabric was finer than anything you've ever seen. If disguise was what he was going for, he hadn't done it right.
"Would you like some apples?" you asked on behalf of your father, who was sleeping in for the day. Who could blame him? You were tired in the scorching heat, and it hadn't even been three hours since you started.
"Uhm, yes please. How much for them?"
You named your price and he frowned.
"Am I supposed to bargain?" He asked, blinking.
This earned a laugh. "Don't your servants usually do the shopping?"
There was a pause and he paled under your daring gaze. "How did you-"
"You're wearing a Targaryen ring."
"Who's to say it's not a stolen relic? Or fake?"
"If it was stolen, you wouldn't parade it around in daylight."
"I would if it meant pretty girls mistaking me for the Prince."
"—and if it's fake," you continued, ignoring his comment. Men flirting was as common as fruits rotting. It often had nothing to do with who they were talking with, and more about getting abed. "The guards confiscate any fake things made in the name of the Crown."
"Fine, you caught me," he sighed, taking the ring off and dropping it inside his clothes. "There. I'm off Prince duty now."
"Jacaerys!" A guard with long, dark hair and a matching beard seemed relieved at the sight of the Prince. The latter groaned. You were curious about why he wasn't addressed with formalities. You hadn't guessed there would be friendships between the royals and those who served them. "What have I told you about running off?"
"I thought my younger brother could use a one-on-one with you. I've already mastered my swordsmanship."
"Hardly!" The guard scoffed, then noticed you. "Forgive us miss, we've a long way off the castle so you'll excuse us now."
You were reeling from how polite they both sounded. You nodded curtly. The guard might as well have dragged the Prince by his arms.
"I'll come for the apples another time!" Jacerys yelled behind his shoulders.
And he did.
Again and again.
He soon confided in you that the guard gave him and his brother private lessons in an abandoned ground outside the town, and that it was the reason for his frequent visits. The guard soon warmed up to you too, and he was positively in love with the grapes you sold. He told you his name was Ser Harwin Strong. Jace said others called him Breakbones. You didn't know why because the man had the gentlest eyes.
Then one day, both of them just stopped coming.
No explanation, nothing. It was like they never existed.
---------------------------------------
"Wake up, the Queen wants to see you." The keepsman said, nudging your shoulders. You scrambled to your feet, eyes blinded by the fire lamps lit all around.
Before you could so much as adjust your hair, Rhaenyra briskly walked in. She nodded her head and the guards left the room, closing the wooden door behind them.
"Good wishes, Your Grace." You wanted to look down to the floor, but you couldn't keep your eyes off her. She was wearing black robes with red stones that carved into an intricate design, which looked suspiciously like a dragon tail. She sat down on the makeshift bed, her fingers intertwined.
"You can be honest with me."
You blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I wouldn't hang you or — burn you in a stake," she said firmly. "You can tell me the truth, any and all of it."
"You believe in magic?" you were bewildered.
"In a kingdom ruled by dragons, magic isn't far off the table."
"I'm not a witch," you said, almost stumbling over your words. She raised her eyebrows. "I'm not — I don't know what I am. Someone... something is talking through me. It does the sketches, not me. I'm a spectator to whatever I'm drawing."
Rhaenyra looked like she wanted to interrupt when you started sounding more panicked. But you paid her no heed.
"I say it's nonsense all the time. True, I predicted the storm two summers ago but how was I to know a vision of a tree in the middle of the ocean had any impact on what went above it? Isn't that just pure idiotic?"
"Y/N—"
"A vision once told me I would get married to a red boar, for fuck's sake!"
"Red boar?"
"Another time I saw a goose looking in a mirror and then killing itself. Don't know what that means either, do I?!"
The Queen reached for your hand, bringing you back from the evergrowing spiral inside your head. You realized you were gasping for air.
"You don't have to have all the answers," she said consolingly. "It wasn't fair of me to ask that much."
You nodded, calming down. "Thank you."
She stood up. "I'll make sure you're given dinner after your next visitor."
"Next?"
"How do you know him, I wonder?" she met your eyes questioningly. "My son?"
"I don't," you replied, just as fast. She didn't look one bit convinced but nodded anyway. Then she left without another word.
Jacaerys came in right as she left. He was wearing a different set of robes, but the vest looked the same. His hair had gotten even messier, which you didn't think was possible. Suddenly, you were aware of what you wore. All you had was your white nightgown, which you were still wearing when you had been forced out of bed.
"I want you to be one of the council advisors," he stated, all business-like.
"Uhm, what?"
"You're a prophet," he sat down where Rhaenyra did, though he looked more uncomfortable about it. "You're an asset."
You snorted. It was very much like a royal family to say something like that. "I'd disagree, Your Grace."
"You don't have to do the titles." Then he noted how you looked mad. He sighed. "I'm sor-"
"I'm sorry about your brother," you interjected, and sadness filled his face. But he ignored your comment and looked at his hands instead. He still had the Targaryen ring, along with a few other new ones. You frowned at one of them in particular, but he spoke before you look longer at it.
"Ser Harwin Strong was my father."
So much about the sentence had you in surprise, but only one mattered above all others.
"Was?"
"He died two days after the last time I visited you," he nodded. "Which is also why I never came again. Foul play was suspected in his death, but never confirmed. They found a new guard for me, one who trained me inside the palace walls."
"I'm sorry." You didn't know what else to say.
"I missed you everyday, if that counts."
You smiled. "It does."
"And that skill of yours? Seeing future? Do not push it down." His voice was firm. "Control it. No matter what you think, it's a power. And whoever gave you that power wouldn't have given it to you if they thought you couldn't handle it."
Now you really didn't know what to say.
"I'll have you transferred to a room. A nice one with a view out to the sea." He promised, standing up. "That is, if you agree to my offer to be an advisor."
"And my stepmother?"
"She's banished from the castle, of course. Not a coin given, even though what she gave us is invaluable. She just didn't know it."
"Oh, please." You laughed.
"I hope I'll see you soon, Y/N," Jace said wholeheartedly, noting how his visit was coming to an end. As he stepped out of the dungeon, you were still thinking about his words.
And also his ring, specifically the one that had a tusked animal carved on it, entirely out of pure ruby.
In other words, a red boar.
THE END
-----------
some notes
Ser Harwin dies wayyy earlier but I tweaked the timeline to be aligned here.
the goose killing its reflection prophecy was reference to Halaena's drawings.
which speaks about Erryk and Arwyn's deaths. Goose is their crest.
I'm not sure if I should continue this story 'cause it holds up good on its own as a oneshot! But if you'd like, you can drop ideas for the continuance of this fic or other new jace fics @ my asks!
ty for reading and here's my coffee page if you want to support me :)
jj maybank x fem!reader | part 4 of the daylight series | read part 3 here
content warnings: mentions of sex
word count: 1.6k.
blurb: as JJ drives the two of you back from work, a small slip-up sends you spiralling.
A month into your life in Kildare, you land a job at the Kook Country Club. You’re the summertime photographer. Hired to loiter and snap shots of the guests so they can be posted on their Facebook and used in advertisements. When you told the Pogues (now a firm member of the group), JJ told you that he worked at the same place. Professional busboy, he remarked. He offered to carpool to and from work whenever possible, to save gas and effort. You had hoped your lack of elation didn’t show on your face.
It wasn’t that you didn’t like JJ. The contrary, actually. Despite spending considerable time with all of the Pogues, long enough to build friendships with each one, you and JJ were the closest. Perhaps it followed the first meeting, knitting you closer together. Or it might be the attraction that still lingers under the surface of your friendship. Since that night at the Chateau, neither of you had brought it up since. Not explicitly, at least. But you knew you liked JJ, and you knew he liked you too. Both of you had been caught stealing glances and flirting was hidden under banter and jokes. It dampened the weight of it: softened the truth. But it was getting harder to keep your feelings at bay. So, to say that you would have to face JJ even more at work didn’t exactly perk you up.
Not that you’d ever say that to him. So, now you hitch rides with JJ to and from work everyday.
You hitch your tote bag up your shoulder as you make your way to the Twinkie. The memory card is full of photos of sun-kissed snobs, grinning in the sunlight, sipping on overpriced mimosas and martinis. What a way to live. JJ is lent against the side of the van, typing something on his phone. At the sound of your footsteps, he looks over. The background is something cinematic: a sky of swirling purple and blue as day turns to night.
“Yo! Good to go?”
“Yeah,” you say. You climb into the van. JJ starts the journey home. The silence is filled with gossip and shit-talking about your least favourite co-workers. When that dies down, you say, “thanks for bringing me lunch, by the way.”
“Course. Maggie makes the best biscuits. Had to sneak you one.”
And it’s things like that which drive you insane. He just had to bring you one, because you were hungry, and you forgot lunch, and he wanted you to try something tasty. It’s not fair. It’s confusing. Your infatuation with him makes you want to dive deeper into the hidden meanings; weaving between the lines to find strands that don't even exist.
About halfway home, the dashboard pings.
“Shit. We’re low on gas.”
He changes course for the nearest gas station, eventually turning into a Seven Eleven. It glows fluorescent in the soulless streets. JJ turns off the engine after pulling up to a pump. He digs about in his pocket and passes you his card.
“Go pay for me?” he asks. You take his card and it feels strangely intimate, you doing this. “Oh! And you get a free slurpee so make sure that you claim it!”
“Oh my God,” you mumble with a roll of your eyes, climbing out the van.
You head into the gas station and buy him half a gallon of gas and, sure enough, you get a free slurpee. You mix cherry with blue raspberry. When you return to the van, JJ’s placing the pump back into the hold. He looks at you and grins when you present the slurpee.
“Sweet.”
He grabs it from you like a nine-year-old helping with errands and takes several gulps through the straw as the two of you settle back in the Twinkie. He passes it back as he starts to drive. You can’t take the quiet so turn on the radio. Whatever new Ariana Grande song has just come out begins to play. JJ makes grabby hands.
“Lemme have another sip.”
“No, I’m still drinking.”
“Come on!”
“Just a minute,” you laugh, taking another drink.
JJ tries to wrestle it from your hold, keeping a steady, white-knuckled grip on the wheel and his eyes on the road. In the sloppy battle, his hand slips from the condensed cup. It somehow finds place on your chest. Your laughter catches in your throat at the weight of his hand on your breast. The moment his brain catches up, he snatches it away. He clears his throat, both hands now on the wheel.
“Sorry,” JJ eventually croaks.
You stare wide eyed at the road ahead. Take an almost comic sip of the drink to calm your burning body. One fucking fleeting touch and you’re alit, like he’s the match to your kerosene. Jesus Christ: you didn’t know you were so touch starved.
The two of you don’t talk for the rest of the ride. He doesn’t try to take the drink back. Doesn’t have another sip. The van has hardly stopped moving when you dart out, heading to your house with a hurried thanks, bye. It feels like you’ve been holding your breath all the way to your bedroom. The second air gets into your lungs, you know what you need to do.
Mimsy picks up on the second ring. The time zones have aligned nicely and it’s about six in the evening there, and nine at night for yourself.
“Sup?”
“Oh my God, Mimsy. You’re not going to believe this,” you blurt.
“Doubtful,” she snorts.
“JJ just felt me up.”
The line goes so silent you wonder if the service cut out. When your ear drums are nearly blasted, you know that it hasn’t.
“What!?”
“Well, kind of,” you clarify.
“He felt you up!? In what way? Where? When? Why?”
“Just now. Like five minutes ago, in the car.”
“Were you hooking up in the car!?” Mimsy screeches. “Ah! You’re iconic!”
“I was not hooking up in the car!” you loudly reply, before remembering that your parents are both probably home. Clearing your throat, you lower your voice. “It really wasn’t that deep, to be honest.”
“Well, walk me through it. Gimme a play-by-play,” Mimsy says.
“Well, he was giving me a ride home like usual. You remember me telling you that we work at the same club and stuff?”
“Mhm.”
“So we’re driving, driving, driving and the gas light comes on. We pull up at a seven-eleven, all pretty standard, and he gives me his card, right? To go pay?”
“Wait, he gives you his card?”
“Thank you!” you cheer. “That’s kinda boyfriend-ish, right?”
“Kinda, yeah,” she agrees. “Okay, so, you go in to pay.”
“Well, he also wants a free slurpee so I get us one and I head out and we’re sharing it, and start driving back, and then he tries to grab it off me. And this little play fight starts and bla bla bla and then BAM. Hand on tit.”
Mimsy goes quiet for a second time. “And?”
“Well…That’s it…” you mumble.
Another quiet. “Girl, please tell me you’re joking.”
“No?”
“I’ve had a lamp post feel me up more than that,” Mimsy says.
“What kind of lamp posts have you been walking past?” you mumble.
“Not important, babes,” Mimsy replies. “Look, if you’re horny at this man grazing your tit then just jump his bones. Didn’t he say that he was into you, anyway?”
“He did but that was like a month ago.”
“So what? Men are simple creatures, babes. He liked you then, he likes you now. Probably more, actually, now that he’s really got to know you. Really had to pine and yearn.”
“Don’t feed my delusions,” you grumble, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“They’re not delusions when you have cold, hard proof that the guy wants to fuck you.”
“God, I love how you don’t hold back,” you sardonically quip.
“Look, what is this? Why won’t you just sleep with the guy?” Mimsy asks, her tone more genuine.
Your eyes flick down to the box under your bed. “I don’t know,” you lie.
“Is this because of Tyler?”
“Mimsy–”
“Because you’ve let that scumbag taint enough of your life,” she tells you pointedly. “And here’s a hot surfer bro who’s totally into you, and you’re punishing yourself for a crime you didn’t even commit!”
“It’s not like that,” you reply. Sitting on your bed, you hang your head. “I just…I think Tyler kind of messed me up. I don’t even know why, or how, but everything romantic now makes me feel sick. Hell, I cry every time I get myself off Mimsy because whenever I come, I just remember that last night with him and how fucking confused I was.”
Mimsy’s voice is low and soft. “Shit, babes. Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Because I was embarrassed,” you mumble. Tears slip past your eyes and you hurry to wipe them away. “I mean, you know that he never assaulted me. Never laid a hand on me without my permission.”
“And? You’re still allowed to be upset,” Mimsy gently says.
You groan as more tears fall. “God this is so stupid! I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise. Fuck, I just wish you were still in Vancouver. I’d be over at your house in five minutes and give you a hug,” Mimsy says.
You give a soggy laugh. “Shit, me too.”
“Look, just take the night, get some rest and really think about this whole JJ thing. If you’re into him and he’s into you, then you two should quick beating around the bush and fuck. In the bush, even.”
“Charming,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But, yeah, I’ll have a think.”
“Okay.”
You wipe your face and smile at the floor. “Thanks, Mimsy. Love you.”
“Love you too,” she returns. “Bye babes.”
“Bye.”
Shutting off your phone, you step out of your uniform and crawl into bed. You spend the hour before drifting off trying to ward off thoughts of JJ and Tyler. It's useless though, because the sleep that you eventually fall into is haunted by them both.
jj maybank x fem!reader | part 3 of the daylight series | read part 2 here
content warnings: alcohol
word count: 2k.
blurb: after finding a box of memories, you jump at the chance to go fishing with JJ. There, you open up a little more about your life in Vancouver.
You come downstairs at the sound of your dad calling your name. You find him standing by a stack of cardboard boxes, labelled with marker pen scribbles.
“Can you take your stuff upstairs? That other delivery van finally arrived. Only a God damn month late,” your dad grumbles.
“Sure thing,” you say.
It takes about ten minutes to lug your boxes upstairs. Closing your bedroom door, you begin to unpack. Most of them are full of clothes and accessories: caps and bags that you probably don’t even need, since you didn’t miss them in their lack. Another box has school things, in case you need your old notes for the next year of classes. The final box is full of miscellaneous items. Childhood memorabilia and wads of photographs and photo albums. Stupid dress-up gear from costume parties you and Mimsy had attended. You snap a selfie dressed in the get-up and send it to Mimsy.
A shoebox at the bottom has you taking pause. You take it out and set it on your bed, opening it. Your heart stops when you see what’s inside.
How could you forget?
The box is piled high with various things, and at the top is a journal. It's frayed on the corners from excessive wear and tear. It was the journal you had kept when dating your ex boyfriend, Tyler. You take it out and promptly put it to the side like it’s coated in anthrax. There is absolutely no urge to flick through the pages and relive every moment of that tumultuous, tortuous affair. Below the journal is a t-shirt that belonged to him, then an impressive stack of photos. Happy photos. Smiling photos. Photos that are mostly of just the two of you, always in one or the other’s bedroom. Any photos taken in public have the two of you standing apart, acting as though you don’t know the feel of the other’s skin. There's a birthday present he gave you; a card; a ‘love letter’ that had made you so happy at the time, and only bitter in the aftermath. In fact, all of it made you bitter. All emotions led back to anger, and betrayal, and hurt.
And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to get rid of it. Even now, even still, in a different country, on a different coast: you feel the need to keep it. Treasure it like a cursed artefact.
You’re happy to be taken out of your nightmarish thoughts by the ping of your phone. You pick it up, expecting a text from Mimsy, only to be surprised at finding one from JJ.
I’m bored.
Smiling, glad for the distraction, you reply.
Hi bored.
Nerd. Srsly tho. I wanna do something.
You turn your back on the box of memories.
Wanna go to the cinema?
Hello I’m poor??? U acting mad expensive rn
Laughing, you roll your eyes and offer something that you know JJ would never refuse.
Fishing then?
Dope. Pick u up in 5.
You kill the time waiting for JJ by tidying away the last few belongings. The items are returned to the shoe box and hidden under your bed following the philosophy out of sight, out of mind.
The honk of a car horn outside has you grabbing your backpack and heading for the door. JJ sits behind the steering wheel, staring off into the distance as he mindlessly taps along to the beat of the Kendrick song he’s playing. You whistle as you approach and he smiles when he spots you.
“Where we fishing?”
“Found a good spot the other day,” JJ says, setting off once you’re in the passenger seat. “Caught some good bass and stuff. Spotted bass too.”
“Sounds good,” you hum. You kick your feet up onto the dashboard and pick at the peeling nail varnish on your fingertips.
There’s no need to fill the quiet of the campervan as JJ drives. You eye him in your peripheral as he concentrates on the road.
His resting face sits with a set jaw and you suddenly imagine him to clench his jaw in his sleep. Lips somewhere between a frown and smile, his eyes are somewhat hooded. His neck is so attractive. You never thought necks could be attractive before, but seeing it tense and relax when he swallows and sighs, the way the skin teases over the Adam’s apple...it's tortuous. You can just picture stretching your hands around it, scratching against the skin of his jugular with your nails, marking his pretty flesh with love bites…
“What’s up?”
“Huh?”
“You lookin' at me. Something up?” JJ asks in all his innocence.
Your dart your eyes to the road ahead. “Uh, no, no. I’m good.”
“A'right,” he says. Back to quiet. You don’t dare spare another glance at him for the rest of the ride.
JJ parks up on a quiet country road. You both get out of the car and load up with fishing gear and snackage. JJ takes the cooler, biceps flexing, and the fishing rods. Lugging two collapsable chairs on either shoulder, you follow him with a box of bait and your backpack in hand. He guides you up a dirt path, overgrown with ivy and stinging nettles. A dilapidating jetty comes into view and you’re happy to see it empty. You both take to setting up shop. You weren’t lying to him, the first time that you met: you didn’t much care for fishing. But honestly, you’d take any excuse to spend time with JJ. It’s pathetic to admit to yourself that he could ask you to help him drain a sewer and you’d say yes without a second thought.
Cracking open a beer, you offer it to JJ.
“Thanks,” he smiles.
You open your own and the two of you cheers before taking a swig. It’s crisp and cooling in the muggy summer sun. He hands you a prepared fishing rod and you lean against the shaky railing beside him. He’s dug out his cap: the red one that he wore the first time you met. It shadows his face beautifully. You look out to the water and admire the calming view. A sea bird darts across the sky in the distance and you half want to grab for your camera.
“You have good fishing in Vancouver?” he asks.
“S’alright,” you reply. “My uncle loves fishing. He used to take me to this spot where you could catch trout as long as your leg.”
“Fuck off,” JJ laughs.
“I’m serious! Swear to God, I thought this thing was gonna eat me!”
The two of you laugh. Your smile turns solemn at the memory. It hurts to think about your life in Vancouver. It feels like it was years ago, hazy like a lucid dream, distorted with nostalgia. Never before have you been more grateful for facetime or else you might forget Mimsy’s voice.
The day stretches on with the two of you passing drinks and chips and refreshing bait. The bucket starts to fill with some catches. Nothing impressive. Somehow you both end up sitting in your chairs. One hand remains on the rod, waiting for a bite and holding it steady. JJ is reclined in his chair somewhat precariously, feet up on the bannister, weighed down by heavy, black boots.
“I don’t think I ever asked,” JJ says, catching your attention. He looks to you. “Why’d you move to Kildare anyway?”
“Well, you know the old saying,” you reply. “If at first your marriage fails: pick up and move country, eh?”
“Ah,” JJ replies, chuckling a little. “Is the marriage fixed, then?”
“Hell no,” you snort. “They fucking hate each other. Hardly talk. I think my dad just wanted an excuse to move back to North Carolina.”
“He from here?”
“Yeah, he was born here. I have a ton of family out here too. Well, not in Kildare but in Carolina.”
“Damn,” JJ mumbles.
“It’s typical of my dad though. He's selfish like that. I mean, it's kind of messed up, don't you think? Dragging me away from my friends. From my life.” Your anger sparks suddenly. “You know, he didn’t even ask me if I wanted to leave. Because why the fuck would I want to leave? My entire life was there! Everything was there!”
JJ doesn’t speak. You catch yourself. Taking a shaky breath, you close your eyes, embarrassed for the outburst.
“Sorry,” you mumble. “I just…I haven’t really talked about it to anyone yet.”
“You’re good,” JJ says. You look at him to find a small, reassuring smile. “I get it. Parents suck.”
You laugh, shaking your head. Leaning your head back, eyes slipping closed, you agree. “Yep. Parents suck.”
“I’m sorry, by the way,” JJ quietly adds. You open your eyes on him. “That you had to leave Vancouver.”
“Thanks,” you smile, eyes sad. “I know I’ll find a way to be happy here. But right now, I just miss home. I miss Mimsy.”
“Mimsy?”
“My best friend,” you clarify. “She’s the fucking best. Completely unhinged. Obsessed with true crime and conspiracy theories. Zero filter.”
“She sounds like fun.”
“She is. She’d get along with you guys great,” you say. “It’s hard though. The time difference and everything sucks. And we talk a lot now but I’m just worried about the future. Like, what if it gets too much, with the distance, and we get busy and drift apart. She’s been in my life since I was like six years old. I guess it freaks me out to think about her not being there, you know?”
JJ nods. “Guess that’s like me and John B. We’ve been best friends since kindergarten. I can’t imagine how it would feel being, like, six hours apart.”
“It sucks,” you chuckle. “And it’s not just that, either. I feel like I have unfinished things in Vancouver. It’s like I left before I could close the book, if that makes sense.”
“What kind of things?” JJ wonders. He shifts in his seat to face you better. Neither of you are paying much attention to fishing now.
“Romance things,” you say with a joking roll of your eyes.
JJ’s brows raise. “You leave a man behind or something?”
“Man is a generous word,” you snigger. “But yeah, sort of. We weren’t together anymore - I mean, maybe we weren’t together ever - but I never got all the answers I wanted…I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“Most things are,” JJ hums. You have to agree there. Nothing is ever clear-cut, black-and-white. At least not in your experience. “So, what’s the story? He cheat on you.”
“No. Least, I don’t think so,” you say. Shaking your head, you shoot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t think I really wanna talk about it.”
“You’re good,” JJ says for a second time that day. He looks down to watch his thumb stroking the condensation on the side of his can. Tactfully avoiding your request, he then asks, “where you, like, in love with him?”
“Yes. God knows why, but, yeah,” you reply with a self-deprecating laugh. “Have you ever been in love?”
JJ squints against the sun as he looks out to the horizon. “Dunno, really. I guess you’d know if you had been in love, right? Like you’d know what that feels like.”
“Yeah, you would,” you return.
Looking at you, JJ only hesitates a moment before he asks, “what does it feel like? Being in love?”
Smiling wistfully, you reply honestly. “It’s the worst feeling in the world.”
jj maybank x fem!reader | part 2 of the daylight series | read part 1 here
content warnings: drinking, mentions of sex
word count: 3k.
blurb: you join jj's friends at the chateau and find yourself playing hot seat.
“No.”
“Come on! It’s cute!”
“I mean this with all due respect: burn that top.”
Rolling your eyes, you look down at your t-shirt. You’d thrifted it from a shop near the harbour. Born to fish, made to work. You thought it was hilarious, and it was washed and worn-down into comfort. Stretched at the collar and slightly big on your frame, you fell in love. Mimsy? Not so much.
“It’s funny. I think it’ll go down well,” you tell her, keeping it on. You tuck the front into your pair of shorts before sitting down at your desk. Grabbing your hair brush, you begin taming your hair.
“This is the first time you’re meeting hot-mechanic-man’s friends and that’s what you’re wearing?” Mimsy says, disapproval heavy in her voice. “God, you really are lost without me.”
Mimsy had dubbed JJ ‘hot-mechanic-man’ after you recounted the story from two nights ago, when your car decided to call it quits on some random country road. All you’d done was tell her his name and that he was from the Cut, and she’d stalker master-minded her way to his Instagram. It was just as you had pictured it to be. Snaps of him surfing, some shirtless (score), and photos of him smoking. His friends were on there too. You’d counted it as homework for tonight in your sleuthing. John B with a head of brown-ish hair, curled and fairly long; Kiara with a brimming smile and ‘save the turtles’ branded backpack; Pope with his awkward grin which did not match his well-toned body. They seemed fun from the photos.
There was a video on his Instagram which you think Mimsy might have watched fifteen or so times. It was of JJ shot-gunning a beer with John B, stood in a yard beside a campfire. You’d watched it too, eyes fixated on his bobbing Adam’s apple, and promptly clicked out of the video. So, despite your teasing, you were grateful for Mimsy’s talents.
“How’re you getting there? Parents giving you a ride?”
“I’ll skate,” you say.
Mimsy nods. “Is it a good skate scene out there?”
“S’alright,” you shrug. Flashing her a smile through the camera, you say, “would be better if you were here.”
“Yeah, well, most things are,” she jokingly returns. The smile that follows is solemn. The two of you missed each other like crazy.
Mimsy looks past the camera into a mirror and continues working glitter onto her eyelid. It sparkles against her tanned skin. She's going out tonight to your usual haunt. Fake IDs got you into a social-club style bar in your local area, where most of your friends went. You missed the smell of liquor that clung to the walls and that uncomfortable tackiness of the floors.
“You nervous about meeting his friends, then?”
“I guess,” you say. “Kinda nervous about meeting him again.”
“Yeah, hot guys will have that effect on you,” Mimsy returns with a cheeky grin.
Rolling your eyes, you go to fire something back but get interrupted by a crackled yell through the speaker. Mimsy turns around in her chair, towards her door, and hollers back to her mother in Spanish.
“Pol el amor de Dios,” she mumbles as she turns back to the camera. “Sorry, babes. Gotta go.”
“Have fun!” you grin.
“Oh, you too,” she returns with a telling wink. Then she clicks off the screen. Your room is unnaturally quiet without her voice and company.
Checking the time, you get to your feet, pull on a pair of beat-up Reboks, and grab your bag and penny board. Jogging down the stairs of the two-story home, you call out to your parents. Your dad mumbles his reply just as you slip out the door. You take off down the street and head towards the address JJ text you. Your backpack is heavy with beer cans and unopened chips, and your cased digital camera. It felt wrong to leave your house without some form of camera: polaroid, digital, disposable. You were attached like a child to a safety blanket.
As you pull onto the road which supposedly leads up to John B’s house, the amount of tarmac depletes. Making the rest of the way on foot, you’re only semi-cautious as you start down a dirt trail to an old fish shack that’s only just visible through overgrown shrubs and trees. The echo of energetic chatter which carries to you calms your worry. You round the corner to find JJ stood on top of a tree stump, arms expanded as he tells a story. When his eyes catch yours, he stops mid-sentence and jumps down.
“Yo! You made it!”
The rest of the gang turns as JJ bounds over to you. He grabs you by the shoulders and coaxes you into the gathering.
“This is the girl I was telling you guys about,” he says to his friends.
They nod, wave and smile their greetings. JJ stands behind you, hands planted on your shoulders, and announces your name like you’re visiting royalty.
“That’s John B, Kiara and Pope,” he introduces. You think you do a good job acting like you’ve never seen any of them before.
"You're the damsel in distress JJ's been telling us about?" Kiara asks.
Laughing, you say, "that's not how I'd describe myself but sure."
The group smiles. John B nods down at the penny board you’re carrying. “You skate?”
“No, no, I just carry it around for street cred,” you dryly return. Pope sniggers.
“See! Told you she was funny!” JJ says. He makes his way to the beer cooler. “Beer or seltzer?”
“Beer,” you reply.
He tosses a can to you like he did at the garage. You catch and crack it open, and then take the empty lawn chair beside Kiara. She’s sitting crossed legged, nursing a bottle. The only lighting comes from the porch behind you. Everyone is sat in a wonky circle, lounging in their various seats. JJ has claimed the hammock. Chickens coo in a run not far from the group. The marsh water near John B’s home soothingly laps at the land. Crickets and owls accompany the quiet hum of music playing from a beat-up Bluetooth speaker.
“You came at the perfect time,” Kiara tells you. “JJ was just telling us a very interesting story.”
“Thank you, for that,” he replies, gliding past the almost-insult. “As I was saying, Priss snuck outta the party and nobody knows where she's at, right? Then, I'm heading out and guess who I fuckin' see her mackin' on? Fuckin' Bradley G.”
"You're so full of shit," John B snorts, shaking his head.
"I swear on my life! I swear on my God blessed grave, Priss and Brad G hooked up at that keggar the other night!"
You glance at JJ's friends and nobody seems very convinced.
"You're not allowed to go to parties unsupervised anymore," Pope says in a matter-of-fact manner.
"Shut up, Pope. Like you ever go to parties anyway," JJ mutters before taking a hefty swig of his drink.
Rolling her eyes, Kie looks to you. “Anyway. JJ says you’re new to Kildare?”
“Yep,” you reply.
“Where abouts you living? On the Cut?”
“Yeah, about ten minutes from here, actually,” you say. “Thanks for letting me hang with you guys by the way.”
“Course,” she smiles.
“Oh!” You suddenly remember your bag. Delving in, you produce two large bags of chips. “I brought snacks and drinks too.”
John B gets up and gladly takes the beers from you, placing them in the cooler with thanks. Kie tosses a bag of chips to JJ before opening the other, offering it around.
For a while there’s little chatter as you all relax. Kie hums along to the Bob Marley song that plays and Pope reads. John B’s head is reclined back, eyes shut, and a cloud of smoke sometimes billows out from the hammock cocoon JJ’s placed himself in. It’s reminiscent of how your friends used to be back in Vancouver. Chilled and cool, no pressure.
JJ breaks the quiet with a groan, shifting to sit up. “A'right. I’m bored. Let’s play a game or something.”
“Not strip poker again,” Pope demands.
“Oh come on! Why not!?” JJ protests.
Kie rolls her eyes. “Because you’re a card shark.”
“And because you always end up getting your dick out,” John B tags on. You snort into your can.
“Alright, alright, what then? I can’t be arsed setting up beer pong,” JJ grumbles, plopping himself down in a seat just opposite you.
“What about hot seat?” you offer. The group looks to you.
“Hot seat?”
“Yeah, it’s when someone sits down in a chair and they’re grilled for five minutes by the group. Any questions, no rules. If they don’t wanna answer, they drink,” you explain. “It’s fun.”
“I’m down,” Kie shrugs.
“Me too,” Pope agrees. John B nods.
JJ gets up, grabbing another abandoned seat (I mean, are these things multiplying?) and placing it in view of everyone, mimicking that of a courtroom layout.
“Alright, who’s first?” he asks. After a round of highest-lowest, Pope winds up in the hot seat. He shifts nervously as Kie readies her timer.
“Ready? Go!”
With that, an influx of questions follow. They range in severity: some joking and trivial and others bordering on existential. Pope drinks only once when asked if he’s into anybody, and before more prying can follow, the timer goes off.
“Now you get to choose who goes next,” you explain, somewhat giddy with the others.
“John B, you’re up,” Pope prompts. They swap seats and the group eggs the brunette on as he steels himself for questioning. The timer starts and the questions begin.
“Blow job or hand job?”
“Blow job,” John B answers JJ.
“Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs.”
“Do you think the Royal Merchant is real?”
“Damn straight,” John B replies. You frown. Royal Merchant?
“Hottest girl in the county?”
John B deliberates. When he seemingly can’t decide, he takes a drink. More silly questions follow, most of which stem from JJ, and the group starts to crack up. The alcohol helps, easing everyone out of any boundaries. When John B’s round finishes, it’s followed by Kiara. She takes a joking bow before hopping into the seat. She’s calm and collected under their scrutiny. Rolls her eyes at JJ’s prying queries and entertains your own curious questions. From the way the group answers, and what they answer, you gain a better sense of their personalities. JJ is the next one up. He throws his hands up as he walks over, as if he’s heading into a boxing ring. He then man-spreads in the seat, shorts hitching up his muscular quads, and vapes as Kiara resets the timer. As your eyes skim up and down his body, they return to his face to find him watching you, amused.
“Timer’s going,” Kiara says. You snap your eyes away from his.
“Favourite sex position?” John B asks.
“Damn, that’s a tough one,” JJ replies. His finger swipes his lip almost tauntingly as he deliberates. You’re shamelessly intrigued. “Toss up between doggy and missionary.”
“Weed or beer?”
“What!? That’s evil!” JJ argues. “Weed, I guess.”
“Surfing or fishing?”
“Surfing. No! Fishing. No, no, wait…Can I choose both?”
You chorus with the others: “drink!”
He does as he’s told, swigging back his can. Nods when he’s done to prompt another question.
“If you could travel somewhere in the world, where would you go?” you ask.
JJ looks to you. His answer comes quick. “Anywhere. Fuck it - everywhere! I’d go to Mexico, and then Brazil, and then Argentina, and then I’d go to the Caribbean islands to see what’s happening there. And then Japan and China and all those places, and then a little backpacking stint around Europe and stuff. Finish off in Africa with the elephants and shit.”
The group hums their approval. As you glance around, you get the sense none of them have been very far. Neither had you. The farthest you’d ever been was North Carolina. Your family had never ventured out of Vancouver before; the only reason your parents had settled on North Carolina was because of your dad’s ties. He was born here and grew up not far from Kildare, in Wilmington. You think he might have been chasing nostalgia when he announced that you were all moving to Kildare.
“You into anyone right now?” Pope asks.
“Why? You offering yourself up?” JJ teases. Pope rolls his eyes, mumbling jerk under breath. “Yeah, I am.”
“Who?” Kie prompts, curious.
JJ’s eyes flash back to you and a telling smirk sneaks onto his face. “She already knows who she is.”
The group’s low whistles and ‘oo’s aren’t the only cause for your flushing. JJ’s stare is too. It flits down your figure tactfully before returning to your eyes, smirk only wider. You clear your throat, press your legs together and sip your beer. The timer goes off.
“Who’s up?” John B asks JJ.
“New girl,” JJ replies, clearing the seat for you to take his place. You gladly do so, laughing at the applause and whoops that come from the others.
“Do your worst,” you grin, squiffy from the beers.
Kiara starts the timer and the gang comply with your request.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
You bark out a laugh at Pope’s question. “Shit, starting off heavy. Um…Crashed my friend’s bike.”
“As in push-bike?”
“As in dirt bike,” you cringe. “Brand new dirt bike.”
“Damn, that is rough,” John B chuckles.
“Thing you like the most about yourself?”
“We talking physically or...?”
“Intellectually,” Kiara clarifies.
“And physically,” JJ happily tags on.
“Physically? My wrists, I guess. Don’t ask, I know that’s weird,” you laugh. “And intellectually…” Your eyes downfall to the grass ahead as you ponder. “Maybe my faith in others? I always try and see the best in people.”
Kiara nods, content with your response.
“What about the thing you dislike most about yourself? Intellectually, that is,” Pope wonders.
Your smile twists. “My faith in others.”
It was a double edged sword: you’d learnt that the hard way. You wash down the memories with a swig of beer.
“Body count?”
The sudden change in tone makes you laugh.
“You can’t just ask a girl her body count!” you exclaim through your giggles. JJ exaggerates his shrug.
“Why the hell not!? Anything goes right?”
You shake your head with a smile. As you sip your drink, you stare JJ down.
“Alright, favourite sex position then,” Kie says.
You comply with that question. Grinning, you say, “cowgirl. Or reverse cowgirl. Either, really.”
John B whistles as Kiara teases, "okay, girl, okay."
“If you had to hook-up with anyone here, who would it be?” JJ asks.
Laughing, you look to the sky as you toss back your head. “I met most of you guys like two hours ago!”
“Going off first-impressions, then,” JJ says. You can hear the grin in his voice.
There’s an obvious answer, at least to you. It’s the blonde who you’ve spent the whole night trying not to stare at. His rugged handsomeness and bedroom eyes mixed with the sheen of daytime sweat and sunscreen that settled on his skin, bathing him in beauty...Fuck, it’s not fair people like that exist. You want to know the recipe God used to make him. Want to keep it to yourself so he can’t make it anymore.
Fixing your posture, you train your eyes on JJ. Then, you take a long, long sip of your drink. Kiara laughs under her breath with John B. You swear you see JJ’s demeanour darken. It’s like a game of who can break first. In the end, it’s you, thanks to the surprise of the timer.
“That’s time…”
“John B. Get your butt back in this chair,” you say, getting to your feet.
He does as asked whilst you return to your old spot. When you glance up, you find JJ watching you. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips and a barely-there expression on his face, but you can’t decipher what either means. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about it though. Reminds you of the same type of smile you saw almost a year ago, back in Vancouver, on a different guy's features. You look away and wash it down with your drink.
The game eventually dies down after two more rounds, without you or JJ returning to the hot seat. By now everyone is bordering on drunk.
The energy has amped up and the atmosphere is upbeat. As Kie, Pope and John B fall into a loud debate about something or other, JJ finds the spot next to you. He nudges your leg with his.
“You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” you smile. “Thanks for inviting me along tonight.”
“Course. You thinking you might a Pogue?”
“Maybe, maybe,” you reply non-committedly. You take another sip of your beer.
“Look, uh, I’m sorry if I weirded you out at all tonight, with all the hot-seat things,” JJ randomly says.
Frowning, you look at him. “It didn’t weird me out. I told you that at the garage, didn’t I? That it doesn't bother me?”
“Yeah, but, after tonight…Just don’t want to make you feel weirded out around me,” he replies.
It’s sweet that he cares about that. JJ seems the kind who talks first and apologies later. Whilst you know half of it's joking, you appreciate him checking that you’re comfortable with it. You’d had flirty guy friends before. Hell, you had flirty girl friends too. Mimsy, to name one. Maybe the different thing here was that you wouldn’t exactly turn JJ down. It wasn’t him that was keeping you at bay.
“Nah, you’re good,” you say. Glancing down, you watch your sneakers fidget in the grass. “I just, uh…I just have a lot going on right now and I don’t wanna jump into anything. Even if it’s casual, you know? At least not until I figure things out a bit more and get settled.”
It’s only half of the truth. There was something deeper holding you back. You could feel it now, creeping up behind you, always looming since December.
But you just met JJ. He didn’t owe you anything the same way you didn’t owe him. And trauma dumping isn’t the most certifiable way to make friends.
“Nah, I get it,” JJ hums, nodding. “Sides, if you’re gonna be one of us, we have rules.”
“I’m sorry, you have rules?” you snigger, looking to him.
JJ laughs. “Alright, alright, I know it sounds intense but hear me out! They’re to keep the peace and stuff. Keep us together.”
“That’s sweet. I, too, often trap people into friendships with rules,” you sardonically return. JJ nudges your leg away in joking disapproval. You laugh. “Go on, then. What are these rules? Should I get a notebook or…?”
“Alright, rule number one: no pogue on pogue macking.”
“Macking?”
“Kissing. Hooking up. That sorta thing,” he explains.
Pursing your lips, you nod. “Guessing that came about after your collective balls dropped and you realised Kiara’s hot?”
JJ doesn’t speak but his silence is answer enough. You laugh. A particular outburst from Pope catches your joint attention. John B and Kiara fall into hysterics and you smile at their joy. It distracts JJ from further rule-telling. Reaching down into your backpack that’s nestled under your seat, you fish out your camera and settle it on the trio. You snap a few shots. They’ll look perfect with a black and white filter. JJ watches you flick through them.
“You a photographer or something?”
“Kinda,” you reply. “I do it for fun, mostly.”
“Wanna take one of me?” It seems a rhetorical question.
Chuckling, you lift the camera and snap a shot of a grinning JJ. In one hand he holds up his drink and in the other he makes a surfer symbol. It’s cute. Shows his dimples and crowsfeet by his eyes. It reminds you why you were so infatuated by him at the kegger. The way the camera paints him is like a Monet. Before you can protest, JJ takes the camera from you and turns it. You complain as he snaps a shot: it feels unnatural being on this side of the lens. You snatch it back.
“Dickhead.”
“What? You look cute! Especially in that shirt - I fucking love that.”
You try to hide your fluster by placing your camera back. JJ gets to his feet. Offering out a hand with a smile, he helps you up. The casual touch somehow feels like you're shaking on something. An agreement, to be simply friends, at least for now. So, passing a smile and naturally retracting your hand from his, you follow him to the others.
“What we talking about?” JJ asks.
“Oh, shit! You guys have got to hear this story!” Kiara struggles out.
They all shuffle to make space for you and JJ. John B wordlessly offers you another can whilst Pope recounts his tale. As you settle into laughter with the others, cracking up at JJ’s teasing of his awkward friend, you find yourself happy with the thought of becoming a Pogue.
jj maybank x fem!kook!reader | partly inspired by this incredible scene
content warnings: sexual content; physical violence
word count: 18k.
Blurb: after a hurricane, a Labrador shows up at JJ's house. After some posters go up around the country, JJ begrudgingly returns the dog to you on Figure Eight. Little did he know that his life was about to change forever.
This is actually insane.
JJ has no idea how everything went to shit faster than a penny falling from the top of the Empire State Building. It seems to be the crux of his life.
One minute Rafe is beating the shit out of JJ’s face, Kelce holding him tight in a headlock, with Pope being strangled to his right by Topper, and the next everyone is still like rock.
There you stand, holding up a gun, safety unlatched, with the aim set directly at the centre of Rafe’s forehead. He’s already called your bluff once. It’s a classic Mexican stand-off. Nobody knows what you’re going to do next, not even JJ. Hell, he’s not even sure if you know what you’ll do next.
And it’s crazy to think that all of this started because of a dog.
Two Months Earlier
It always sucks when JJ admits to himself that Kiara was right. She was right about most things, in fairness, but just this once – just for a change – he had hoped that she wasn’t.
The blonde-haired boy stands in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at a poster taped to a streetlamp. His teeth gnaw on his lower lip in thought as he tugs the poster free, as if gaining a closer look might change what he sees.
MISSING DOG
IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO 12 SILVER CANOE WAY, FIGURE EIGHT
REWARD AVAILABLE
The picture is an uncanny reflection of the dog currently sat by JJ’s feet. He’s panting in the sun, blissfully unaware of the curveball tossed at his temporary owner. As JJ looks from the black-and-white poster to the middle-aged dog, he has to begrudgingly admit to himself that Kiara was right. This dog wasn’t a stray. Instead, he was the pet of some bratty, spoilt Kook.
“Whose dog is that?” Kiara asks.
JJ follows her gaze to the labrador cosied up on the porch, soaking up the sun like it was his God-given right.
“Mine,” he says.
“Yours?”
“Yeah, he just showed up after the hurricane."
It was true. The morning after the hurricane, JJ ventured out of his house to assess the damage only to hear a rustling and whimper from under the porch. Getting down on his hands and knees, expecting to find some beaten racoon, JJ came face to face with a petrified, middle-aged labrador. No collar. His cream coat was covered in dirt and dust and a small cut near his eye told JJ he’d found his way to his house during the hurricane, likely seeking shelter. After he coaxed him out with some fresh fish, the dog seemed to take a liking to the seventeen-year-old. JJ took it as the dog distribution system shining the light on him but Kiara didn’t seem so sure.
“And you’re just gonna claim him?”
“He’s a stray,” JJ tells her.
She looks to the dog again, then back to JJ. Her face essentially says, ‘seriously, dude?’
“He is!”
“A dog that well-groomed and that well fed is not a stray, and you know it.”
JJ’s stomach twists. He’d thought the same thing once he’d given the dog a wipe down. A full stomach, trimmed fur, trained to do more than just sit…Strays don’t come like that in Kildare County. But JJ liked the company the dog brought. He’d always wanted one, ever since he was a kid, but his dad would never allow it. Waste of money and food, he’d say. But so far, JJ had managed to keep the dog’s existence on the downlow. He wasn’t very loud or yappy. In fact, he was as calm as sea turtle. JJ liked the bond that had so quickly grown between them. So, swallowing the faint feeling of guilt of keeping someone’s dog, he tells Kiara:
“Well, until someone puts a poster up, I’m sticking to my gut. He’s a stray and he belongs with me.”
It’s like the universe was calling his bluff or something.
JJ crumples the poster in his fist, litters it on the street, and gently tugs on the leash.
“Come on, boy,” he mutters.
The dog gets to its feet and follows JJ down the street, back to the Chateau. He seems rather drained from the brief walk around the cut. Curls up by the front door in a patch of shade, yawning before nestling his head between his large paws for a nap. JJ watches him from the kitchen as he sips on a cold cider. His mind is in battle between right and wrong (as it usually is) as he contemplates the poster.
Kiara nearly falls over the dog as she walks into the Chateau. Then, she shoots a deadly glare to JJ.
“You didn’t go to the vet, did you?”
“Who actually microchips their pets, anyway?”
“Most people, JJ. It’s a clever way to make sure you get your dog back if, let’s say, it runs off in a hurricane without a collar,” Kie returns.
JJ rolls his eyes and takes another swig of his drink. “I’ll take him tomorrow.”
“Actually, there’s no need,” Kiara says. She walks across the room to him and pulls something from her back pocket. As she unfolds the rectangle of paper, JJ comes face to face with the very poster that had been occupying his mind for the past half hour. She holds it out to him.
“See? This is someone’s dog.”
“That could be any dog,” JJ lies.
Kiara quirks a brow. JJ breaks easily, sighing.
“Look, can we just consider the possibility that this dog would be happier with me?” JJ argues. He ditches his cider and makes his way over to the animal. “I mean, he likes me, Kie. And he listens to me. And I like having him around.”
Lowering to his knees, he pets the dog awake from his slumber. He makes an adorable grumbling-whine as he rouses from his sleep. Looking over to Kiara, JJ must resemble an eight-year-old begging their parents for candy at the grocery store.
“I’ll take good care of him,” he promises.
Kiara sighs. Her icy exterior softens, features overcome with sympathy. She joins him and the dog on the floor, scratching at the pet’s back.
“I know you will, JJ,” she says. “But this is someone’s pet. And they clearly want him back. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Since when do I ever do the right thing?” JJ mumbles. He looks down to meet the chocolate brown eyes of his new best friend.
“Since today, hopefully.”
JJ holds the dog’s gaze. There’s such tenderness in his eyes, as the dog stares up at him. Makes JJ feel as though he is the most important thing on this earth. Dogs don’t care about money or mind: you treat them right and give them a good stick, and they’ll be happy forever. Unconditional love like that is rare to find in humans. It seems to JJ like it’s almost impossible, really. But then he thinks of the dog looking at a little girl or boy like that, and how (as spoilt as they may be) the child feels nothing but love for the dog in return. It seems cruel to take that away. He knows deep down what the right thing is. The moral thing.
“Tomorrow,” JJ quietly says. Looking up, meeting Kiara’s eyes, he nods reluctantly. “I’ll take him to the house tomorrow.”
She smiles smally, nodding to herself. Getting to her feet, she leaves JJ alone with the dog to enjoy the last few hours of time together. He ends up falling asleep on the pull-out couch with the dog, face buried in the scruff of his neck, as he unconsciously counts down the hours left until he gives him back.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
JJ stretches out the walk to the house for as long as possible. He lets the dog sniff at every scent and even tries to coax a million pee breaks out of him. He lingers by the sea, stroking the dog’s fur, and shares a hot dog as they pass a gas station. Eventually, they arrive at Figure Eight. The hurricane left the cell towers down on The Cut, so he didn’t bother with his phone. That leaves him to follow street signs until he’s making his way up Silver Canoe Way.
The houses are insane. Marvels of architecture and money. Bright green hedges trimmed into the most obscure shapes; useless statutes standing pretty in front gardens, protected by walls and security cameras. Fountains on almost every property, and a pool probably found in every back garden. Lucky sons of bitches.
House 12 is gorgeous: cream stone bricks and oak-style wood accents. There isn’t a gate, which is curious considering all the others down the road have one. JJ feels as though he’s trespassing as he makes his way up the driveway. There's not a single weed sprouting between paving slabs. There’re two cars in the driveway, each probably cost more than his life insurance pay-out. He imagines birds that dare shit on them get taxed: it’s the only way to explain their cleanliness. God, living like this and he can half understand why Kooks are as obnoxious as they are. What appear to be marble steps lead to a huge front door. The dog seems to know where he is, tugging excitedly on the leash as he guides JJ up the stairs.
JJ stands for a long moment. He looks down at the dog, takes in its wagging tail, and sighs. As he lifts his fist to rap against the door, it swings open. JJ is just as stunned as you. He doesn’t have time to apologise for startling you, because your eyes drop from JJ to the barking dog. You sink to the floor, mouth falling open, and willingly let your dog tackle you in a hug. His leash slips from JJ’s hold. You scruff the dog’s neck, press kisses all over his face, and giggle tearfully as your dog greets you after almost a week apart.
“Oh my God! Ranger! Oh my God!” you happily cry over and over again.
JJ immediately feels evil for even contemplating keeping your dog, Ranger, to himself.
The moment Ranger seems to gain some composure, you remember JJ’s existence. Looking up, you quickly wipe away your tears from under your eyes and clamber back to your feet.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’m so rude!” you laugh, sticking out a hand. He shakes it as you introduce yourself.
“JJ,” he replies.
There’s a moment of recognition that passes over your face but it’s gone as soon as it comes, like the flash of green at sunset on the horizon.
“Thank you so much,” you say. One of your hands reaches down to ruffle at Ranger’s neck. JJ takes in how happy he is, staring up at you, grinning and panting, tongue out with exertion. “Where did you find him?”
“He kinda found me,” JJ replies, scratching the back of his neck. “Showed up under my house just after the hurricane. Guessing he got spooked or something.”
“That’s what we think happened,” you say. “I woke up to find the backdoor open. He must have jumped and bolted; he frightens easy, you see. I felt awful when I realised he was gone.”
As JJ listens to you speak, he’s partly distracted. It’s hard to follow along to what you say when you’re standing gorgeous like the first day of June.
“Well, like I said, it’s no trouble,” JJ repeats.
You smile brighter than a brand-new penny, teeth pearly white and perfect aligned. JJ doubts you ever needed braces. Probably born with a set of veneers. It’s with that bitter thought that he reminds himself what he’s dealing with here. A kook who lives in nothing short of a mansion, who can’t even keep her dog inside during a hurricane.
“The, uh, poster said something about a reward…” JJ awkwardly mentions.
Your face dawns with realisation and he momentarily feels guilty, but then you’re nodding fervently. “Of course! God, I can’t believe I forgot!”
“I mean, I would have brought him back anyway,” JJ bold face lies.
“No, don’t be silly, it’s the least I owe.” You pull your door open. “Come in, please,” you say, heading into your home.
JJ falters in the doorway. It feels as though even stepping into your home might put him short of a few hundred bucks, just from breathing the air. He follows the route you took into the house, closing the door behind him. The minute he’s out of the entryway and in the main corridor, his eyes widen like he’s witnessing a supernova.
“Holy super kook,” he mutters, gaping at the interior.
Marble everything. Expensive obnoxious artwork that must only be interpretable once you reach a certain tax bracket. Framed photos of yourself and your family on the wall at various vacation spots: France, Italy, Mexico, China. There are others, too, of dance recitals. A shelf of trophies and awards. Ornaments and figurines standing on podiums like he’s in a museum. JJ’s terrified to walk, as if one step might send everything falling off the walls.
He finds himself blindly following you into the kitchen. It’s crystal clean and white. Granite counter tops beautifully cluttered with every appliance you can imagine. You head to the fridge.
“You want a drink?”
“Uh, sure. Water’s fine, thanks,” JJ replies.
You nod and grab a glass that probably costs JJ’s entire monthly wage. Then you go to your fridge (it has a touchscreen for Christ’s sake) and dispense ice cold water. Holding it out to him, you smile, sweet like buttercream.
JJ sips and watches as you reach for a bag that lies on the kitchen counter, retrieving a wallet. Holding out two fifties, you wait for him to take them. His eyes stare at the unwrinkled notes. JJ’s momentary pause makes you frown.
“Sorry, that’s a bit tight of me, isn’t it?” you say. You dip into the bottomless wallet and retrieve another fifty. “Is that enough?”
“Uh, I couldn’t…” He clears his throat and finally snaps out of his stupor. Taking the money, he passes two fifties back, saying, “I can’t take all of this.”
You shake your head and push the money back towards him.
“I insist. You brought my dog back! I should be giving you more,” you say.
JJ holds back his laugh.
More? It’s a fucking dog! You’re about to give him $150 for a Goddamn seven-year-old labrador? God, Kooks really do just think different.
He looks up from the money and takes you in, properly this time. JJ recognises you. Not from keggers or house parties – he’s seen you at neither of those things – but from church. He used to be subjected to Sunday school in a desperate bid to ‘send him on the right life path’, and he could remember seeing you there. You’d attend the service, sat safe in your father’s shadow. Even though JJ stopped going, he’d still see people heading in the direction of the county church if he were in the area. You were a regular. Dressed in the prettiest dresses, hair perfect and proper, jewellery to the nines, always sandwiched between your mother and father. You didn’t indulge in the debauchery that most teenagers on the island did. JJ would know if he’d spotted you at one of the many hangs; you had the kind of beauty that demanded to be seen, like a rare bird on the marsh. No, girls like you didn’t partake in those things. You spent time with your parents and a small circle of Church friends, probably just as sheltered and saintly as yourself, and was in bed before sunset and awake before sunrise.
And yet, you never rubbed JJ the wrong way like all the other Kooks did. He didn’t know you from Adam – in fact, the first time he’d ever shared a word with you was today – but something about you…You seemed different. Genuine. Rich, no doubt, but not exactly snobbish.
An idea suddenly comes to JJ. It’s stupid, and rather out of character given his prejudices, but for some reason, it’s miles more appealing than $150. A part of him wonders where his sudden charity is coming from. Maybe it’s something about your personality and his underlying infatuation he’s had with you since Sunday school. Maybe it’s your dog and how doting he appears to be of you. Hell, maybe it’s because you’re pretty. JJ’s always been a sucker for pretty girls – Kook or not – and he’s always wanted the things that he can’t have.
All these thoughts race through his head at a hundred miles an hour, and there’s only half a minute that passes before JJ speaks.
“How ‘bout this?” he says. “I take a fifty, and you let me take you out.”
You blink once, then twice. “Take me out? Like…on a date?”
“Yeah,” JJ nods. The fact that your whole face didn’t immediately shrivel up like a prune at the suggestion gives JJ hope that he might have a chance. “What’d you say?”
There’s a moment where your eyes dip down to Ranger. He’s sat at your feet, watching the two of you interact with his tongue hanging out, mouth in a seeming smile. The second your eyes lock with your dog's, you look back to JJ with new-found confidence.
“Depends,” you say, correcting your posture, chin held high. “What did you have in mind?”
JJ’s never had to pitch a date to a girl before in his life. Usually he asks and they’re there: hook, line and sinker. His brain thinks hard and fast. “I can pick you up. Go for a drive, grab a bite maybe. Get to know one another,” he says.
You quirk a brow. “Is that all?”
Of course, you have standards. Hell, the guys that court you probably dine you at The Ritz and gift you a Rolex. JJ isn’t deterred though. Instead, he’s rather amused.
With a boyish grin, he says, “princess, I promise one date with me and I’ll change your life forever.”
Your eyebrows raise. “Bold statement to make, Maybank.”
JJ takes note of how you know his last name and thinks back to when he introduced himself; that strange flash of recognition on your face. You know who he is and yet, you’re entertaining the idea of letting him take you out. Curiouser and curiouser.
JJ doesn’t beg or barter. Instead, he just stares you down, waiting for your response as you visibly contemplate his offer. There’s a hint of a smile on your face, the type that might come when you’re trying to suss someone out. It’s barely there but JJ’s sure he can see it. He knows that look all too well.
“When would this be?”
JJ’s painfully aware of how desperate he may sound as he says, “Tomorrow night?”
“I have ballet practice tomorrow.”
“Thursday then.”
“Piano recital.”
“Jesus, woman,” he can’t help but mutter. It makes you smile.
“I’m free Friday,” you offer.
And, holy shit, no way you’re actually agreeing to this. JJ hopes the shock doesn't show on his face.
“Friday works. The, uh, cell towers are down on The Cut so how ‘bout I just pick you up? Seven thirty sound good?”
“Sure.”
You speak in a manner that tries to give the impression that this whole conversation is rather mundane to you. That you have Pogues asking you out every other hour, almost like a nine-to-five job.
“But pick me up on the street outside, not in the driveway.”
JJ doesn’t question it. He’s not going to argue to your terms when he’s somehow landed a date with the hottest, goody-two-shoes kook in Kildare.
“Alright. On the street, Friday at seven thirty. Wear something pretty, yeah?”
Your brows quirk. “Any other demands?”
“Yeah. Give me a fair chance?” JJ wonders, half-joking.
Your eyes flit from JJ’s face, down his body, right to his toes, and back again. Smiling, sweet like cotton candy, you reply, “I think I can do that.”
His body goes ice cold. JJ nods, cementing the dates and times in his memory like he’s remembering nuclear launch codes.
“Then, I guess I’ll see you soon, princess."
“I guess so,” you say, returning the leftover fifties to your wallet. JJ pockets his fifty, gives one last pet to Ranger in farewell, and shows himself to the front door. As it shuts behind him, JJ leans against it. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Then, he laughs. He laughs and laughs, mouth upturned in an astounded smile, and shakes his head.
“No fucking way,” he mumbles to himself.
John B is not going to believe this. None of the Pogues are.
Rubbing at his face in disbelief, JJ repeats, “no fucking way” one last time before walking down the driveway. He spares one last glance at the house. Friday. Seven-thirty.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
JJ has never been one to care all that much about his appearance. Half of his clothes have a hole in them somewhere, whether it be on the collar or in a pocket, and his hair is constantly tousled with salt-water from the sea. He isn’t unclean though. He showers and shaves and washes his clothes (though perhaps not as much as he should). He doesn’t think he’s bad looking, either. Lived experience shows that to be true, as he’s never struggled to land a date or hook-up. But there’s something about you, something about this particular meeting, that has him turfing through his chest of drawers.
He’s pretty sure he’s settled on an outfit. It’s ironic that it looks almost thrown together when JJ’s spent fifteen minutes obsessing over it. He washed his hair with shampoo and conditioner (that he stole from Kiara) and even used some hair wax to try and style it. Again, it probably looks the same as usual, but he feels better for it.
All the faffing leaves him running late. It’s closer to 7:45 than 7:30 by the time JJ pulls up your road on his bike. He’s aware of how loud the engine is in this area, rumbling as he slows to a stop. You’re stood in the sidewalk, arms crossed anxiously over your chest, glancing up and down the street. As JJ approaches, your eyes fall on him and a nervous smile sparks to life. JJ bullshits himself by labelling his hammering heart as adrenaline from riding a dirt bike on Figure Eight. You push some of your hair behind your ear as you walk up to meet him halfway. You’re practically glowing under the sunset sky, skin shiny with body butter like you’ve been bathed in glitter. He shuts off the engine and sits back in the seat.
“You’re late."
JJ cringes playfully. “My bad?”
“Mhm.”
You step over to him and linger by his bike. He quirks a brow. “You hopping on?”
As your eyes survey the vehicle, JJ starts to grin, smug. “You ever been on a bike before?”
“Course,” you say, almost too quickly. “Just…Not one like this.”
JJ offers out a hand and you hesitate for a second before taking it. Grasping your hand in his, you climb onto the back of his bike. Your summer dress rides up as you do and you nervously tug it down. Then, your arms gently loop around his waist. Laughing, JJ shakes his head. He tightens your grip on him.
“Gotta hold on tight or you’ll fly off,” JJ remarks.
“Promise not to do anything stupid?” you say, voice thick with nerves.
JJ starts up the engine. “Princess, I can’t promise anything like that,” he grins. Looking over his shoulder, meeting your terrified eyes, he softens his smile. “But I promise you’re safe.”
Your own smile battles through the queasy nervousness. JJ revs the engine and turns his head back to the road, and then he sets off. Your arms immediately latch tighter like a vice. It makes him laugh, and you mutter a meek ‘shut up’ in reply. Having you close like this; he can smell your perfume. It’s expensive, encapsulating you like you’ve been doused in it. Several bangle style bracelets lining your wrists press into his skin through his t-shirt, only slightly uncomfortable, and when he turns a corner, they shift and jangle melodically together.
Zipping down the roads of Figure Eight, JJ drags out the journey the same way he did walking Ranger back to your house. Gradually, mansions turn to shacks and quaint homes, and well-kept children’s parks into overgrown yards surrounded with chain-link fence.
He pulls down a dirt track, heading nearer to the marshland, and eventually comes to a stop. You catch your breath as he turns off the engine.
“Feeling alright?” he checks, glancing over his shoulder at you.
“Yeah, I’m alright,” you reply.
You look a little windswept. Instinctively, JJ reaches out a hand to brush some hair from your face. Embarrassed, you help, calming down your hair and fixing your appearance. Then you use JJ’s shoulders as an anchor, climbing off his bike.
“So…You brought me out to middle of nowhere…” you say, looking around.
JJ kicks on the stand and pulls the keys form the ignition. “Scared?”
“Should I be?”
JJ chuckles, shaking his head. “Come on. I got something planned.”
He takes your hand, smiling to himself as you intertwine your fingers with his, and guides the two of you through the shrubs towards the water side. The P.M.S. Pogue sits moored in the marsh. A loan, if he helps John B clean out the chicken hut next week.
“Now, I know this probably ain’t like all the fancy yachts you and your folks have,” JJ starts, walking up to the boat side. “But I promise it runs like a dream.”
As he looks back to you, JJ’s eyes shamelessly sweep along your figure. The dress you’re wearing is pastel green adorned with dainty flowers of white and ivy. It ends just past the point of tortuous on your legs. You’re pretty as a vine and sweet like a grape, decorated with expensive jewellery. Pearl earrings and a Tiffany necklace. On your wrist, though, JJ finds a series of handmade friendship bracelets amongst your bangles. They’re made with shells and beads and tiny pendants of silver. Several rings sit pretty on your fingers.
Looking back to the boat, JJ pulls the ladder free with a grunt. It creaks from want of use: himself and the Pogues usually just climb inside or jump on from the jetty. “Ladies first,” he says, offering out a hand.
You look between his hand and the ladder, and then something deterministic overcomes your face as you place your hands on lip of the boat. With a huff, you use whatever upper body strength you have to climb up. JJ stands, taken aback, and his eyes falls to your bare legs. Your toes are pointed, calve muscles tense and strong, and he can almost picture you in pointe ballet slippers. Amused, JJ lets you clamber up into the boat. Sighing, you correct your dress and jewellery before looking down at him.
“Well? You coming?”
JJ gives a small laugh before nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”
He climbs with significantly less difficulty than yourself, proudly flexing his muscles as he does, shameless in his peacocking. When he gets to his feet, he finds you staring. “Like what you see?”
Your face flushes. You try and play it off though. “Just checking if you needed a hand.”
JJ grins, playing along, and you roll your eyes and walk to the wheel of the boat. He follows, pulling the keys from his short pockets, and turns on the engine which sputters to life. You hold onto the side of the steering hold as JJ guides the two of you into the marsh.
“You wanna steer?” he asks once you’re in wider waters.
You wordlessly step up and take the wheel. It’s easy, guiding the boat along. JJ hovers behind you, testing the waters by placing a hand on your waist. You don’t shrug him off. Soon enough, JJ’s placing a hand back on the wheel and guiding you to a certain spot.
“I found this place a while ago,” he says over your shoulder as he steers. He can feel your gaze on him. It’s terrifying, having you so close to him. God, he hopes it doesn’t show. “Best stargazing spot in the whole county.”
He slows the engine to a shuddering stop and steps away to toss the anchor down. It’s silent out in the water, asides from sea birds and marsh-side insects. Fish that break to the surface for a split-second disturb the water every now and then. Crickets and distant hooting owls. It’s dark now, too. Everything painted in a dusky blue. JJ grabs the old blanket that he stole from the twinkie and lies it down on the nose of the boat.
“Here,” he calls.
You make your way over, accepting his hand as you step up. The two of you settle to lay side by side. JJ tucks his arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow. You stare at the sky, eyes falling open at the endless expanse.
“Woah.”
“Pretty sick, right?”
“Yeah,” you say, laughing quietly. “It’s awesome.”
JJ grins. Nailed it.
For a while, the two of you just stargaze. He can hear your breathing, steady and calm, and once more your perfume invades his senses. A bottle of the stuff probably cost more than his bike. That thought prompts him to break the silence. Sitting up, he looks down at you.
“Alright, I gotta ask,” he says.
You sit up on your elbows, curiosity piqued. It takes everything in JJ to keep his eyes trained on your face and not your chest.
“Why’d you agree to go out with me?”
You smile, somewhat amused. It’s like you’ve been waiting for him to ask. “Well, that’s an easy question.”
“Oh, is it now?”
“Mhm,” you grin, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Christ, you’re angelic. “Ranger.”
“Your dog?”
“Yep.”
“What? You kooks manage to translate what they bark about or something? He give you some words of wisdom?”
You laugh, shaking your head. Sitting up fully, your bracelets chime together. “He liked you.”
“Yeah?” JJ says, brows tugging together in confusion.
“Ranger doesn’t trust easy. He’s a rescue and he practically chose me. The shelter people said he hadn’t let anyone near him since arriving, but with me, he came running over, like he knew me or something. He likes men even less. He won’t let my daddy within five yards of him without barking and cowering. He wouldn’t hurt you, but he gets scared and jumpy. But he seemed to like you. Seemed to trust you.”
“So, that made you agree to go out with me?” JJ checks.
Shrugging, you simply reply, “dogs are the best judge of character, after all.”
Humming in thought, JJ looks out to the marsh as he considers what you’ve said. It’s a little hilarious that a runaway dog is the reason that he’s got you here, alone, on the P.M.S. Pogue.
“My turn,” you say, seemingly initiating a game of twenty-one questions. JJ looks back to you. “Why’d you ask me out?”
Whilst your smile turns to mush, you roll your eyes and act as if you’re unaffected by his words. “Seriously, though. I didn’t think I was your type.”
“Smoking hot girls? Nah, you’re pretty much my type to a T,” JJ goes on, charming smile in full view.
“What about Kiara?”
JJ gives a bemused smile. “What about Kie?”
“I know she hangs out with you guys. We’re pretty different people, me and her.”
It’s obvious that you’re far from low maintenance. You're proud of being a kook. You don’t shy away from it: happy to show off your money and beauty. JJ doesn’t get the sense that you’re haughty but it seems rather clear that you live your life to a certain standard.
JJ shrugs. “Guess that’s why I’m not dating her.”
“I know your reputation, you know. About all the girls you hook-up with and stuff.”
“Oh. You jealous or something?”
“No,” you say. Voice turning softer, you continue. “But I feel like I should to tell you that I’m not the kind of girl who has a lot of hook-ups. Or the kind who puts out on the first date.” When JJ doesn’t say anything, you feel the need to add, “just, before you get your hopes up.”
Pursing his lips, JJ nods slowly. He had a feeling that was going to be the case. You weren’t exactly known in the community for being particularly flirtatious. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever known any guy to date you. From the way you spoke, careful with your words, and the way you acted, you were almost made of solid gold: pure through and through. So, having you take sex off the table for the foreseeable future didn’t exactly blind-side JJ. That to say, if you had offered it up, he would have jumped at the opportunity. God, he’s half sure he’d die if he ever saw you naked.
He could be a gentleman, though. He could. Something about you had JJ entranced outside of just the physical. So, if a hook-up wasn’t in the cards, maybe getting to know you might be all the better.
He’ll just have to learn to keep his eyes and his dick to himself.
Sighing, JJ lowers himself to lay down again. This time, he only tucks one arm behind his head. The other, he outstretches into your expanse of the blanket.
“Alright, princess. I think I can live with that,” he says.
Seemingly content with his reply, you lay back down, resting your head in the nook of his arm.
“It’s your turn,” you quietly say after a moment’s quiet.
“To do what?”
“Ask a question.”
JJ filters through the many in his mind, tucking the inappropriate ones away for a later date, and finally settles. “Alright. Was Ranger the only reason you agreed to go on a date with me?”
You let out a small tuneful hum of contemplation. “No. I wanted to see what you were like.”
“Oh?”
“I mean, I’ve seen you around the island and heard the stories. I suppose I wanted to know for myself,” you say. “Plus, I always do what I’m supposed to do. I guess I wanted to do the opposite, for a change.”
“Rebelling against your dear old daddy with the derelict from the Cut?” JJ jokingly asks.
“Hmm. Something like that,” you say, playing along. You turn your head to the side and meet JJ's eyes. “You’re just a pawn in my game, Maybank.”
JJ’s too sucker-punched from that to come up with something witty in reply. There’s a foreign thump in his chest and a selcouth feeling in the back of his throat as you look at him. JJ swallows it away, returning his attention to the star-lit sky.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
JJ revels in the miracle that he landed a second date with you as he fixes his hair in John B’s bathroom mirror. His best friend sits on the closed toilet lid, watching him.
“I can’t believe you’re seeing her again,” John B says for the millionth time.
JJ grins at his reflection. “I know.”
“I mean, what do you guys even talk about?” JB continues, face contorted in confusion.
JJ shrugs. “I don’t know. We just spent the other night talking about all sorts, really.”
“And you’re sure she isn’t being paid to go out with you?”
“Maybe the first time, but not this time, no,” JJ replies. He stops messing with his hair. Licks over his teeth, checking for trapped food, and dusts of his t-shirt. Looking to his friend, JJ asks, “how do I look?”
John B barely takes his appearance in before saying, “like she’s out of your league.”
“Come on, man,” JJ groans, shoving his best friend’s shoulder. He leaves the bathroom, John B hot on his tail. “You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah. That I’m macking on a kook and you ain’t,” JJ tells him. Opening the fridge, he tosses a beer to John B before taking one for himself. “I know you’ve had a thing for Sarah Cameron since we were kids.”
“No,” John B quickly says, shaking his head. “No, no, I do not have ‘a thing’ for Sarah Cameron.”
“JB, you’re a terrible liar,” JJ sighs. He takes a sip of his drink. Liquid confidence. Eyes glancing up to the clock hung on the chateau’s kitchen wall, he reckons he has about five minutes before he should leave for your house.
“So, seriously: what is this? Why this new flavour of the month?” John B grills.
JJ shrugs. “I dunno man. She’s just…She’s cute. And hot. And rich, and easy to talk to, and kinda funny, and, oh did I mention, rich as fuck. I don’t see any downsides, really.”
“Mhm, well, I do,” John B gladly counters. “She’s a kook.”
“Yeah, but she’s not like a kook kook. Kinda like how Kiara’s a kook,” JJ argues.
John B looks bewildered. “She is nothing like Kiara.”
“Alright, not in personality or looks or actual money, but in general kook-ness.”
“All I’m saying is that if you think this thing has a long shelf-life, you’re way more crazy than I thought you were,” John B says.
JJ doesn’t reply. Downing the rest of his can, he tosses it at the trash can (dismally misses) and heads for the front door. As he goes, he taps John B on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion.
“Nice to know you’re rooting for me, man,” he jovially says in farewell.
Then, he’s heading down the porch steps, climbing onto his bike, and setting sights for your house for the fourth time in his life.
Your house stands like a castle in the streets. JJ practically sees the driveway as a crocodile infested moat. He waits on the street at the foot of the driveway for you, arriving in time to see you make your way down the drive. You’re dressed in Levi shorts and a Tommy Hilfiger shirt, designer sandals on your decorated feet with anklets and toe rings. JJ sits back on his seat, engine running, and finds himself grinning as you smile at him. When did that start to happen?
“Not late this time, huh?” you playfully say.
“Learnt my lesson.”
You don’t hesitate as you climb on the back of his bike. You wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers splaying out across his chest over his t-shirt. JJ revs the engine.
“Ready?”
“Hell yeah.”
Grinning, JJ sets off down the street.
Once again, you’d left the plans in JJ’s hands. It was a little surreal to him, how trusting you were of him. Might be a place of concern, even. But, hey, JJ will take the win.
It’s still light when you get to the cliffside. From here, the view is incredible. An orange-pink sky that looks like it might taste of tangerine and peach hangs above a rolling sea. The view stretches on for miles, with the mainland off along the horizon.
JJ admires you as you stand in breeze, looking out at the view. You turn to face him.
“Why does every place I let you take me get more and more concerning every time?”
“We’re going cliff jumping,” is JJ’s reply.
Your eyebrows nearly shoot off your head. “That’s called suicide, JJ.”
“Nah, not here,” he says, shaking his head. He grabs your hand and tries to coax you nearer to the edge so you can see the drop. “Water’s plenty deep and cliff’s plenty high. It’s fun.”
You catch on that he’s not joking. Laughing nervously, you shake your head and take several large steps back to safety. “No, no, no.”
“Come on! It’s fun!” JJ swears.
Your smile begins to fade and your head shakes faster. “No way. I don’t do…That. And I’ll ruin my hair. And what about my jewellery?”
“You can take off your jewellery,” JJ argues, walking towards you, “and your hair’ll look good either way.”
“Easy for you to say,” you snort, eyeing him up as your arms cross over your chest. “You’re a guy.”
“First of all: rude.”
JJ tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground. Your eyes instinctively glance down at his chest. JJ doesn’t bother hiding his smirk.
“Second of all: live a little, princess.”
You scoff. “I live plenty, thank you.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. Really. Have you ever been to Paris? Seen the Eiffel tower? Been in the catacombs? Or gone to Italy and tasted wine fresh from a vineyard?”
JJ raises a brow, sarcastic as he says, “yeah, every Tuesday. Now come on.”
He grabs for your wrist, tugging you towards him. You don’t push him away as he lifts his fingers to the clasp of your necklace, only momentarily struggling to get it loose. He gently places it on top of his t-shirt, and soon your many rings follow. You lean down and take off your toe rings and anklets, and then your earrings. The handmade bracelets stay, though. Standing upright, you take a shaky breath.
“Look, you don’t have to,” JJ quietly says. He can see the fear clear as day on your face. But you shake your head, newly determined by his offer of an out. Clearly you don’t like having your bluff called.
JJ’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as you pull your shirt off. He doesn’t even have time to recover before your wriggling out of your shorts, stepping out of them and carelessly tossing them onto the pile of clothes and accessories like you got them from a bargain bin at a thrift store. Stepping out of your sandals, standing proud in matching Calvin Klein underwear, you grab his hand and interlock your fingers, guiding the two of you to the cliffside. As you pull him into motion, JJ comes out of his filthy thoughts, mouth dry.
You come to a sudden stop a safe three feet away from the edge. JJ’s done this too many times to count but the adrenaline that floods the system before the first jump shocks him every time like a cold plunge. You gnaw on your lower lip in trepidation. JJ squeezes your fingers, mutters your name, and captures your attention.
“You trust me?”
Your beautiful eyes dance across his face. JJ almost sees you go calm, like a baby soothed by its favourite nursery rhyme. It seems that his question, as simple as it is, made something click in your mind.
“Yeah,” you breathe, as if realising it in the moment. “I do.”
With that, JJ gives one last squeeze to your hand and a fleeting smile, and then he starts running towards the cliffside. You run too, only a step behind, and the two of you hurl yourselves off the edge at the same time. Your scream echoes in the wind as air rushes past JJ’s ears. He whoops on his way down. The two of you pummel down towards the water, your hand never leaving his until you reach the surface. His eyes press shut and he prepares for impact as he crashes into the depths. The water is cold but not icy – it cools his skin comfortably. Everything goes quiet in the water, mellowed out and muted. JJ pushes to the surface and takes a breath of air, shoving wet hair off his face. As he looks around, treading water in the currents, he feels the adrenaline rise once more when he can’t find you.
JJ starts calling out your name, looking left and right and left again. Just as he’s about to dive under, you break. He gasps out in relief.
The minute your eyes open, they land on him. Then, the biggest smile he’s ever seen comes over your face. It etches itself on his brain with permanent marker. JJ could be senile and decrepit and still remember that look on your face.
“That was amazing!” you scream, throwing your hands up, spraying water everywhere. “Oh my God! We have to do that again!”
JJ laughs, soaking in your joy.
It’s weird seeing you, wet and without all your dressings. It’s like seeing a priceless painting outside of its frame: it makes it somehow even more beautiful. The setting sun warms your wet skin as you throw your head back, eyes shut, grinning like a mad man. JJ wants to seal this moment in resin and place it on his mantle as a keepsake.
You make JJ climb up that cliff and jump into the ocean about five times over, until the sun has almost fully set and you can’t risk the dark. As it slowly inches down and down towards the horizon, you and JJ sit side by side on the grass. Your hand is so close to his, fingers reaching out like growing ivy, teasing at making contact. The moment the jumping was done, you’d returned all your jewellery to your body. It sparkles with the damp. As his eyes drift down from your profile to your figure, he picks up on those handmade bracelets again.
“What’s with the friendship bracelets?” JJ asks.
You look down at them then up at JJ. “I make them.”
“Why?”
Laughing, you shrug. “I don’t know. Why does anyone do anything?”
“Do you sell them?”
“No,” you say, messing with one. “I just enjoy doing it. I make them for my friends.”
“That’s sweet,” JJ hums, looking back out to the view.
“What about your shark tooth necklace? Someone make that for you?” you ask.
JJ glances down at it. “My ma. She used to collect shark teeth that washed up on the beach.”
“Well, she’s pretty talented,” you smile. “Maybe she can make one for me, one day.”
The awkward quiet that comes passes like a summer breeze. Sighing contentedly, the two of you watch as the world gets darker and darker, and the sun gets lower and lower.
“So, how are you finding it?”
“Finding what?” you ask.
JJ gestures to himself, to everything around him. “This. Pogue-life. Rebelling against your dad. Not doing as you’re told.”
You laugh, shaking your head. JJ watches as you pull your knees up to your chest, sitting dainty as a robin balanced on a branch. Tucking some hair behind your ears, you look out to the horizon as if caught in a daydream. A solemn look threatens to cross your face as you say, “it’s making me realise just how much I’ve been missing out on.”
And that…JJ wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting one of your usual playful jabs, soaked in sarcasm. Not that. It makes you more human and less Kook. More real. More attainable, even, for JJ. It’s like with every minute he spends in your orbit, he gets closer and closer to you. But everyone knows the story of Icarus, and what happens when you fly too close to the sun.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
By the fourth date, JJ’s practically foaming at the mouth, feral from restraint.
He still hadn’t kissed you. Hadn’t had the opportunity. You’d kept teasing him with it, temporarily placing it on the table before taking it away. He knew he had to go about this carefully. One wrong move and he could screw up all his hard work and send you off running.
What surprised JJ more than most was the fact that feeling your body under him was one of the lowest ranking motivators to spend time with you. Don’t get it twisted – it was still a pretty bloody strong motivator – but JJ wanted to know you and be known by you. You were interesting and captivating, and caring and kind. You were funny and had this sweet sense of humour that glimmered through from time to time, like a kaleidoscope hanging from a window-frame. With every minute in your company, his prejudice of Kooks was dismantled piece by piece. One run in with Rafe or Topper and it would probably be rekindled ten-fold, but for now, JJ learnt to see past it. You were a little out of touch but you didn’t act like you were better than him. Then again, he hadn’t taken you to his house or the Chateau yet. He kept the dates on common ground, where he never felt out of his depths or wallowing within them.
You hit like a crisp, ice-cold beer on the hottest day of summer. More intoxicating than any blunt he’s ever smoked, or any line he’s ever snorted. Light like a feather in how you move, soft like rain and driven like fresh laid snow. You had hijacked nearly all of JJ’s thoughts, in one way or another, and it fucking terrified him.
“So, I went for white and pastel blue. I think they’re cute. What do you think?”
You hold your fingers out for JJ to inspect your nails. JJ couldn’t care less about nails – half the time, his are dirtied with mud and oil – but you care an awful lot, so he can pretend. To be honest, he had only been half-listening to your story. His eyes had been fixated on your lips, daydreaming about how they’d feed against his own, how soft they might be as he nips at them with his teeth, how wet they might be if he were to slip his dick between them…
“JJ?”
He blinks out of his gutter-brain and takes in your nails.
“They’re pretty. I like the, uh, sheen on them,” he says.
You practically become alight with the comment. It feels like another brownie point that he can tally. Bringing them to your gaze, you nod fervently. “Right? I’ve never gotten metallic powder on them but I think I like it.”
With that, you sigh and lay back on your towel. The two of you are at the beach and have been since two in the afternoon. It’s now nearly seven in the evening. JJ thinks you’re at your prettiest in the golden hour. It’s like God himself is shining a spotlight on you, highlighting every perfection of your features. The way your designer jewellery twinkles in the rays, the sun-kissed sheen of your cheeks, the ethereal-like glow of your eyes…It’s taking everything not to look at your body, proudly displayed in a bikini. It’s blue. It seems you like blue an awful lot.
JJ distracts himself from your figure and his tightening swim shorts by petting Ranger. He’d tagged along for the day and is currently napping in the sun. You’d brought plenty of water and dog snacks to keep him going. JJ had supplied the seltzers and bag of chips for the two of you. He’d noted how you’d been making one can last for about two hours. He wondered if you’d been tipsy before, or drunk even.
When he looks back to you, eyes sweeping up your sand-scattered stomach, he finds you threading the seashells you’d been collecting throughout the day on string. You’d brought a little kit with you in your bag and had spent the last three hours making jewellery on and off whilst talking to JJ. You lay in a sea of designer accessories – Ray Ban sunglasses, Dior lip-gloss, Clinique sunscreen – as you craft.
“That’s coming together nice,” he comments.
You glance up to meet his eyes, smiling. “It’s for you.”
“Me?”
“Mhm. Need to check if it fits, actually,” you mumble, shifting onto your knees.
JJ willingly holds out a wrist for you as you coil it around. It looks hilariously dainty on his built form. Seashells and blue and white and silver beads. Then he notices the small letters you’d interwoven into the design. JJ. His heart makes that awful, jarring tug again. JJ can’t decide he likes this effect you have on him.
“Perfect,” you say.
You tie it off and fasten it around his wrist. He shakes his arm out a little to check its fit. You’re right: it’s perfect.
The moment your eyes glance up from his arm, meeting his, JJ forgets all his manners. He takes your face in one hand and presses his lips to yours. You let out a gasp as he does, hands coming up to press at his shoulders, pushing him off.
“What are you doing?” you gasp, fingers flying up to your lips.
His heart is loud in his ears, hammering like he’s thirteen and having his first kiss all over again. In the deafening beat of it, he dumbly replies, “kissing you?”
“Well, you can’t just kiss me,” you say, almost offended. “You have to ask first.”
“Alright…Can I kiss you?”
Your eyes are like raging storms as you stare at him. Anyone would have thought from your expression that he just asked to take you roughly in the streets. Trying to calm yourself with a drawn-out breath, you cock your head.
“Why should you?”
JJ frowns. “What?”
“Why should I let you kiss me?”
Now usually, JJ would be pissed. Annoyed and impatient, and would get up and leave and never look back. But for you, he can’t find it in him. No, it’s all offset by that same damn curiosity that got him here in the first place. You’re like an enigma. A blackhole. He wants desperately to know more, to understand, but is terrified of being sucked in completely. Terrified of what it might all mean.
So, JJ deliberates your question. “Cause you like me?”
“I do?” you ask, quirking your brows.
You must. You wouldn’t have stuck around for this long if you didn’t. Wouldn’t have handmade a bracelet. So, he nods, feeling his confidence grow like the swell of a wave.
“Yeah, you do. I think you like what I bring out of you.”
“Making a lot of assumptions here, Maybank,” you practically warn. But the anger is gone. Gives him hope that he’s on the right track. JJ tries and fails to bite back his smile.
“Maybe,” he says. “But it’s only cause I feel the same way.”
When you don’t speak, he takes it as a cue to continue. As he goes on, his heart shudders with the anxiety that vulnerability brings.
“I like the way I am around you. I like how you make me feel. I like talking to you, and I like hearing you talk. You just have this way of speaking that’s…It just makes everything feel like it’s good. Everything’ll be good.”
Something in what he’s said seems to take you aback. You blink a few times, lips parting as you sit, looking at him all the while. He hopes that if your thoughts are still set on the idea that he’s in this for nothing more than a lay, he’s just proved that wrong. He supposes with his reputation on the island amongst the youngsters, he can’t be all that surprised if that was what you had thought. But surely, after spending so many hours in your company, doing nothing asides from talking and innocently touching, you had seen past that. Didn’t you say that you wanted to get to know him, to see him for yourself?
“Do you mean that?” you quietly ask. It’s almost sad, the tone of your voice and the look on your face, like nobody’s ever said something like that to you before. JJ swallows the sick feeling that it brings.
He nods. “Yeah. I do.”
Slowly, a smile blossoms on your face like the first budding flower of spring. With a small, slight nod, you tell him, barely louder than a whisper, “you can kiss me now.”
JJ does so gladly. But he’s careful with it this time, makes it count. He sweeps one hand from your shoulder, up against your collarbones, until it cups your jaw gently. Tilting your head just-so, he leans forward and pauses just a breadth before your lips. And then, he kisses you. It’s soft and sweet and different to the usual blind-haze rush that JJ finds himself in when making out. The pacing to it makes it almost sensual. The feeling the kiss brings is alien to JJ; he can’t quite place a name to it.
One of your hands finds home on his jaw, exploring his skin, fingers looping into the hair on the back of his neck. When he coaxes your mouth open with his tongue, you sigh gently against his lips.
As the two of you kiss on the beach, that new-found sensation in JJ’s chest intensifies, and then it dawns upon him - this new feeling that your kiss brings. Different from lust and libido.
His eyes fly open. Stomach plummets through the sand.
JJ Maybank is falling in love with you.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
As the summer stretched on, JJ realised he’d spent most of June in your company, growing closer and closer. It felt natural now to have your hand intertwined with his. JJ can hardly remember a time when wasn’t talking to you, or talking about you, or thinking of you, or organising his days around meeting you. He knew what it meant, what all of it meant, and this impending feeling of something grew with every word passed and every kiss shared. It almost felt like he was watching a sand-timer. Seeing each grain slip by, counting down until the inevitable end, just like most things in his life did.
He'd introduced you to the Pogues upon everyone’s insistence, including your own. John B was still in disbelief that JJ had managed to keep you around for as long as he had. Pope, on the other hand, was practically suspicious of it. It was as if he needed the cold, hard evidence for proof that JJ wasn’t spinning yarns. Kiara had of course jumped at the opportunity to gloat about the ‘good karma’ she’d bestowed upon JJ, by encouraging him to return Ranger to you. When she’d met you, she’d be apprehensive. Distrusting of your Kook status, having known you more than the others from attending Kook Academy with you. But JJ was sure she’d warm up, bit by bit. It helped that you wanted to try new things. You wanted to try the whole Pogue lifestyle. You let JJ take you surfing and begged to try his bike out. You let John B teach you to fish and wrestled Pope on nights spent around the campfire. You’d share seltzers with Kiara and sang along whenever she played the uke. And, oh, of course you could sing. You’d had lessons, you see, as you had with practically every other extra circular on earth. Piano, violin, ballet, tap…Shit, it was like you were collecting Pokémon or something.
In fact, it scared JJ how easy it was to pick up on the little details about you. It was like collecting stones on the beach: before you know it, your pockets are weighing you down, filled with tiny little pebbles. You were a fruity girl: cocktails and sangria and wine and seltzers – never beer. You weren’t a heavy drinker. Didn’t partake in shots apart from Cherry Bombs. You preferred sweet over salty; always took creamer and syrup in your coffee, in that order; rom coms from the nineties and noughties were your kryptonite, and you loathed fast and furious; skirts before shorts; Tiffany before Pandora; lip gloss over lip stick. God, the tingly sensation from plumping lip gloss was all too familiar to JJ now, from having it smear off your mouth to his.
After the kiss on the beach, mouths and hands had only continued to wander. It’s like JJ’s admission that this was more than just trying to score you for sex was the passcode to open you up. You weren’t prudish. In fact, when JJ met you, he was half certain that maybe you were a virgin. But no…now he found that very hard to believe.
Saying all that, it still felt bizarre to be seen out in public with you. It wasn’t a secret, had never been really, but JJ remained surprised at how willing you were to take his hand in public. To be seen with him by everyone in the County. It was like you wanted to show him off, parade him around like he was something special, like one of your many Prada purses. It almost made JJ want to question if you had ulterior motives.
“You wanna just split a portion of fries?” JJ asks, looking at The Wreck’s menu. You were there for lunch.
You hum in thought. “Maybe. I want mac and cheese though.”
“We can get that, too. I mean, you’re paying, right?”
You prod him under the table with your foot. He gives a playful laugh, grinning childishly. He’d started calling you his sugar mommy since you had to pay for gas when his card got declined. It softened the sting of embarrassment that came with being broke, especially when compared to you. I mean, even now, he sits in a thrifted t-shirt, the decal on the chest nearly faded with how much it had been worn and washed, whilst you’re in your new threads. Dior threads, for that matter.
“Hiya. You guys ready to order?” the waitress asks.
JJ glances up from the menu and shit. Shit shit shit. The minute his eyes meet hers, recognition dawns upon her. It’s weird seeing this girl – Lily, he thinks her name is – from this angle. Last time they’d seen each other, she’d been laying underneath him…
You’re thankfully blissfully unaware, eyes trained on the menu.
“JJ. Long time no see.”
With that, your head darts up. Great.
“Hey…Lily. How are you?”
At least luck is partly on his side: he got her name right. She places a hand on his waist. “Fine, thanks. Been a while since I’ve seen you around.”
“I’ve been busy,” JJ says.
“I bet. Remember a time when you were busy with other things…”
Her tone speaks volumes, as do her eyes as she surveys his body, smiling flirtatiously.
Suddenly, your hand is extending across the table, towards Lily. JJ looks to you to find a sickly, sweet smile on your face.
“I don’t think we’ve met before,” you say, voice honied. She shakes your hand as you introduce yourself. “You know JJ?”
“We have a…history, of sorts,” Lily replies.
“Oh. Well, any friend of JJ’s is a friend of mine.”
Looking to JJ, there’s an emotion in your eyes that he’s never seen before. It’s terrifying and sexy as hell. Raising a hand, your fingers leisurely splay across the expanse of JJ’s shoulder, manicured nails digging-in only so. Not enough to cause damage but enough to make a point. Enough to mark your territory.
“Babe? Can you order for me?”
“Uh, course,” JJ says, clearing his throat.
Looking down at the menu, eyes not even fixating on any of the words, JJ reals of an order. Lily scribbles it down, takes the menus, and leaves without another word. The minute she’s out of sight, you drop the act, hand unlatching from his body. JJ raises his brows, holding back his laugh as he turns to you.
"What a bitch," you mutter. You wash away your words with a sip of your water.
“Didn’t take you as the jealous type.”
“Yeah, well, some girls need to learn when to shut their traps,” you lowly return. Sighing, you close your eyes and shake your head. “Sorry. That wasn’t very girls-girl of me.”
“Mm. If only your daddy could hear you now,” JJ adds, sighing disapprovingly.
You shoot him an unimpressed glare. JJ brings his glass to his lips, having a sip of his water.
“You sleep with her?”
JJ chokes and coughs. “Jesus. Straight shooter."
“Better not be talking about yourself there, Maybank.”
JJ laughs, putting his cup down. Looking to you, he shrugs. “Yeah. Like…three months ago, alright? It was before we met.”
“Mhm. You sleep with anyone since we met?” you wonder.
JJ can’t place your tone but something tells him that this question will make or break him. Thankfully, there isn’t even a need to lie. “No.”
“You swear?”
“Scout’s honour,” he says, lifting three fingers whilst simultaneously marking his heart with a cross. “Shit, I don’t want you to claw my eyes out. Or any other girls, for that matter.”
You shove his shoulder gently, smile creeping back to your lips. “Shut up. Like I’d ever. The Bible frowns upon it.”
“What about ‘an eye for an eye’?”
“Ooh. Somebody went to Sunday School,” you tease.
“Yeah, just so I could gawk at you,” he smoothly returns, winking for good measure. With that, JJ knows he’s back in your good books.
When Lily brings the food over, she doesn’t try to strike up any conversation. Dare JJ say, she looks terrified to be within a foot of the table. JJ knew you had an edge but this is different. This possessiveness, this proprietorial energy that came over you…Fuck, he knows what’s the newest addition to his wank-bank.
The two of you eat, talking about what you should do tomorrow (because, of course, he’ll spend tomorrow with you) and then JJ desperately tries to give constructive feedback to your latest Pinterest board of hairstyle inspiration. He gets up to pay. It’ll probably cost half his wage but it’s worth it. I mean, this meal is pretty dismal compared to the feasts you’re used to, but you never complain. Saying that, it doesn’t go unnoticed that when it’s on your dime, you’re far more willing to get a lemonade and a dessert. When it’s JJ paying, you say you’re happy with tap water and splitting a side. It’s mildly mortifying.
Lily is stood at the counter. “Ready to pay?”
“Tell me the damage,” is JJ’s reply.
“Twenty dollars thirty,” she says, punching buttons on the register.
JJ’s stomach twists. Fuck, he hopes his card doesn’t decline. She holds out the machine for him and he swipes his card.
“How long has that been going on then?” Lily asks.
JJ follows her gaze to you. You’re sat at the table, reapplying Dior lip gloss with an Armani compact mirror. He’s half convinced that if anything bought from Target touched your skin you might implode.
“Bout a month,” he says.
“Hm. Never took her as one to venture out of Figure Eight.”
“Never took you as one to judge random people,” JJ counters, anger ticking with her unneeded commentary.
“I’m just saying. She’s a Kook, JJ.”
“Did it go through?” he asks, cutting the conversation short.
Lily sighs, looking down at the card machine. Nodding, she goes to get his receipt. But before she hands it over, she feels the need to add, “just…maybe ask yourself what she’s getting out of this? Girls like that…They’re sneaky. Just, watch your back.”
JJ takes the receipt hastily and walks off before he can’t bite his tongue any longer. As much as it pisses him off to hear someone who doesn’t even know you talk like that, there was a sincerity to Lily’s voice that speaks to JJ’s insecurities. Massages them. It certainly doesn’t help that the minute JJ arrives back at the table, you ask, “did you have enough?”
JJ hates how the rest of the day, that one interaction – that one moment – at the Wreck keeps him disconnected from you. Anytime you ask what’s wrong, it’s the same excuse: ‘I’m just tired, s’all.’ But whenever there’s a second for thought, Lily’s voice echoes around his head.
Ask yourself what she’s getting out of this.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
“How in the hell do you not get lost in this place?” JJ asks you as you wander through your house.
“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I grew up here.”
It’s laughable, the difference of JJ’s house to yours. He’s never taken you to his home; kept your dates and hangouts to the Chateau or the Twinkie, or anywhere but his house. He’s half-certain that you might just dip if you saw the state that he lives in. Plus, he can’t risk his dad showing up and meeting you. He’d hate you – the same way he hated most people – and again, you’d be gone in a second. In fact, as more time passes, JJ realises more and more that he’s got an eye on the door, waiting for you to walk through it without a second glance.
“You want some tea?” you ask. JJ shrugs his yes. He’s never tried it before but no time like the present, right?
You guide the two of you to the kitchen. As you pass by room after room, JJ nervously glances around. “So, uh…Your dad or mom home, or?”
“Relax, Maybank,” you grin. “They’re on a cruise. They don’t get back until Tuesday.”
“Oh, cool, cool. I mean, I ain't have been bothered if they were home.”
You bark out a laugh. Opening a kitchen cupboard, you talk as you retrieve two mugs. “Oh really? So you haven’t been avoiding my house like the plague because of my parents?”
JJ rolls his eyes. Busted. You go to heat up the water, grabbing two fruit tea bags and depositing them in each mug. JJ looks around the kitchen, searching for a certain dog. As if you can hear his thoughts, you say, “Ranger’s in the sunroom. If you call him, he’ll probably come.”
So, JJ does just that. Sure enough, Ranger trudges through the house and into the kitchen, tail wagging. He looks as if he’s just woken up from a nap. JJ grins, watching as his energy returns the moment he sets eyes on yourself and JJ, and the blonde-haired boy falls to his knees, arms outstretched. God, he missed this old fart of a dog.
“Why don’t you bring him along to the Chateau more?”
“Where would he ride? We always take your bike,” you laugh.
“Probably for the best, anyway. John B would definitely try and steal him,” JJ mumbles.
“Oh, and you wouldn’t?”
Insecurity picks at JJ like a scab. “What does that mean?”
You quirk a brow, unaware of the almost offence caused. “JJ, you would pick that dog over me in a heartbeat, if it came down to it.”
Of course. Of course you were talking about the dog, and not making some dig about his family reputation, or his sticky fingers. Shit, it’s like ever since that day at the Wreck, his insecurities had tripled in size and volume. Every time you looked at him, JJ wasn’t sure if you were passing judgement and he hated himself for it: for becoming so suspicious of you, when you’d done nothing to warrant it. But he couldn’t help it. It was like a reflex.
Once the tea is made and Ranger’s retired back in another sunny patch to sleep, the two of you head upstairs to your bedroom. JJ began to recount the story of the Grady White discovery and the Motel Room after the last hurricane’s end. He’s half certain that you don’t fully believe him.
“So, what did you find in the motel room?” you ask, pushing open your bedroom door.
“It was fucking crazy! Like a shit ton of money and this weird map. Oh, yeah, and…” JJ ditches his backpack by the foot of your bed and unzips it. Proud as a Superbowl jock, he presents the gun he stole. “This.”
Your mouth drops open. You place the two mugs of tea on your desk (on coasters, because of course) and reach out for it. JJ frowns and holds it out of your reach.
“Let me hold it.”
This reaction, out of all the reactions, was the one he expected the least. “No way.”
“Come on!”
“Nu-uh. You’ll shoot my dick off."
Rolling your eyes, you quip, “wouldn’t that be a gift for mankind? Come on!”
Sighing, he relents. Double checks the safety is on before passing the gun to you. You hold it like it’s a priceless artefact or a Louboutin heel (both as equal in value to yourself).
“It’s heavier than I thought,” you mumble, inspecting it.
Is it bad that JJ thinks you look unbelievably hot holding a gun right now? Probably. He can address that later in life when he eventually winds up in therapy.
“Yeah, these things are the shit,” JJ boasts, taking it back. He pretends to aim with it, gun pointed directly at one of your bears. At your scolding he puts it away again. “Anyway, now we got this dumb ass compass. JB thinks it’s got a clue in it, but I’m not so sure.”
JJ accepts the tea that you offer him as the two of you take perch on your bed, you at the foot and him at the head. You sit cross legged, nodding along to his tale, interested. JJ’s not entirely sure why he’s telling you this, especially when he was so adamant that the Pogues keep it on the down low, but something in him tells him that it’s okay for you to know. Useful, even, though he has no idea how. When he wraps up the story, he takes in your room. It’s just as he pictured it to be. Immaculately clean, psychopath level organised, decorated with brand after brand, China-white and pastel blue detailing every turn of the head. Looking back to you, he sniggers.
“You look like a witch right now.”
You take in the way you’re sitting and laugh, making a point to cradle your mug of tea between two hands. God, you’re adorable. The years of ballet have paid off: your back is straight as an arrow. The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you sip your tea. Outside, you can hear the sounds of nature pass by. There’s something understated and special about spending time with someone without feeling the need to fill the gaps. Just…existing. As JJ finishes his tea, you nod to his empty mug.
“Want me to read your tea leaves?” you ask.
JJ eyes you up, entertained. “No way you know how to do that.”
“Course I do. Here.”
You put your mug down on the windowsill and hold out a hand out for his. He passes you the empty mug and leans back against the cushioned headboard. Hell, if he had a bed like this, he’d never leave. You hum in deep contemplative thought as you look into the mug. Eyebrows knitting together, lips pursing, you study the scraps of tea leaves intently. JJ tries to stifle his laughs. It’s clearly a ploy. He can see right through the act.
“Ah, well…These are very good leaves,” you suddenly announce.
JJ plays along. “Oh, really?”
“Mhm. Yeah, yeah, I see a great fortune in your future,” you tell him. A glance up to his face, stupid grin on your lips, and then back to the mug. “Mhm. Yep, I see a…A boat.”
“Oh yeah? A Grady White by any chance?” JJ jests.
“Oh, no. This thing…It’s like the titanic. Big ship.”
“You have a way with words, princess.”
“And! A rainforest! And stones!”
“Alright, this tea’s gone to your head,” JJ laughs, reaching over for his mug.
You giggle as he takes it back, ditching it half-arsed on the bedside table so he can drag you to him by your forearms. Half tumbling forward, your hands ungainly catch yourself on his sturdy frame. You’re still laughing as he kisses you. JJ smiles against your mouth.
“I’m telling you,” you manage out through kisses and giggles. “You’re gonna be very fortunate in your future.”
“Mm, I’m fortunate now,” JJ replies, chasing your lips.
He uses a hand to hoist you further into his lap. You finally find purchase, a hand sliding along his neck, tantalisingly slow and smooth. As JJ’s lips creep along your jaw and inch down your neck, you lean your head, giving him more and more canvas to work with.
“I’m very lucky, you know,” you say, sounding short of breath.
JJ just hums. He continues his tapestry of love bites and kisses as you ramble on. He loves how soft it is with you; how there’s time for pause, for thought, for laughter. It’s the polar opposite to what he knows. Frenzied hands and sex in a timeframe. The patience of sex with you isn’t without heat, though. It isn’t like a married couple who can hardly remember what they liked about one another, chasing a high before drifting off to sleep. No, it’s like how people take time to pray. Like how musicians fawn over their music for hours, bit by bit, until perfection. So, JJ revels in your half-meaningful speech, slurred like you’re drunk despite being stone-cold sober, as he gently eases your cardigan off your shoulders.
“Every dance team I’ve been on, we’ve won…”
As JJ’s lips descend to your chest, you sigh. Fingers tightening just-so in his hair, spurring him on. One of his hands stays placed on your hip, a thumb rubbing circles on your exposed waist.
“Probably just ‘cause you’re a good dancer,” JJ mumbles against your skin.
“Not just that, though,” you muse. “I’m a good luck charm, I’m telling you. Nothing bad ever happens to the people around me. I’m lucky.”
Whatever you say, JJ thinks as he unhooks your bra. You help guide it off, sitting back against JJ’s thighs and lifting a perfectly manicured hand to his jaw. Your skin is soft like Mother of Pearl. Not a single cut or nick. Guiding his face up until his gaze meets yours, you lean down and press your lips to his. There’s no more laughter and no more silly stories. There’s no room in JJ’s brain to conjure anything other than thoughts of you. Your hair and your skin and your perfume and your nails and you. God, he wants to consume you. Breathe you in like vapour, soak you up like sunlight, feel you like the weather, all over him.
Nobody’s prettier than you.
Nobody prettier from this view, nestled between your thighs, almost suffocating as he swallows you up. More and more – insatiable. The distinct taste of you sits heavy on his tongue. It spurs him on like cocaine, energy unrelenting as he goes down on you. The sounds you make, the way you grab at him, grasp at the sheets, writhe and wriggle like it’s too much, like you can’t take it. But you can. Have before. Will again.
Your body bends to JJ’s will like water. You’re so trusting of him; have been ever since you met him. Let him take you how he wants, faithful in the pleasure he’ll give you. Usually JJ didn’t care much if girls thought him selfish in bed, but you? No, he needed you to give the mark of approval. He needed your praise, your validation, like his sex wouldn’t have meaning if you didn’t think it worthwhile. The way you fit around him; JJ swears to God it’s like you were made for him. He has you on your front, fucking you into the mountain of throw pillows that make up the head of your bed. He keeps your hips and ass angled upwards, holding you steady as he ruts into you over and over again. You’re a drooling, moaning mess underneath him. One of your hands is clenching and releasing the sheets much like your walls are to him. Having you like this – Christ, it makes JJ feel like a young God.
When you fall apart, it pushes JJ over the edge too, almost like a suicide pact. He’s not sure heroin could touch ecstasy quite like it. Drifting away on dopamine, JJ pulls out of you and flops onto his back, chest heaving. You shuffle atop of your sheets, curling up as you let the afterglow take over. JJ knows he should dote on you but he’s so tired and spent. After tying off and tossing the condom out in your bedroom trash, and tugging on his boxers, JJ lays back down on the bed beside you, flat on his back. One of your hands rests on his chest – damp with sweat. Just for a minute, JJ thinks. I’ll just close my eyes for one minute.
JJ tunes into the sensation of you stroking the bare skin of his back. It rouses him from sleep. Somehow, in his tiredness, he’d rolled over onto his front. Your sheets smell of fabric conditioner and safety. Goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets; a memory foam mattress that mimics what JJ might imagine falling asleep on a marshmallow to feel like.
“JJ?” You continue to run the side of your hand up and down his skin. "Are you awake?"
"No," he mumbles into the sheets.
“I want us to make this official.”
JJ groans sleepily. “Wha’dya mean?”
“I mean, I want us to put a label on this thing. I want to be your girlfriend, and I want you to be my boyfriend.”
It’s like the mattress has become a gaping wormhole and it’s sucking him in. That very thing that he was drawn to, entranced with, that very thing that he was learning and dreading to be true, every little insecurity and anxiety that had built and built since the second date…It’s all arriving at once, hitting him hard and fast like a meteor strike.
JJ turns his head, looking up at you. You’re watching him patient, a giddy-type smile on your face, slightly disquieted with nerves.
“Well…How do you know that?”
Brows furrowing, your smile doesn’t move. Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know…I just know. I…I know it because I feel it.”
Those words do nothing to ease the panic that’s building up JJ’s body. He shuffles until he’s sat upright, staring you down like you’re something dangerous. For some reason, your innocent request feels like a trap to him. A con. A joke that he’ll be the unwilling punchline of if he agrees. And he realises what that impending feeling was, all this time. It was him waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Lucy’s point to come true and for the curtains to be pulled. To find out what the hell you wanted with him.
“You can’t just say things like that. That’s a really messed up thing to say to someone,” JJ mutters, moving away from you.
You’re frowning now, befuddled. “Why is it? It’s true, and it’s how I feel. I want to make us official. I want us to be together.”
“Well, you’re saying that now but what about if we do get together, and I meet your parents and your friends, and you realise how different we are but you feel like you’re stuck with me, and then all of it was for nothing.”
Face the picture of perplexed, your mouth contorts into something ugly. “Where is all of this coming from? What did you think we were doing? I mean, we’ve been fine this past month and I know that there’s something between us.”
“How do you?”
“Because I’m not stupid, JJ,” you sharply reply.
Good, JJ thinks. You’re getting angry. You’ll lose your temper and you’ll let something slip that you weren’t supposed to, and he can bolt without a muddied conscience. He moves away from the bed and starts grabbing his strewn-about clothes in a frenzy to bolt.
“If there’s something between us, why haven’t I met any of your friends yet?”
You stare at him. He takes your hesitation as confirmation to his doubts. Pointing accusingly at you, he snarls, “because you’re embarrassed of me. You’re embarrassed to be seen with a Pogue-nobody from the Cut, in front of your Kook friends.”
“What is your obsession with me being a Kook!?” you exclaim. “Have you ever noticed how I never bring it up? How it’s always you, JJ, talking about it.”
“Well, I feel like I ought'a!”
“Why!?” you vociferate.
“Because what the hell do you want with me anyway!? You’re going to mess around with me for the summer, and get your kicks, and rebel against dear-old daddy, and then ditch me for some Kook jackass, who you’ll marry and he’ll take you on ski trips and summer’s in the Hamptons, and send your snotty children to expensive summer camps, and then you’ll laugh with all your trust-fund friends about how you went slumming once too.”
With that narrative, you laugh in disbelief, mystified. “What kind of fucking story are you spinning?”
“One that’s based on nothing but the facts,” JJ shouts. He’s shaking and angry, but it’s just his panic in disguise. He saw a glimpse of happiness with you and instinctively wanted to smash it up, like a psychopath child and a harmless butterfly. “I mean, you said it yourself - you wanted to do what you’re not supposed to do, for a change. Have a taste of rebellion and then go back to your rich-ass bubble wrap.”
JJ’s seen you possessive before. He’s seen you jealous, and scared, and snippy. But he’s never seen you angry. It’s horrifying.
“Did it ever occur to you that all of that has nothing to do with you? Has nothing to do with you being a Pogue, or me being a Kook?” you yell. Hands flying up to your chest, holding on like your heart might fall out of your skeleton, your voice turns thick. “I was miserable JJ! I was never allowed to do anything; never allowed to go anywhere. I did what my parents told me to do. I went to bed by nine every night. I was wasting my time with all these fucking after-school extra-circulars which I don’t even care about! I hate ballet! I hate piano! Christ, I hate all of it! And my friends are fake as anything. They say one thing to my face, and come to my house for pool parties, and then bitch about me behind my back! They’re assholes, JJ! So, yeah, I didn’t want to waste my time introducing you to them because I don’t actually like them!”
His lips start to quiver uncomfortably as he watches you unravel. It’s like JJ was pulling and pulling on a spring, and now he has to stand and watch it snap.
Make-up free, hair still tousled from earlier, oversized t-shirt half hanging off your frame: there’s no Kook defining thing about you here. It’s just you - just as it always had been.
JJ’s heart cracks as a tear falls down your cheek. With a shaky breath, in a quiet, defeated voice, you tell him, “I wanted to go out with you because I wanted to live. Because most of the time, I feel so useless and so alone that I wonder if I’m even here at all.”
And hearing you say that finally allows the curtain to fall. Only, it revealed to JJ something entirely different to what he expected. To what he’d told himself time and time again. Seeing you cry on your bed because of him…JJ’s made some real big mistakes in his life, but this one surpasses them all.
“So don’t put your shit on me because you’re the one that’s afraid,” you say, stealing yourself as you aggressively wipe your eyes. JJ’s narrow. It’s like poking a searing hot skewer into his most tender of wounds.
“Afraid? What do I have to be afraid of?”
“You’re afraid of me! You’re afraid that I won’t love you back! You’re afraid of what all the shallow people in the County will think! You know what, JJ? I’m afraid too! But fuck it - I want to give a try!”
It feels as exposing as having you peel back his skin. JJ pulls on his t-shirt and shakes his head, turning for the bedroom door, mumbling something about ‘I’m not doing this right now.’
You dart from the bed and grab at his arm, stopping him. “No. No, you’re not leaving,” you blubber.
JJ yanks out of your grip, turning around, lashing out like a stray animal approached all too quick. “What do you wanna know!” He yells. You recoil. “What? That I don’t have a great life? That I’m jealous of how you live compared to me! That I don’t want you to see how I really live because I’m ashamed shitless of it!”
You’re crying, hard, but JJ can’t find it in himself to stop. Why won’t he stop? The butterfly is dead, wings torn from the body, antenas shattered from the beating: but it’s like he doesn’t even want dust to remain.
“That my dad beats the shit out of me, so I sleep at John B’s house!? That I’ll probably end up in a prison cell or an early grave!? You ain't wanna hear that shit! Don’t tell me you want to hear that shit!”
“I do want to hear that stuff! I do want to hear it!” you argue through your sobs. You lift your hands as if you might try and cup his face. “I just want to help you.”
He retracts from your almost-there hold. “Help me! What the fuck! What, do I got a fucking sign on my back that says Save Me?”
“No!”
“Do I look like I need that!?”
Reaching for him again, tears streaming, you wail, “no! God, I just want to be with you because I love you!”
JJ grabs at your wrists, driving you away from him, driving you towards the door until your back presses against it, all the while yelling at you. Don’t bullshit me! Don’t fucking bullshit me!
JJ’s never been lucky to have good things. He waits for his friends to get up and leave. Knows his dad will too, one day, just like his ma. He’ll end up alone, drunk, high, and not long after, dead. You? You’re just a glitch in his programming. A girl who saw a project - yeah, that’s it. A girl who saw a project, a thing to fix, and the moment you have will be the moment that you get bored, and leave him broken hearted and alone. JJ knows more than anyone: you’ve got to leave before you get left.
But as you’re standing with your back against the wall, you don’t cower from him. Don’t wait for him to land a hit on you. Always so trusting. And seeing you, crying, sobbing, begging for him to listen to you, repeating that you love him over and over…JJ knows you’re not the malicious enemy he’s created in his mind. He knows you’re not.
“I want you to tell me that you don’t love me." A shuddering breath, trying to calm your quivering voice. “Because, if you do, I won’t call you anymore. And I won’t be in your life…”
And JJ’s never been good at admitting when he’s wrong. Maybe he learnt it from his dad. Maybe it’s a defensive mechanism. Maybe it’s dumb, childish youth that he never outgrew. So, as you sob, waiting for him to say something - to say you love him - JJ feels his face turn to stone. Cold, emotionless stone.
“I don’t love you.”
He grabs the rest of his shit in one quick sweep and he leaves your bedroom before he has to see the long-lasting damage he once again inflicted on someone. Slams the door. Rushes down the stairs. Passes the barking Ranger, alarmed by all the yelling, and dresses as he stumbles to the front door. In the air of the driveway, he takes a gasping breath, cringing with melancholic agony. Panic rises in his chest like a fist is clenching around his heart, over and over. He raises a hand, rubbing at the uncomfortable pain. JJ knows this feeling well. Knows it from childhood and from adolescence. Knows it almost as much as he knows breathing.
Heartbreak.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
JJ distracted himself with drinking, smoking and treasure hunting. Indulged at night and diverted throughout the day to avoid any thoughts of you. He was lucky, in a way, that his friends were there to keep him busy. They only asked once why he wasn’t seeing you anymore, wondering why you were never around, and learnt their lesson never to ask again. He tried to hide behind the lie that he’d so easily told himself: that you were a spoilt-bitch Kook who would have ditched him soon anyway. But he remembers your voice and your face clear as day, begging for him to tell you that he loved you. He can picture all too easily your reaction the minute he stepped away from you, after telling the worst lie of his life.
Throwing himself into work was a good distraction. It’s hard to think about you when he’s thinking about how heavy the motor is that he’s lugging, or how close he’s cutting it on time to deliver groceries with Pope. His hurt made him wreckless, like he deserved whatever bad thing might come. You were good karma for returning Ranger and his mistreatment was bound to be paid back to him by the universe. Maybe that was why he’d been so eager to exact revenge on Topper and Rafe. Their attack on Pope certainly made it easier for JJ to handle his hurt when he was reminded of how awful most Kooks are. It was almost possible to group you in with them, to help mitigate the sting of guilt that came whenever your name crossed his mind. Almost.
But, like always, the consequences of his actions were bound to catch up to him. So, as JJ sits beside Pope and Kiara watching the outdoor movie play under the watchful gaze of Topper, Rafe and Kelce, he knows bad things are coming.
“JJ,” Pope says, nudging his leg.
“What?”
“Gotta take a piss.”
JJ’s leg is quivering with building adrenaline. “Hold it.”
“I can’t hold it. I drank too much soda.”
“It’s too exposed, they’ll totally see us,” JJ argues.
“I gotta go,” Pope insists.
JJ purses his lips and glances back over his shoulder the same time Pope turns around. Their eyes land on the three pissed off Kooks, sat like mob bosses, biding their time. They might as well be smoking a pipe and stroking their one-eyed cat like some '50s Bond villain.
“They’re blocking the bathrooms,” Pope observes.
Yeah, no shit. JJ looks around, noticing the woodland behind the giant projection screen. “Alright, come here. I know where.”
The two of them get to their feet, hunching over as they go to move. When Kiara asks where they’re going, JJ shrugs and tells her, ‘we gotta ring it out.’ With that, they venture to the screen and relieve themselves just behind it, out of view, into the shrubs. As they piss, Pope and JJ banter. JJ finishes first, zipping up his fly and turning around to keep watch.
“You bring the peacemaker?” Pope asks, referring to JJ’s beloved gun.
His stomach drops. “Oh, shit, I forgot it.”
“You forgot it?”
“Hurry up! Hurry up!”
“Dude, you had one job. That’s all I asked you to do, man,” Pope complains as he finishes up.
“I know, let’s go,” JJ quickly replies. The moment he turns, JJ comes face to face with Rafe. Fuck.
“What’s up Pogues?”
“What’s up, Rafe?” JJ casually replies, walking backwards with Pope as Rafe approaches steadfast. He won’t let on that he’s scared - learnt that from his dad. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
As Pope tries to make a run for it, Topper emerges, Kelce in tow. “Hey that was some nice work you did on my boat!”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Pope fumbles.
JJ assesses the situation. Three on two. Pope isn’t the strongest fighter. No gun. Yeah, the odds are not stacked in their favour.
“Not so burly without a gun now, are you?” Rafe taunts.
JJ’s jaw ticks, his anger rising with his annoyance. The adrenaline is pumping and working its usual magic. Bring it on, pussy. I can take a few licks - it’s my birth-right.
“Take one more step and I’ll rip that prepubescent face off,” JJ warns through clenched teeth. He watches as Topper approaches Pope leisurely.
“Hey Pope, do you feel good about yourself, stealing shit? Is your mom proud of you? Is your dad proud of you?”
Pope slams his head into Topper’s upper chest and pride swills through JJ. “Attaboy! Attaboy!” He grabs his friend’s shoulder, lifting his clenched fist. “Now with your fist, see?”
With that, Rafe claims him. They begin to get in a dust-up. JJ takes the first few punches; each one that lands on his cheek brings searing hot pain that quickly vanishes with shock. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. He taps into the pit inside of him, deep and angry and bitter. His self-hatred, for all the shit he put you through, for all the shit his dad and mom pegged on him…Throws his own punches, then. Wrestles too. Blood begins to draw. Lips crack open. Eyebrows split. But then it’s two on one: Kelce grabbing at him, holding him steady so Rafe can just lay into him. JJ’s winded as Rafe’s fist meets his stomach. He collapses in Kelce’s hold as Rafe right hooks him. And every hit, JJ takes like it’s his earnt punishment.
“Come on, Rafe,” JJ provokes through the agonising pain. “That all you got?”
“Let go of him Topper! You fascist asshole!”
Kiara. She helps Pope first, hitting Topper with JJ’s backpack. At least, that’s what JJ sees through the double vision. The backpack. The gun. Topper grabs it off her and tosses it, and then JJ’s too busy getting the shit beaten out of him to see what follows. It’s all just noise. Blends almost cinematically with the sound of the old-timey movie playing. At some point, it even sounds like there’s a dog barking. Blood fills his mouth like he’s at some sadistic dentist surgery. Pain numbs his nerve endings and softens his muscles. Air becomes a rarity as he’s held in a headlock, half-strangled.
“Let go of them right now!”
Everyone goes still. JJ only notices because he finally has a second to catch his breath, gasping as the arm around his throat loosens just slightly. He opens his eyes, desperate to get his vision steady, and…no fucking way.
There you stand like some designer vigilante heroine. Hair perfect, as always, with not a strand out of place; jewellery to the nines; make-up enhancing your gorgeous features. In your hand, clasped between perfectly manicured nails, is JJ’s gun. It’s pointed directly at Rafe’s forehead.
Rafe laughs. “What? That supposed to scare me or something?”
You grit your teeth, harden your stare, and remain stoic and strong in your stance. Rafe just quirks a brow, a sick smile twisting upwards.
“Oh, what, you’re gonna be the hero here? Why don’t you just run back to your daddy and mind your own fucking business?”
“Let. Them. Go.”
JJ realises then that Ranger is standing by your side. He’s growling, looking feral like Cujo, salivating at the mouth, death-glare set on Kelce who still holds JJ in a headlock. Your command and Kelce might lose a leg.
“What’s it to you?” Topper snaps.
“They’re my friends.”
Okay, no, JJ must have fucking blacked out or something. In the brain damage caused by Rafe, he’s seeing things. You’re his own guardian angel that his dying brain has conjured - that is the only explanation.
All of the Kooks laugh. “Your friends?”
“I won’t ask you again,” you darkly warn, not a spit of humour in your voice.
Rafe whistles lowly. He mockingly raises his hands to his head in surrender. Shares a laugh with Topper and Kelce. It vanishes the minute you unclip the safety.
“You wouldn’t,” Rafe tells you.
Slowly, maleficently, the faintest shadow of a smirk forms on your lip-glossed mouth. “You really want to test that theory?”
And that, ladies and gentleman, is how JJ Maybank ended up in the most insane predicament of his life. Nobody knows what you’re going to do next: not JJ, and probably not even you. As JJ waits, his eyes dart down to Ranger. The very thing that started all of this.
Rafe sniffs. He juts his head at Kelce. When Kelce finally lets JJ go, Topper does the same with Pope. Kiara helps Pope up. JJ leans over, hands on his knees, coughing and gasping in air.
“You’re gonna regret this, you know that? Better keep a fucking eye out, princess,” Rafe warns you as he saunters away with his posse. If JJ wasn’t on the brink of passing out, he’d lay him out for even looking at you.
The minute the three Kooks round the screen, acting as if nothing even happened, you drop the gun on the backpack and race over to JJ. It’s hard not to flinch after his moments-before assault when you clutch his shoulders. He realises that you’re shaking. Hears in the quiver of your voice how shit-scared you are.
“Oh my God! Are you okay? Can you breathe?”
No and no.
“Do you need to sit down? What should I–”
No, definitely don’t sit down.
“Come on - we need to go,” Kiara tells you. She has Pope’s weight on her.
You seem to copy, taking her guidance from her years of experience with hanging with the guys, and guide JJ away from the scene of the crime. You grab the backpack as you go, the gun shoved inside (safety now on). Ranger licks anxiously at JJ’s hand, whining in worry.
“I’m alright, boy,” JJ lies to the dog in a slur.
swirling, becoming blacker and blacker with every step. His body is screaming for rest and reprieve. He vaguely overhears you tell Kie where you’re parked. Lets you half-drag him to your ride. The minute JJ’s helped into the backseat, safe in the smell of you, he blacks out.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
The first thing JJ notices when he wakes up is how much his head hurts. There’s a headache above his brows, similar to that which you get when hungover. It feels like his brain was a ping pong ball, rattled around in there for hours on end. Sniffing, he groans as he tries to sit up. There’s a hand pushing him back down to the bed gently.
“Just lie still, for now,” you say softly. “No sudden movements, okay?”
JJ groans again, eyes pressed shut. At the sensation of a straw pressing against his lips, he drinks.
“Open your mouth,” you say after he swallows. JJ does as he’s told, in too much pain to argue. You give him a few pills - presumably painkillers - and help him chase them with water. “I’ll be right back.”
JJ must fall back asleep. When he comes to for the second time, the pain in his head is significantly lessened, as are all the general aches and pains of his body. He dreads the idea of looking in a mirror: he’s probably black and blue. Saying that, it’s not like it’s an unfamiliar state to him. Opening his eyes, he immediately recognises your bedroom. As if on cue, you walk through the door, a mug of what must be steaming hot tea in hand. When your eyes meet his, a relieved smile comes to your face.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he rasps.
Making your way over, tea deposited on the bedside table, you take the seat next to him. Shit, no wonder he was sleeping so well. Your bed is like sponge cake.
“How you feeling?”
“Like shit,” JJ grunts. You stifle a laugh. Shifting to sit up, his brows furrow as last night comes back to him, piece by piece. “Did I…Was I hallucinating, or did you save our ass?”
“Mmm, I might have maybe just saved your ass,” you innocently reply.
Shaking his head, JJ rubs tiredly at his face.
“I’m not even going to ask what Rafe and his gang of fairies were angry about.”
“Yeah, that’s probably the best idea,” JJ cringes.
He finally braves holding your gaze. There’s a distance there - a reluctance to be fully present - and JJ knows it’s because of him.
“That was really ballsy, what you did,” he tells you.
“It's nothing,” you quietly reply.
“You’re probably going to lose your Kook card now.”
“Never liked it that much in the first place,” you say with a half-smile.
JJ silently laughs, shaking his head, mesmerised. He was so wrong about you. About all of it. “I was, uh...kind of a dick to you.”
“Yeah…”
“And…you were right,” he mumbles.
Brows lifting slightly, a small, amused smile teases your lips. “What was that sorry?”
“You were right,” he repeats, no louder.
Leaning in, a finger to your ear, you say, “one more time, I didn't quite catch it.”
“Fuck off,” JJ groans, shoving you away with hardly any force.
You snort out a laugh. The moment the humour passes, you look back to him. He feels as though he can hear your thoughts. Your anger and annoyance and insecurity and pain. He hears it all in the emotion swimming through your eyes. So, he nods.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, JJ,” you whisper.
One of his hairs falls into his face. Before he can react, you’re leaning forward, brushing it out the way. JJ captures your wrist quickly, keeping you near, almost panicked that if you move even a millimetre away, he’ll lose you forever. In that same frenzy, desperate to have you close, he forces out the three words he’s never let himself say to anyone. Ever.
“I love you.”
Face an exact replica of the one you made that day on the beach, you blink at him. Once, then twice. JJ nods again.
“I just…I can’t…It doesn’t…”
“I know,” you say, forehead bumping against his own as you lean down. Then, in a whisper, you add, “I know. It’s okay.”
JJ sniffs, suddenly overcome with emotion, and nods against you. As his eyes press shut, you kiss him. It’s slightly salty with tears but no less welcome. He winces as your hand cups his jaw. Kisses you through your mumbled apology against his lips.
And as the two of you kiss, JJ realises that this was all it ever had to be. It was never that complicated, never that layered, because all that mattered was you. Wonderfully, princess-perfect, Kook-turned-Pogue you.
pairing: luke castellan x daughter of apollo reader
word count: 4.1k
summary: you and luke have a great day, and mr. d remembers he is not getting paid enough for this
content: the caught kissing trope my beloved
notes: gifting you all a sunshine pov for the finale <3 for @luvieborealis this whole series was for u
The usually calm and serene arts and crafts cabin is rather tense today.
“Luke, please,” Annabeth begs, her eyes softened and her hands clasped together. It’s the same trick she’s been pulling ever since she first met him, the sad eyes that always make Luke feel guilty and give in. “Grover’s sick so he can’t bring us, but Sally’s making special blue blueberry muffins tonight. What kind of people would we be if we canceled?”
The guilt tripping works, sure, but Luke’s a man who’s made prior commitments. And as a guy with some big plans, these prior commitments are especially important.
“I really can’t take you guys today, I’m sorry.”
“Why not?” Percy presses. He tilts his head at him, squinting and scrutinizing. “What are you doing today that’s more important?”
Luke shrugs, trying for nonchalance. “I’m busy.”
You snicker at his side, adding another knot into your friendship bracelet.
Luke had dragged you away from your volleyball tournament just after lunch to teach him how to draw, and even though he’d given up after a couple of minutes and begged for you to do something else instead, he’d at least tried, which you think is admirable.
(It’d gone a lot better than your attempt last week at teaching him to paint, at least. He’d sat and watched as you worked the entire time and hadn’t picked up his paintbrush once.)
You’d ended up shifting over to bracelet making, a much simpler art. But the kids ambushed him about fifteen minutes ago, so his bracelet sits mostly unfinished in front of him.
“Why are you being so mysterious?” you can’t help but ask.
“Percy’s being nosy,” he says, gesturing at the kid like he’s not there. “I don’t have to tell them anything if I don’t want to.”
“Scared of being teased by kids?” you ask, amusement creeping into your words. You look up at Percy and Annabeth, smiling. “Me and Luke were going to make plans for tonight.”
“Oh,” they say in unison.
Though Annabeth doesn’t seem too surprised, Percy is clearly a little shocked, a reaction you seem to get pretty often these days. Even though you and Luke have stopped bickering nearly as much as you used to, people look at you like you’ve grown another head whenever they find out that the two of you are actually close now.
A little more than close, actually.
“What were you guys planning on doing?” Annabeth asks, not prying, just curious.
Percy must let his frustration get the best of him, because rather unhelpfully, he says, “Probably vandalize my cabin again.”
Luke gives him a flat look. “Percy. How many times am I gonna have to tell you that that wasn’t me?”
He puts his hands up. “Look, I’m just saying the timing was really convenient—”
“Special blue blueberry muffins sound really great,” you say, stopping Percy before he can start on this topic again.
He’s still convinced Luke had something to do with the little bags of alive goldfish left all around Cabin Three, and has been pestering him for a confession ever since. Luke hadn’t been the one to do it—you’d both watched the Stolls hop in and out of one of the windows with the bags in their hands—but Percy refuses to believe it could've been anyone but him.
You tie off the end of your bracelet and cut off the extra string while Luke shrugs next to you.
“The muffins are great,” he admits, letting you fuss with his wrist so you can loop the bracelet around it. “But we already have plans, so I’m not going. And neither are they, I guess.”
The kids protest vehemently, but both of you ignore it, looking instead at the woven string around his wrist. Luke runs his opposite thumb over the chevron pattern before kissing the side of your face and mumbling out a thank you.
His bracelet for you has taken a little longer since he’s had to redo a few knots, but it’s still turning out very nicely. He’s also not nearly as bad at bracelet making as he had claimed to be earlier, and you have the sneaking suspicion that he was just pretending to not know how so you would hold his hands while you showed him.
“Anyway,” you start. “Me and Luke didn’t really have any real plans. So if he doesn’t care, he’s all yours today.”
Percy and Annabeth burst into cheers, and you think for a second Percy’s about to bow down and thank you. You’re awfully amused, but you turn to Luke and see the clear signs of panic in his eyes.
“That’s not true,” he protests quickly, catching Annabeth’s hand in mid-air when she tries to high-five Percy. “We do have plans. She just forgot.”
You give him a weird look that he returns.
You’d literally talked at length an hour ago about how you had no idea what you should do tonight, and here Luke is, lying to the kids about having plans.
He must not want to take them really bad.
“Oh, yeah,” you say slowly, watching as the terror on Luke’s face eases up. “My bad, I forgot. We have that thing later.”
“Yep,” he agrees, waving the kids away from the two of you. “We have that thing. So it’s not even possible for either of us to take you.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Annabeth huffs. “It doesn’t even seem like either of you know what the thing is.”
“Big plans, Annabeth,” he insists, getting up from his seat when neither of them stop looming over him like two dark clouds. He grabs them both by the back of their shirts and drags them towards the door, depositing them on the other side like they’re nothing more than decorative furniture.
“Can you please just consider it?” she begs.
Luke leans against the doorway, looking up at the sky while he pretends like he’s thinking about it.
“Fine. I might consider it. Now get out.”
She groans, giving him a mean glare. “Seriously? ‘I might consider it’ is basically a no, and you know it. You’re not going to think about it.”
“I’m glad I didn’t have to tell you that myself,” he says cheerily, giving her a sympathetic pat on her shoulder. “You’re absolutely right.”
“You won’t even think about it? Not even for your sister?” Percy tries, the both of them masters at the guilt card.
“I think she’ll survive another few weeks without a blueberry muffin.”
Annabeth crosses her arms, immediately forcing Luke into one of their quick conversation-arguments you always have trouble following.
Admittedly, you feel bad for them. As someone who used to argue with Luke on a daily basis, you are unfortunately very familiar with how stubborn he can be once he’s made up his mind.
Once, you’d argued over a stupid fact for an entire day because he refused to go back on his original opinion. It’d been “the principle of the thing,” apparently, and he’d argued and argued and argued even after you’d literally taken out an entire book to prove him wrong.
Percy would probably have to hold Luke at gunpoint before he agreed to skip out on your plans tonight, whether they were real or not.
“Sorry, guys,” you say, giving them a sympathetic smile you hope they can see. “Maybe next time.”
All hope that might’ve been swimming in their eyes dies out immediately, and it makes you feel bad. The two of them grumble their entire way out of the cabin, huffing and complaining about how unfair Luke is.
When he kicks the door shut, he turns to you with a massive grin playing on his face. He practically dances all the way back to his seat, sitting down next to you with a relieved sigh.
You give him a look. “You could’ve been nicer.”
He shrugs, focusing again on his bracelet. He looks pleased with how it’s turned out, a chain of sunflowers that he’ll wrap around your wrist when he’s done.
“Don’t worry. They’ll get over it.”
—
Percy and Annabeth do not get over it.
You catch them talking to Mr. D on the porch of the Big House—presumably about going into Manhattan by themselves—and the conversation goes about exactly as you’d expect.
He laughs in their faces, and they walk away, dejected. When you see the look Percy gives Luke, you tell him it’s probably for the best that you both stay clear of any body of water for the near future.
And sometime after you’d left the arts and crafts cabin, you’d seen Annabeth by the volleyball courts. You’d waved at her from across the grass, but she’d done nothing but stare menacingly at you, even letting the volleyball hit the floor right in front of her.
“The look she was giving me was scary! It felt like I was in a horror movie,” you complain to Luke out by the fields. “Those kids are haunting me.”
“You serious?” He curls his sword around yours while you’re distracted and whips it into the dirt, the clatter of it kicking up dust. “You didn’t even do anything. I was the one who kicked them out.”
“I lied to them, though,” you huff, putting your hands on your hips. “Do you not feel bad? They’re always so excited coming back from Manhattan, and they’ve probably been looking forward to this all month. Percy probably just wanted to see his mom.”
Luke doesn’t answer, too busy appreciating the disarm maneuver he’d just done. “Was that three hundred eight to three hundred nine?”
“Luke, I know for a fact you aren’t counting our wins right now.”
“Yep. I’m not. Sorry, babe.”
He hands you your sword again, and you take it from him mindlessly, still thinking about the frown on their faces when Mr. D had laughed at them.
And you thought you’d been mean! Mr. D was a different kind of evil for laughing at them.
“He isn’t special for missing his mom,” Luke jokes, giving you a toothy grin. “He’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
It falls flat when you don’t laugh.
He clears his throat. “Look, Sunshine, you’re too nice. Just cause they’re kids doesn’t mean you can’t say no to them.”
“We could’ve both gone with them,” you suggest. “And we would’ve all gotten what we wanted. We didn’t even have any actual plans, Luke. I can’t help but feel bad.”
Realizing you actually do feel guilty about it, he sheathes his sword before dragging you closer. He even rubs soothing circles into your upper arms because it’s something that always seems to work on you, and your chest warms at how sweet he is.
“I’ll talk to Mr. D later,” he offers. “I’ll convince him to reschedule their trip when Grover’s feeling better, okay?”
“You will?”
“Of course I would, if it’d make you feel better.”
“It would,” you say honestly. “Thank you, Luke. You’re the best.”
“It’s no problem,” he answers, grinning. “But, uh…”
“But?”
“I think my disarm from just now should still count towards my score.”
“You’re still thinking about that?” you ask, and he’s quick to nod. “That shouldn’t have counted, I was distracted.”
“Gotta pay better attention, then,” he chides.
He’s smiling at you, his eyes lit up, and you try not to feel too bad when you pull his sword out from where it’s sheathed against his hip and hold it up to his neck.
“Should this count as my three-hundred tenth win, then?” you tease, watching realization bloom on his face. “Cause you were distracted.”
It takes a second for realization to bloom on his face, but then he shakes his head, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“We can’t just count everything as a win, you know. We weren’t even fighting.”
“I think I deserve it, though.”
“You think so?” Luke takes another step closer to you, making you back up—right into the point of a dagger.
You pat your side with your free hand, expecting to feel your blade, but coming up empty.
“Should this count as my three-hundred ninth win?” Luke repeats in a bad imitation of your voice, and you can’t help but laugh.
You slip his sword back into the spot at his hip while he puts your dagger back safely in the inside pocket of your jacket.
“I still have no clue how you manage to steal stuff from right under my nose,” you say while the two of you make your way back to the pavilion for dinner. Your hands brush against each other as you walk, your matching bracelets wrapped around both of your wrists.
Luke makes that face that tells you he’s about to make a stupid joke, and you almost laugh at how predictable his humor can be.
“Like the way I stole your heart?” the two of you say in unison.
The smirk flickers off his face. “How’d you know I was about to say that?”
“I could feel it in my bones.” You link your hands together while the two of you head past the Big House. “I have a sixth sense for your jokes.”
“Maybe that means we’re both just really funny.”
“Funny? That’s not the word I’d use to—”
You’re pulled to an abrupt stop when Luke stops walking, your body jerking backwards where your hands are still connected.
“Wait, I just realized I forgot something in here,” he says, nodding to your left. “Do you mind coming in with me? I’ll make it quick.”
The two of you are outside the arts and crafts cabin again, the curtains drawn shut over the windows and the lights outside the door turned off.
You shake your head. “Course not.”
You were planning on making up a fake detour to spend an extra few minutes with him anyway, and now you don’t even have to. Your fingers slip out of his grasp as you jog ahead, opening the door for him.
“Ladies first,” you insist.
“Funny,” he says, following you up the steps.
“What’d you forget, anyway?” you ask, peering into the dark room. It’s impossible to see anything past the threshold of the door, and it kind of freaks you out.
Luke leans against the opposite side of the doorframe, but he makes no move to go in. He’s just smiling at you.
All he says is, “Ladies first, I thought?”
You roll your eyes before stepping over the threshold. “How chivalrous.”
With the sun long set by now, the cabin is pitch black, but behind the divider that splits the cabin into two sections, you see the brief flicker of candle light.
You feel along the wall for the light switch but find warmth instead — Luke’s hand.
He links your hands together again as he shuts the door behind you, leaving the both of you in utter darkness.
The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You plant your feet, making him stumble slightly.
“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you lure me here to murder me?”
He sputters behind you, and he spins you around to look at him despite there being no way he can see your face. “The fuck?”
“This feels like a horror movie. You do realize that, right?”
Luke guffaws. “No, I’m not here to murder you, are you insane?”
“That’s good, then. I was worried. You wouldn’t beat me in a fight.”
“My three-hundred and nine wins say otherwise,” he quips, making sure to emphasize the fake win he’s added to his real score. “And hey, if I was a murderer, I would at least knock you unconscious first. Couldn’t risk my pretty victim running away, obviously.”
You shove him away from you as you move closer to the light source. “Hilarious.”
“I really do try.”
You see one candle and then two, lighting up the way to whatever is on the other side of the wall. You almost turn back to look at him before remembering the whole pitch black thing, so you just continue following the path made of tealights.
When you turn the corner, you find that all of the candles are surrounding something sitting oddly in the center of the floor. Luke lets go of you then, and you crouch down and crack the top of it open.
It’s a basket, you realize. And at the bottom of it is…
Food.
Your favorite foods to be exact. They’re arranged so gorgeously you almost don’t want to touch anything, but the light shifts and you catch sight of the sunflowers tucked into the bottom of the basket.
It had taken an embarrassingly long time, but you finally realize what this all is.
Luke wasn’t trying to murder you—he was going to take you out on another date.
“Did you do all this for me?” you ask, your voice wavering.
You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “You think I led you here just for fun? I have the rest set up out by the beach.”
“I thought you were trying to freak me out with the dark room,” you admit, setting the basket down as carefully as you can.
Luke already has his hands outstretched for you, and you drag him closer by the front of his shirt to pull him into a long kiss.
You remember distantly Clarisse complaining about how Luke was good at absolutely everything he does, and you’re happy to say that she’s absolutely right.
Luke is a great friend, a great fighter, and a great kisser. His hands thread through your hair as the two of you stumble around the room for the nearest solid object, finally finding a table that he’s quick to help you on top of.
Almost immediately he’s pulling you into another kiss, but you try your best to get some words out.
“This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” you rush out. He’s standing kindly between your legs and is at the perfect height for you to smother in affection.
“‘m glad,” he mumbles, running a hand down your sides. “Sorry I scared you.”
“That’s okay—mmph—I was—”
Luke backs up for just a second, both of his hands on either sides of your face.
“Sunshine,” he says firmly.
“Yeah?”
“Please stop talking.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” you protest, swerving out of his way. “I have one more thing.”
He sighs. “Make it quick, please.”
“Is this why you refused to take Percy and Annabeth to his mom’s house?”
He gives you a look. “You’re still thinking about that?”
“Yes. Now answer.”
Luke kisses your cheek, laughing softly to himself. “Then yes. Surprise.”
He presses the next few kisses of his into the grin on your face, but he doesn’t seem to mind your smiling.
For a second, you almost forget about the picnic he’s prepared, too busy thinking about how cute he looks in his long sleeved shirt and how warm his arms are. You hadn’t expected this at all, but you honestly would’ve still been happy even if there was no picnic at all. You would’ve been perfectly fine if Luke had just dragged you into a dark, scary cabin to makeout with him.
He sighs against your lips when you throw your arms around his shoulders, and you shiver when he tilts his head to kiss you even harder.
You’d been a little spooked earlier, but the most frightening part of the night has to be when the overhead lights go on, filling the entire room with the harsh fluorescents.
“Alright, show’s over,” a very familiar voice groans. “Oh, great. It’s you two?”
Luke squints in the direction of the door, both of your eyes still adjusting to the harsh change in lighting.
“Hey, Mr. D,” Luke says weakly.
Your face heats up, and you pointedly look anywhere but in the god’s direction. You’d known it was him the second he’d opened his mouth, but it’s somehow worse now that Luke’s confirmed it out loud.
You glance back at the window behind you and wonder if Mr. D would chase you if you made a run for it.
Luke helps you off the table and you fix the collar of his shirt for him, bracing yourself for your camp director’s approach.
“I think I liked it better when you two were at each other's throats in the violent way,” he complains, completely unamused. “Please go back to trying to kill each other every other day.”
“Sorry, you—uh. Had to walk in on that, sir,” Luke answers, somehow still able to form a coherent sentence.
You aren’t quite sure what would happen if you opened your mouth to speak and don’t really want to find out. You look up at the man and see he has his nose turned up at you two, disgusted.
“You demigods get braver and braver each year,” he says, but he clearly does not mean it in a good way. “At least those troublemakers from a few years ago were smart enough to be secretive about breaking camp rules. And yet here you two are, in a rec room after hours, with all of the lights on! And you didn’t even lock the door!”
You and Luke meet eyes for a very quick and very confused second.
“You were the one who—”
Mr. D huffs. “Are you going to say something, at least?” he demands, crossing his arms over his athletic jacket.
You hesitate before responding. “We’re sorry?”
“We won’t do it again.” Luke suggests.
The god sighs, exhausted. He rubs at his temples furiously. “I don’t even know what I’m going to do with you two. If only those curfew harpies ate you before I got here.”
“It’s not after curfew,” you say unhelpfully.
The face Mr. D makes at you is definitely classified as a scowl.
“Chiron is so much better at these than I am,” he complains, like this isn’t his job. Already moving towards the door, he gestures vaguely to the space around you and says, “Get rid of this.”
You and Luke look at each other again, stunned.
“That’s it?” Luke asks before he can stop himself.
You were honestly thinking the same thing. Compared to Chiron, Mr. D is known for doling out the more unfortunate punishments. You’re surprised he hasn’t already thrown you both into the woods with nothing but the clothes on your back, but you at least still know that talking back will make it worse, so you hit Luke’s shoulder and gesture for him to shut up.
Mr. D has a foot out the door already, a hand pressed to his eyes like he’s been blinded. “Just clean up. And then get out of my sight. Preferably forever.”
The door slams shut behind him, and there’s so much force behind it that it sends papers on a nearby table fluttering into the air.
It’s quiet in the cabin for a solid thirty seconds, with nothing but your breathing as a sign of life. You’re both standing unnaturally still.
“Luke,” you start slowly, unsure what to say.
Almost immediately, he erupts into laughter next to you, the sound echoing across the room and up to Olympus itself, probably. You’re absolutely mortified, but his joy is so infectious that you can’t help the shocked laugh that forces its way from your chest.
“I can not believe Mr. D had to walk in on that.”
He shrugs. “He could’ve walked in on worse.”
You snap your neck up at him. “Luke.”
“What? It’s the truth!”
You wrap your arms around one of his and press your burning face into his sleeve. “I don’t think I’m letting you kiss me ever again.”
“You don’t mean that,” he says, the smile on his face no doubt turning smug.
(He’s absolutely right.)
“I mean it, you asshole. You’ll be lucky if I ever even look at you again.”
“How long do you think you could go without talking to me?” Luke asks, pretending to think about it.
Both of you already know the answer: Not very long.
“I’d be fine,” you say, your voice wavering with the force of your smile. He runs his hands up your sides, drawing laughter from your throat. “You’d probably go crazy, though. Wind up in the infirmary with an incurable sickness.”
“Probably.” He leans in close to smatter kisses over your face, covering your cheeks with proof of his affection. “A sickness only cured with a true love’s kiss, I think.”
You make a face, but the adoration there is undeniable. “That’s dumb.”
Luke clears his throat dramatically, looking awfully confused. His next words are interrupted by his fake coughing.
“Oh no,” he says, eyes wide.
You’re grinning when you say, “You’re ridiculous.”
“I think the sickness might’ve already started.”
You put the back of your hand to his forehead, feeling for warmth. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I think so too.”
“I need medical attention,” he says through his smile. “If only there was an insanely hot nurse around to save me from this disease—”
You slide your hands into his hair so you can shut him up with a kiss, because you can do that now.
Because it’s January 14, which means you’ve been dating for three months, and you’re free to kiss Luke Castellan whenever you’d like.
Luke hums against your lips, drawing you deeper into his arms.
You’ll have to thank the gods that he was patient enough to play the long game.
notes: and it’s over omg </3 i had such a great time writing for sunshine and luke they are my everything!! its so bittersweet letting them go but thank you all so much for sticking around for this series :) i hope u enjoyed the finale and my apologies for how long it took lolol
summary: you, luke, and the aftermath of the way you’d kissed him last night
content: lots of fluff and a sprinkle of angst
notes: title from everything has changed by taylor swift. special dedication to @locknco thank u for fighting through this fic with me
There’s so much pressure on your head that you have to make sure your brain isn’t currently being sucked up by a vacuum.
It’s not the worst headache you’ve had, but it’s been so long since you’ve drank. The pain behind your eyes is enough to have you resisting the urge to even stand up.
But the need to get rid of the pain wins out in the end. Eyes barely open, you lean over to the bedside table where Luke usually leaves painkillers for you—
Holy shit.
Luke.
The banging in your skull quiets the second you sit up, your hands curling into the sheets.
The bed is empty. The sun has barely risen.
You can tell it hasn’t been too long since Luke’s left because you can still see the clear outline of where he’d been sleeping next to you. You stop yourself from chasing after his residual warmth and curling up on his side of the mattress.
The rest of the beds around you are full, everyone sleeping soundly through the early morning.
You feel the breeze from the open window tickle the top of your head.
It’s been humid all week and everyone keeps forgetting to fix the air conditioning, which has turned all of Cabin Eleven into a muggy swamp. Every other window is cracked open, letting the cool air from outside circulate into the cabin. It’s dark out too, but the sun has risen enough that you can just about see through the rest of the room without needing any of the lights on.
It’s very still inside of the Hermes cabin. The only signs of life are the little movements of the campers while they’re still asleep. One of Luke’s brothers nearest to the door mumbles something before turning over with a huff. The girl across the room from you stretches, then kicks off the blanket strewn across her legs. She settles back against her pillows and doesn’t shift after that.
Something tells you that Luke won’t be back to bed for a while, so you do your best to rub the sleep from your eyes before getting up.
You bring Luke’s blanket with you when you slip out the door. It gets so painfully hot during the day, but the mornings at camp can be unbearably cold. The air nips at your bare legs when you find them carrying you into the woods.
The rays of the rising sun peek through the oaks as you walk the path you have a million and one times. It might be crazy for you to assume where Luke is, but you have a good feeling.
A rabbit darts across the path ahead of you. The land parts for it while it pushes through the green sea of lemongrass.
You find Luke where you’d expected: his legs dangling over the old dock and staring out across the water.
You don’t bother approaching quietly because you can tell he knows you’re there.
“You’re up early,” you say, voice hoarse with sleep.
Luke is quiet, but you know he’s listening. He moves away from the edge of the wood before he turns to look at you.
He drums his knuckles against the planks, so you step over his knee to settle between his legs. His arms come around your front and you’re surprised to find he doesn’t feel as warm as he looks.
“Are you cold?”
He leans down to press his face against your neck, and he shakes his head against you, a silent no.
You can’t help but shiver at the feeling of his lips ghosting over the skin there, and he takes to rubbing his hands along the outside of your thighs.
“You should’ve put pants on,” he says quietly, taking your shuddering as something caused by the morning chill and not the feeling of his skin on yours. “And I mean real pants. Not shorts. You feel cold.”
You’re very lucky. You’re always immune to the morning chills at camp when you’re close to him like this. You rest your face against Luke’s matching sleep shirt and feel the warmth from his arm seep through the fibers.
“I’m not cold. But what’re you doing up? It’s so early.”
The water ripples below you, though you can’t quite see your reflections. Luke stifles a yawn.
“Woke up and started thinking. Couldn’t go back to sleep.”
You hum, and Luke slides one of his hands up the front of your shirt.
“Did you have a nightmare?” you ask.
“The opposite. I was thinking about you.”
You’re happy he can’t see the smile on your face. “You were?”
“I think about you all the time, you know that. I was waiting for you to come out here and find me.”
His nails drag slowly over your stomach. Goosebumps rise in his wake.
“I always do.”
“I know you do.”
The two of you get quiet again, watching the sun rise above the horizon. Both of you sit there and try to gather the courage to bring it all up.
This has been a long time coming. You think it’s been part of your lives since the moment you were born—an inevitability. You were always going to end up here eventually, with your hand in his and his arms wrapped around you. It just took you an embarrassingly long time to get here.
You feel like you should be more scared to talk about something as serious as this—something that could change you two forever—but you don’t think it's possible to doubt your relationship with Luke. You already know what you want to say to him.
“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“I really want this with you.” You let his blanket fall from around your shoulders so you can turn in his hold. “I don’t think I’ve wanted anything more than you.”
“You have me.” His voice is serious. “You always have.”
Luke’s had you since the very second you understood what it meant to love. He’s your best friend. Half of your mind. All of who you are.
You can’t help but take his face in your hand and brush your thumb under his eyes. Your eyes slide shut while you kiss down the length of his scar, soft and chaste across the expanse of his face.
You can’t tell if it’s you or Luke who tilts his head to the side to kiss you again.
You’d been grateful for your first kiss last night. But you think this is the first one that really counts.
He holds you like you’re going to float off into the sun. One of his hands snakes around your waist to hold you to him while the other reaches to caress your face.
Luke’s never held you without unadulterated love. You feel it at night in his bed, and in the morning when he's brushing a hand over your shoulders as he passes by. And you feel it now, when he breaks the kiss to drop his face into your chest. He lets out a heavy sigh against you, like a ten ton weight is sliding off his shoulders. You’re content to stroke his hair and cradle the back of his head until he squeezes you a little too tight.
You twist one of his curls around your finger. “Are you okay?”
He leans back slightly—making sure not to stray too far—fragments of a smile on his face. His eyes shine like glass, and you’re quick to swipe your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks.
Luke’s voice is a whisper when he says, “I don’t thank you enough.”
You frown. “For what?”
“For this.” He gestures at you like it’ll get his point across. “For—for everything.”
“Luke…”
“For putting up with me. For leaving with me as kids, for—”
“Luke, stop.”
“But I should,” he insists, always so persistent. His eyes have dried up, but his voice isn’t nearly as steady as it was a second ago. “You’re the most selfless person I know. You do everything for me, and I just—”
You shake your head and he stops talking, the last of his words dying on his tongue.
Luke’s always had a hard time accepting things.
You remember being nine and somewhere in Massachusetts. Luke had been so sick that he was constantly feverish and couldn’t walk more than half a mile without needing to sit down. But still, he’d refused the bites of your food you’d demanded he eat, even though he’d been unsteady on his feet for the past week.
And you see bits and pieces of it now, too.
You compliment him all the time—maybe a little too much—and you see the way his smiles are always tentative, like he doesn’t quite believe you. You see it when you talk about the future with him, like he doesn’t believe he’ll ever get to experience something that good. He’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, never fully letting himself be happy.
But there’s no catch. Your feelings for him are about as straightforward as they come.
You place both of your hands on each side of his face, trying to drag his eyes back to yours. You don’t know what other way to make him understand than to just say it.
“I love you, Luke.”
You watch the shadows of his face shift as he tips his head down.
“I’m with you because I love you. Not because I feel bad, or—or because I want something in return. I just love you. That’s it.”
His fingers dig into your back. Three times. There’s pressure at your side where his other hand works nervously at your skin.
Luke’s voice breaks. “I don’t deserve you.”
He kisses it in the gap between your collarbones and under your skin and into your bloodstream, and you understand exactly what he’s trying to say.
“I can’t believe it took so long.” It sounds like he’s thinking out loud rather than speaking directly to you. “Nineteen whole years.”
“Think we were just being stupid for the last few,” you say around a yawn. He exhales in what you know is a laugh and it makes you shiver.
You’re tracing something into his arm in silence, listening to the sounds of the early morning when something comes to you. “Do you remember the trip we took to Olympus?”
His face screws up at the old memory. “‘Course I do. Why?”
You can’t help but smile when you hear the sound of the turtle doves chirping in the trees amongst the other noises of the forest. “Do you think Aphrodite knew about us?”
You’d been so embarrassed by what she’d said, you’d brushed it off before you could give it too much thought. You feel like an absolute idiot now. The goddess of love, basically handing him to you on a silver platter, and it had taken you almost half a year to come to your senses.
Luke laughs, and you can’t help the way your chest warms. “I think everyone knew, to be fair.”
“Like Chris! What an asshole.” You shake your head. “I think we need to throw him a party or something.”
“What’d he do?”
You’re very quickly reminded that his best friend confessed his little scheme only to you.
You snitch. “He only brought up Callea in the first place to see what we’d say.” You enjoy watching the way Luke’s face flickers through about ten different emotions before settling on unamused. “He thought we’d started dating without telling him.”
Luke sighs, but doesn’t sound surprised. “Of course he did.”
“Wonder what he’ll say once he finds out.” You rub a greedy hand down Luke’s back. You know your cabin isn’t going to let you hear the end of it, Clarisse especially.
You still when Luke says your name quietly, his hands pausing around your waist.
“Yeah?”
“We should probably… probably keep this a secret, don’t you think?”
Your heart sinks.
“Oh,” you say, the word coming out frighteningly stilted. “Okay.”
Luke can’t pull away from you faster.
“I don’t—fuck. I don’t want to keep this a secret, I swear.” His face pinches when he looks at you, so you smile, trying not to look too upset about it. It does nothing but make the furrow of his brows worsen. “But if Chiron or—or Mr. D finds out about it, we’ll never be able to be like this again.”
His words are making sense, but you don’t want them to. You finally have him, and only the two of you will ever know about it.
But then you think about what you’d lose—the sleeping together, the touching, the alone time. They’d watch you like hawks.
“We’re already lucky they gave up trying to stop you from sleeping at mine,” he points out, smiling at you sadly.
You’ll never forget about those early days at camp, the both of you freshly fourteen and wary of everyone that wasn’t each other or Annabeth. You’d gotten such weird looks from the other kids when you’d dragged your sleeping bags right next to each other, and then even weirder looks when they’d started waking up to find you in the same bed. It had only got worse when you’d gotten claimed and had to move cabins. You’d been more than excited to meet your siblings, but then you’d found out you no longer were allowed to spend the night at Cabin Eleven.
It was safe to say you didn’t take that lightly.
You’d brought your protests all the way up to Chiron’s desk yourself, even when he’d refused your begging with a firm no each time.
You didn’t care. You just got very good at evading the curfew harpies and sneaking in through windows.
They’d tried punishing you with dishes, and then laundry, and then the stables, but you took each punishment without complaint—especially since Luke took them on with you. All of you knew they would have to drag you kicking and screaming from his cabin if they’d wanted you to leave.
You didn’t give in, and it had only taken them four weeks to cave.
The two of you theorized they gave up because they had expected you to grow out of the habit with time, and they’d been right—to some degree.
You had stopped sneaking in every night, but your nights spent at Luke’s cabin were still just about as common as the nights you spent at yours.
“If we’re together,” Luke adds, “and I mean, together together, there’s no way they’ll let us be the way we are right now.”
No more hand holding under tables. Or friendly kisses on shoulders. Or hugs just because you feel like it.
You only realize you’re frowning when Luke kisses you again.
“They’ll ban us from being near each other,” he mumbles against your lips. “And then make us watch another awful sex ed video.”
Ah. That’d been Mr. D’s one final punishment for you both.
You’d been forced to sit down in the Big House while they played that video for the two of you, both of your faces on fire. The video had been on an old VHS tape and you’d watched it on an ancient box television, so you and Luke had been forced to sit shoulder to shoulder during the most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of your life.
“I forgot about that,” you say, thinking about how you’d been unable to look him in the eye after. “We should’ve had him charged for cruel and unusual punishment.”
Luke grins, and you find that your chest pulls in on itself. You love Luke. You want everyone to know.
“I’m still sad,” you say quietly. “Sometimes I wish we were normal, but now I really do.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“If we were normal I wouldn’t have to keep you a secret.” You run a hand through the curls hanging over his forehead, letting them get tangled in your fingers. “We could just have each other and… I don’t know. Be normal.”
He rubs a long circle into your hip, leaning forward so his nose knocks against yours. You go cross-eyed trying to look at him.
“Yeah. Normal.”
Normal teenagers don’t have to live their lives behind an invisible barrier because of the threat of mythological monsters. Normal teenagers go to school, and live in real houses, and don’t have to pretend they aren’t dating their best friend.
Jealousy burns hot under your skin.
Luke knows. He holds you out on the dock until the ring of the conch shell sounds in the distance.
—
The two of you don’t end up formally talking about it — not in the way you’d expected. But thinking about having to flat out ask if you’re dating feels weird when the both of you just know.
You doubt the decision at first, nerves and uncertainty looming over your head. You’ve never dated anyone before, but you know it’s probably normal to at least say something to make it official.
But then you feel the way Luke slots his hands with yours on the walk back to his cabin, different but sure, and you know it’s real.
It’s as real as your lungs expanding in your chest and as real as the kiss you give him before you go to breakfast, his hands closing around one of his spare camp shirts hanging over your shoulders.
The two of you walk so close together your shoulders brush with each step, and you stay like that all the way until the pavilion, your heart racing.
Everyone’s already seated. Your tables are right next to each other by some stroke of luck, everyone already getting started on breakfast.
Luke only lets you go when you have to sit down, giving you one last lingering squeeze on your shoulder before greeting his own campers.
“Where were you?”
Clarisse spits out the words the second you sit down across from her, squinting at you.
“I slept over.” You scoop some food onto your plate, surprised to see it’s not completely gone yet. Meals are usually a bloodbath. “Where did you think?”
She ignores your question. “Obviously you slept over. I mean why didn’t you and Castellan show up with the rest of his losers?”
You don’t quite look at her, trying to relax your nerves while you think of what the version of you from last week would’ve said. You’re an okay liar, but Clarisse is known for pressing and squeezing and wringing people out until she gets an answer she wants.
You end up giving a nonchalant shrug, filling your goblet and taking a long sip. “We took a while to get ready. Why?”
You can’t see the face she makes because one of your sisters reaches across her to reach for the plate of fruit. When she sits back down, you are met with her narrowed eyes and hard stare.
“Chris said you guys were gone from the cabin this morning. Where were you actually?”
“Chris,” you say thoughtfully, your eyebrows raising. “Didn’t know you two were close.”
She’s not amused. She points her fork at you accusingly. “Can you answer my questions?”
“We were at the lake,” you say, your voice pitching at the end in annoyance. “What’s with the interrogation?”
“This early?” she pries. You groan before you can stop yourself. “Doing what?”
Her raised voice draws the attention of Nathan, who butts into your conversation.
“Fucking around with her boyfriend, Clarisse,” he says, a smug smile on his face. He turns his back to you and wraps his arms around himself, miming kissing noises and moans of Luke’s name.
You whip your fork at him, which he is unfortunately quick enough to bat away.
“You’re fucking disgusting, Nate,” you snap, your face undeniably warm. You resist the urge to turn around in your seat to see if Luke heard.
He just shrugs, grinning at you with a mouth full of food.
“And Clarisse,” you hiss, turning to her. “We just woke up early and couldn’t go back to sleep. Are you happy?”
She seems to accept your answer but doesn’t stop giving you that stare of hers. “Was just wondering.”
“Wonder a little less, maybe.”
She rolls her eyes and finally goes back to eating, leaving you to your own meal while your siblings talk about their bets for whatever activity they have planned for later.
You zone out in a second. You find that it’s very easy letting yourself get swept up in dreams about being normal.
—
Thoughts about you and Luke and the future and everything in between rage through your mind, and you pay miserably for it.
Your cabin rushes to the climbing wall after burning their offerings, as excited as always for the cutthroat competition. You only realize how far away your mind is when you’re barely fast enough to dodge the flaming boulders coming your way.
You give yourself a break after almost getting your hair singed off by the lava, your chest heaving with exertion. Clarisse gives you a very unimpressed look, her eyebrow raised and her lips pressed into a thin line. You’d been lagging so far behind that she’d had time to sit and wait for you at the top.
“I’m getting a drink,” you say to one of your younger brothers next to you.
You aren’t sure he actually hears you, though, his eyes looking a little dazed from the rock that’d whacked him in the head earlier.
There’s a cooler just by the edge of the arena, filled to the brim with melting ice and wet plastic water bottles. You’re lucky that no one takes much notice when you head towards the mess hall instead.
It feels like your head is slamming against your skull from how hard you’re thinking, so you let the slight breeze cool you down while you walk.
You love Luke, and he loves you too. That much is clear, but you can’t help the way that doubt gnaws on your insides.
How long do you have to keep it a secret? Until the end of this year, or even longer? Does he plan on staying here this summer? Do you?
It’s the start of July, which means that there’s only about a month and a half left of camp. Once the middle of August hits, the non-year-rounders will leave for the rest of the year, going home to see their families and their friends and go to school.
You’ve taken plenty of classes yourself, courtesy of Chiron, who wouldn’t let any of you fall behind academically. But those were lessons taken at the amphitheater, and at the mess hall, or in your cabins. You haven’t been in a real school since…
Gods, when was it? The second grade?
It’s been about five long years since you’ve moved to Camp Half-Blood, which means it’s been five years of watching everyone move in and out. Each of them go on to live real lives—something you’d do anything for.
Sam, a girl from Apollo, just got accepted to some prestigious school for music about an hour away. Annabeth’s older brother, Martin, is heading down to Jersey at the end of this month to spend time with his family before leaving for college.
And you want to do it too, more than anything. But you don’t think you’d be able to do it without Luke.
You remember a conversation you had by the lake years ago, sometime before he had left for his quest. You’d planned to leave together—go to college and live somewhere away from New York.
California had been the dream, of course, but it didn’t matter where you were. It mattered if you were together.
But the two of you are old enough to enroll now, and Luke hasn’t said a word about leaving this summer. You’re honestly scared that he never will.
The next fall semester deadline has crept up on you faster than you’d thought. You’d have to make a decision soon, and the thought of it was impossible.
Your movements are near robotic while you drink from the water fountain by the side of the mess hall. It’s empty at this time of day, and you let your thoughts cloud your senses.
It’s why you jump when Luke appears at your side.
“Sorry,” he says through his laugh. He has an easy grin on his face and pats your back while you cough to clear your throat. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Luke wipes the water from your face while you give him a closed-mouth smile. There’s a wet spot on your shirt from where water had dripped down your chin, but it’s so hot out that it’ll dry in no time.
“You okay?” he asks when you don’t answer. “I was calling your name.”
You nod, watching as the smile on his face fades into just the softness of his eyes. You look down the hill where the rest of his cabin is, playing a game in the field between here and the beach.
Luke doesn’t look tired at all, though he’s breathing a little hard, like he’s just come back from a run. You watch a frisbee fly in the distance and understand why.
“I was melting by the climbing wall. I wanted a break,” you explain, fanning your face. You can’t believe it’s this hot out when it’d been freezing a few hours ago.
Luke nods in understanding. “Want to join us?” he offers, gesturing to where his siblings are. Someone gets tackled into the grass, and a collective groan travels through the crowd of kids. “It’s not nearly as hot here. It’s pretty windy since we’re close to the water.”
You shake your head, letting yourself sit and stare at his face. You study his features—the shapes of his eyes and the crease between them—and comply as easily as a soldier when he nods in the direction of one of the tables. He urges you to sit but doesn’t follow, leaning against the marble and letting you wring out his hands.
“What’s got you so sad?” he asks, letting you squeeze his palms intermittently.
“The summer session is almost over.”
He nods. “It is. A little more than a month, yeah?”
“Yeah.” August 16th is marked on your calendar with a massive red circle. “Did you—did you know that more people are leaving camp for college this year than any other year we’ve been here?”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Good for them,” he says, a smile pulling at his face. “But you don’t have to be sad about that. They’ll visit. And we can always write as often as we want.”
You shake your head, your brows furrowing. “No. That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh. What is it, then?”
You swallow before speaking. His head is turned while he assesses you, and you remind yourself that it’s just Luke. You can admit anything to him.
“I’m scared.”
He pushes hair away from your face, soft as always. “They’ll be safe,” he assures. “It’s what they’ve been training for for so long.”
You shake your head again before you let the words spill out. “Luke, I’m scared that we’re going to be stuck here forever.”
It ends up sounding more like one huge word than a coherent sentence, but you know he still understands.
He drops down next to you on the bench so he can look at you better. “We won’t. We’re going to leave together, aren’t we?”
“I want to leave camp at the end of the summer session,” you admit. You can’t help but feel like you’re committing an act of betrayal against the place that’s kept you safe for so long. “I love it here, I do, I just… I can’t stay here for another year. I want to… I want to—”
“You want to leave? This summer?” he can’t help but ask, his eyes widened the slightest bit. He’s rubbing your hands in the way that always soothes you. “You—you want to go now?”
It hurts to admit, almost. Last summer, you’d put it off for another year, but you know it’s time to go.
You want to leave Camp Half-Blood.
“Yes,” you say. “I do.”
You aren’t sure how Luke will answer. All you’ve known for the last five years of your lives is this. It’s fireside singalongs and Capture the Flag. It’s always being together, and your spot by the lake, and never having to worry about getting hurt at the hands of another monster.
You don’t expect for Luke’s entire chest to stutter as his sigh of relief gets caught between his laugh. “Me too.”
“You… wait, you also want to leave this summer?”
Luke nods quickly, drawing your hands closer to him. “I do. I think… I think I’ve been ready to go for a while.”
You can picture everything now: you, Luke, and California, just like you’d always planned. Sunshine and school on the west coast.
“It’s just me and you, killer,” he swears.
“Me and you,” you repeat. It sounds a lot like a promise.
He starts mirroring the smile that’s growing on your face, and it does nothing but make yours widen even further.
“Thank you,” he breathes out, unable to help himself. You lean closer to him just because. “I didn’t think I’d be able to leave without you with me.”
“Me too,” you say honestly. “I would wait here until we were fifty if it took you another thirty years to decide to leave.”
He laughs, one of his arms going around your waist. “You really have no idea.”
The two of you don’t move apart. Your hand finds its way into his hair like it always does when you’re sitting this close together, feeling his curls that are hot from the sun.
You feel hot from the sun too, and it only worsens when he slots his lips against yours again for a kiss that’s over so quickly you almost miss it.
“Does this mean this is our last month at camp?” you can’t help but ask. The thought of it is making your heart ache. You can’t imagine leaving this place behind.
The realization settles slowly on Luke’s face too. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
You shut your eyes and relish in the feeling of the breeze from the water as it rolls in. This is the last month you’ll spend in the place that raised you. You aren’t sure how you’ll say goodbye to it all.
“Luke!” a voice shrieks from nearby.
You’ll have to say goodbye to your family. And Luke’s family too, the one that’s currently walking up the hill towards you now.
You can’t help but inch apart as if you’d been doing anything but holding him. The group of kids flood into the mess hall, grumbling and arguing amongst themselves. It’s impossible to miss the fact that everyone has at least one part of their person stained with grass.
Chris managed to survive mostly unscathed, save for the line of dirt smeared down his arm. He’s staring openly at the space between both of you, an eyebrow raised. After a second, he snorts. “I think this is the farthest apart I’ve ever seen you two sit.”
“Shut up, Chris,” you say, though there’s no real bite to it.
Luke ignores him, but you can tell he’s a little flustered when he stutters for a second while talking to the kids.
There’s been an issue between one of his sisters and a son of Hecate. One of them had played dirty by pulling on the other’s shirt, and then they’d both fallen into a heap on the ground.
It doesn’t explain why everyone else looks like they’d gotten dragged through the mud—especially Chris, cause he’d been reffing—but Luke doesn’t mention it. He uses his camp counselor magic to make them apologize to each other and the crowd of kids rushes away again, ready for another round.
There’s a certain kind of look on his face while he watches them go. You lean into his side again and the two of you watch as the frisbee gets thrown into the air at Chris’ whistle.
“I’m going to miss this,” you say.
How do you leave behind a place you call home?
Luke presses a kiss into your forehead. “It’ll be okay.”
He sounds so sure of himself, you can’t help but agree.
—
The month of July passes almost as quickly as it came.
You and Luke keep quiet about your relationship and your plans to leave, and you find that you don’t mind keeping those secrets anymore.
You receive a mountain of notes from him each day, all of them signed with his first initial and slipped into your pockets or hidden between your things. The contents of the notes range from little compliments to heartfelt messages you read so often the paper grows worn out.
You commit each and every one of them to memory.
One of your favorite notes had been delivered to you by one of the younger campers. You’d been sweating like a pig after a match with Clarisse when one of his little brothers came right up to you with a piece of paper clenched in his fists.
“Hey, Richie,” you’d said, crouching down to talk to him better. “What’s up?”
He’d shoved the paper into your hands, wiping sweat off his brow. “This is from Luke.”
He’d looked totally wiped, so you gave him a water bottle and fanned his face for him. He drank it in that very audible way all little kids do.
“Did Luke have you bring this all the way to me?” you’d asked, bringing the boy under the shade of a tree. The Hermes cabin was at the arts and crafts cabin right now, a pretty far distance away.
Richie nodded furiously. “He said it was an important message and I couldn’t look at it.”
Your brows had furrowed, and you were quick to unfold the paper. It’d been a thicker material than usual, the side jagged like it’d been ripped out of a book.
It was a coloring page. Two warriors, side by side, colored in with waxy crayon. There was a pink heart drawn between them, and in Luke’s handwriting at the bottom, it read:
Us.
You must’ve been grinning like a fool, because Clarisse whacked you upside the head.
“The hell are you grinning about?”
She’d moved to grab the paper out of your hands, but you’d shoved it into your back pocket before she could manage it.
“Nothing.”
“You look flustered. What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” you’d insisted, your smile only growing. The soreness of your muscles was instantly cured. You didn’t feel exhausted at all.
Clarisse definitely hadn’t believed you, but that was fine.
You think this month with Luke has been the happiest you’ve ever been. You’ve always been clingy with each other, but it makes new emotion well up in your chest when you hold his hand now. You curl into his side by the fire and he pulls you against him, and not just as friends. It makes you feel hot and cold and unwell.
And you get to kiss him like this now.
That’s good too.
It’s the annual Pie Eating Contest today, where the cabin that eats the most pies is set free from chores for two entire months. No one would dare miss such an important event—which is exactly why the two of you have escaped to your cabin.
You think Luke likes it when he can kiss you lying down, but you think he likes it even more when you sit on his lap like this. His eyes are just the tiniest bit wider, and he sometimes smiles without really realizing it when he pulls back from smothering you in kisses.
“You look cute,” he compliments, eyes shining.
Luke’s back is propped against the headboard and you’re very pliable draped over his front. His hands are placed on your hips, and every once in a while one of them will inch up towards your ribs and you’ll get ticklish.
“Thanks, hero.”
You also think Luke really likes it when you call him that—a silly nickname from years ago you’ll never let go of.
Your lips are swollen from how insistent Luke’s been with his kisses, and you’re resting your chin over his shoulder, limp and tired. You’re exhausted from the run around camp he forced you on earlier and are now happy to let him do whatever he’d like. He’s taken full advantage of it, your lips worked over by his mouth a million times over.
“Did you make me do all that running earlier so you could have your evil way with me?”
You think your shirt collar is going to be stretched out with the way that he’s been pulling on it for the past hour, taking care to only kiss you hard where no one else will see. The two of you have been kissing as lazily as humanly possible, but it hasn’t stopped Luke from waging war on the skin of your throat.
“Who do you think I am?” he asks, pulling you closer in a way that makes you choke. He gives you a very pleased smile in return when you try to shove your face into his shoulder.
“Someone who wants me dead,” you complain when he tries to pry your face away from him.
Your eyes slide shut when you tilt your head down to kiss him again, your mouths moving so slowly you aren’t sure if it even counts as kissing anymore. One of Luke’s hands splays itself across your lower back, his touch warm.
You’re sitting flush against his front, and you realize distantly that you can make out the lines of his chest where he’s pressed to you.
“I can’t wait until we get to have our own place,” you say absentmindedly.
Luke snickers. He pinches your sides. “Can’t wait until you get to have your way with me? That’s dirty, killer.”
You do wonder what it’d be like to be able to kiss him without the threat of twenty other people walking in, but that’s not totally why. You’re about to defend yourself, but then he encourages you onto your back and your vocabulary seeps directly from your brain and out your ears.
He takes extra care not to hit you in the face with the beads on his necklace, and he very politely pulls down your shirt so your stomach is no longer exposed.
“You’re burning up,” he says, like he hasn’t just sucked the air out of your lungs. “Is this okay?”
You nod your head, letting your hands come around his shoulders to urge him downwards again. He drops onto his forearms to get as close to you as possible, and you drag his upper lip between yours, enjoying the way it makes him shudder. You’d accidentally bitten him there earlier when you’d gotten a little too jittery, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Luke’s humming when he takes his hand down to your thigh and rubs half circles into the skin. Your hands link together and you bring his to your chest, where he feels the rise and fall just next to your racing heart.
The sound of the conch signaling the end of the contest is just barely audible over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.
You probably would’ve bolted upright in bed if Luke wasn’t pinning you, his teeth dragging over a sore hickey.
“Luke,” you protest lightly, nudging at his chest.
His eyebrows furrow, eyes still shut. “Huh?”
Pulling away takes every ounce of willpower you have. “The contest is over. I have to go talk to Chiron.”
“Okay,” he agrees, capturing your lips in another kiss. “In a second.”
It pains you when you swerve away from him, but you do this dance every other day and know that ‘a second’ usually means fifteen more minutes. He looks offended.
“I have places to be, people to talk to,” you say, trying to be stern. “Get up, Luke. I’ll be back.”
Even though you’re alone, you know you’re playing a risky game now that lunch is over. He’s frowning, and you exercise the highest level of restraint when you don’t lean in again to kiss him again.
“You’d seriously rather talk to Chiron than stay here with me?”
“Luke.”
“Gods, what is it? It’s his beard, isn’t it? I should’ve known—”
The comment gets one last laugh from you, and he squeezes you in his arms once more before letting you get up. He settles in the space you’ve just vacated, watching interestedly as you pull your shoes on.
“I’ll try not to let it drag on too long,” you swear. He catches you by the arm when you nearly tip over, your sneaker halfway on. “And you know I wouldn’t go unless it was important. I’ll be done before dinner.”
His eyes are soft. For a second, they look misty, but then he blinks and it’s gone. You wonder what has him thinking so hard.
“Don’t take too long.”
You kiss him again for good measure, nearly falling forward onto the bed when he tries to drag you back towards him.
You huff his name very angrily, but the smile on your face does nothing but encourage him.
“My bad.”
—
The next time you see Luke, it’s after you burst free from the doors of the Big House.
It was hot inside the building, with nothing but the small fan in the corner of Chiron’s office to cool you down. You hadn’t expected the conversation to go on for so long, but it’d been all worth it in the end. He lets you go with a smile and a firm pat on the back.
It’s not late enough for it to be dark out, but the sun has started setting, making it much cooler outside. Luke’s waiting on the wrap around porch for you, a surprise as pleasant as ever. It’s clear he must’ve woken up from a nap because his hair is messy and flat on one side, like he’s just been asleep. He’s leaning against one of the pillars on the patio cracking his knuckles, impatient.
You take him by surprise when you slot yourself against his side. “Nice nap?”
Luke flinches hard before realizing who you are.
“Hey,” he says, his voice sounding more breathless than you’d expected. He slides a hand around your waist. “How’d it go?”
You hadn’t told him why you’d needed to speak to Chiron so badly, and the envelope he’d given you is burning a hole through your pocket.
“I have something to show you,” you blurt out quickly, trying to stop the grin about to take over your face.
“Yeah?” he says. He links your hands together as you walk down the steps. “What is it?”
You lean over to fix his hair with your other hand, flattening out the back. “It’s pretty important.”
The nerves get to you very quickly, your hand already growing slick with sweat. You try freeing yourself from Luke, but he holds fast.
“I have something important to tell you too,” he admits slowly.
The levels of giddiness you’re feeling is right off the charts. You get the urge to come outright and spoil your surprise, but you pinch yourself to stop the words from spilling out.
“Yeah? Wanna head to the lake, then?”
The lake is public to everyone, but you like to pretend it’s a spot for you and Luke only. It’d been where you were the morning you’d first started dating, and where you’d gone the day Luke had come back from his quest. It’s very special, which is why you know that you have to surprise him there.
After all, your days at camp are limited. After you leave, you have no idea when you’ll be back.
Luke lets you lead the way without another word. Campers rush around the two of you, a few of them waving to one or both of you before heading away. You hear the occasional whisper about the events of the pie contest—the Ares cabin had won, of course.
Your meaningless conversation fills the air until you reach the lake. Luke tells you about how upset Travis had been about their loss in the competition this year, and you tell him about the argument you’d gotten into with Mr. D outside of Chiron’s office.
You reach the lake a lot sooner than you had expected. When you let go of Luke’s arm, you realize you’d been basically dragging him the last hundred yards to the water.
The sun is nowhere close to setting—courtesy of it being late July—but you can hear the crickets between the trees and you can tell it’s coming up on late afternoon.
Luke stares at you expectantly, so you break the silence.
“Do you want to go first?”
He cracks his knuckles again, starting from his middle finger and working outwards. “Oh, uh… no. You go first.”
You don’t need too much convincing.
“Okay,” you say quickly, your hand moving to your back pocket. You miss it about three times before you pass him the envelope with shaking hands.
“I’ve been talking to my sister.”
Luke loves Mel. She writes to you all the time from California to update you on her life and always has the craziest stories from her college there. You and Luke used to pore over her letters, dreaming about the west coast and the sunsets on the beaches there.
“She’s doing great. She moved off-campus for her last year,” you explain.
Luke nods along, drumming the envelope against the palm of his opposite hand.
“And she…” You trail off, the words getting jumbled in your mind. “Just open it, Luke.”
The envelope scrapes against itself when he pulls open the flap, and the two thin leafs of paper spill out onto his hand.
His mouth parts.
“She knows how badly we’ve been wanting to see California, and… now we can.”
The two glossy plane tickets shine under the light of the sun.
“And she’s out of the dorms now, so she’s offered us a room to stay in at her apartment.” You look up at him, apprehensive. He looks stunned, flipping the paper over in his hand like it’s a trick of the light. “We can go see her and get a feel for California. Look at colleges like we’d planned.”
His hands still, and you realize the fluttering of the paper a second ago had been due to his hands shaking. The tickets disappear inside the envelope again, and he wipes at his face.
“Shit,” he says. “I…”
You aren’t sure what’s wrong, but he’s upset. He’s frowning hard, his brows creasing with stress, and the feeling of your chest dropping makes you want to vomit.
“What’s wrong?”
Luke shakes his head firmly. He steps backward. He won’t look at you.
“I’m sorry. Fuck, killer, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you say. He hasn’t even explained what he’s sorry for, but you already know you’ll forgive him. You reach for his hands, and it feels like your ribs force inward around your heart when he moves even further away. “What’s the matter? Talk to me.”
“I can’t,” he grits out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can’t.”
“Go to California?” you ask, confusion distorting the features of your face. You don’t try reaching for him again despite how badly you want to. “Luke, you—you know that’s okay. We don’t even have to go.”
The words start rushing out as you try working out what’s wrong. You want Luke to leave with you, so, so badly. But you know deep down that you’re willing to stay another ten years if he’s changed his mind.
“We could go to another state. Or—or, stay here. We don’t even have to leave at all. I mean, I don’t even want to go that badly.”
You’re lying to him. Leaving with him at the end of the summer has been the only thing you’ve looked forward to for the past month.
Worry lines crease between his eyes as he stares at you, shaking his head robotically.
You can’t tell why you feel so nervous.
It’s just Luke.
The sun dips quickly past the tree line, casting half of his face in darkness. Your hands wrinkle and curl into the hem of your shirt.
It’s like a switch turns off in Luke’s eyes. You watch his face harden as he prepares himself for what he’s about to say, and your chest plummets before his mouth can even form around the words.
“I’m not talking about California,” Luke says, the word biting.
A hawk flies above your heads. The trees go silent behind you.
“I meant us. I can’t do this anymore.”
Your heart hitches inside of your chest.
You can’t remember the last time you’ve been this scared.
notes: sorry for that ending but all will be explained in due time! lmk what u thought :)
pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader
summary: you think you like being a little more friendly and a little less competition with luke castellan this year. a sequel to this fic
word count: 3.1k
warnings: none
author's note: frat luke my dearly beloved loser son who studies pre-med this is for you you know who you are i love you
1.
The fall semester comes at you faster than you’d like, this rapid change from a golden summer to the crisp air of being back on campus. You’re rooming with someone from an old anthropology elective you took, Silena finally moving into her sorority house. It should feel weirder, how everything has changed since spring break.
You take the opportunity to build new habits. Early runs, no caffeine after 2pm. Little things that make the day go a tiny bit faster, building blocks to fit around your class schedule. Silena schedules weekly lunches for the three of you and there’s this gravity to it all that you want to study.
It had been nice to be home for a few months. Your mom had missed having you there, being able to show you the new flowers she planted, how the lemon tree in the yard is twisting weirdly. Board games and family dinners and friends who never left your town. Being back home was resetting. Being back on campus was restarting.
Lee catches you as you leave the gym, offering to walk you to class if you’re heading in that direction. You smile, telling him that you have a late start and pretend he doesn’t frown when your phone buzzes. He mentions that he’s thinking of starting a study group for one of your classes and you tell him you’ll think about joining.
While he heads towards the main building, you make your way to the campus coffee shop - caught behind the early risers desperate for something to get them through their first lecture of the day.
“Can I get a flat white and an iced americano with caramel to go please?” You smile at the girl working the counter, stepping aside to glance at your watch.
You run through your schedule for today, ignoring the text that comes through. You know exactly what it says, the same thing every morning, and you don’t even bother to roll your eyes at this point.
“I can’t believe you ignored my text,” Luke says when you reach the courtyard between the library and the medical building. “Not even a flame emoji.”
You stop in front of him, drinking in the jeans and sweater combination he’s settled on today. It’s a really nice sweater, dark blue and a little baggy. You wonder how quickly he’d notice it going missing. Probably not as quickly as he’d notice the stupid hat he’s wearing go missing. His backpack leans against the bench, pristine.
“No one uses those except you,” you shake your head, handing him the iced drink. “What time does your lecture start?”
Luke tells you as if he really needs to. It’s this thing you’ve started doing since the semester began, acting like you don’t know his schedule as well as your own. As if the both of you haven’t fallen into this routine in just a few weeks. Like it’s not a highlight of your day.
Clarisse thinks it’s adorable. Chris thinks it’s hilarious. You think it’s nice to have someone to share your free time with, beyond whatever else you and Luke have. It had been a fear of yours, when Silena mentioned not sharing a dorm with you, that you would fall to the sidelines. That life would come with these new priorities for everyone and you would only be fourth or fifth on their lists, too cemented in the day-to-day that you’d be forgotten.
Morning coffee with Luke stops that fear.
“Did Silena tell you about the party on Friday?”
“I have a study group in the afternoon,” Luke says, swirling his plastic cup around so the ice clinks together. “If I do go, I’m showing up late.”
“Maybe I’ll keep my eye out for you there, Castellan.”
He laughs and it’s like summer again. There’s something insane about hearing Luke laugh like this, unbroken and loud, nothing like it had been over the phone while you were back home.
“You’ve got dinner with Silena and Clarisse tonight, right?” He asks, swinging his bag over one shoulder. You throw your empty cup into the trash can as you both start walking. “Is there any point in asking if you want to come round after?”
You knock his arm with your shoulder, laughing, and, instead of feigning hurt like usual, Luke just takes your hand in his, the skin a little colder than you expect. Gazing down at your linked hands, you bite your lip before sighing.
“If I’m home before eleven, I’ll consider it.”
Last year, when you first met him, you thought Luke only got that determined glint in his eyes when he was competing. That it was a sign of an unanticipated thrill. Since then, you’ve learnt that it’s not that at all. It’s this thing that ignites within him, determined and passionate and a little boyish.
You think it might be one of your favorite things about him.
“I will take that deal.”
2.
You wish you could say you were a little drunk. At least that way you would have something to blame. As it stands, you’re stone cold sober, maybe a little tired from class but nothing that can really be blamed for the lack of weight your actions seem to have right now.
The only thing you can blame, and you will, is the boy next to you, completely engrossed in the movie playing. They’d been watching it when you arrived, all settled on the couches and you assume this is something they do regularly, and at any other time you might’ve called it cute.
Not tonight. Not when you walked in to the discovery that Luke wears glasses and you didn’t know about it. It was something you played off, making a joke and settling into the cushions beside him. In the time since, Chris has left for his date with Clarisse and Charlie has pulled out some work to go through in the corner of the room.
“What’s up?” Luke asks when he realizes you’ve hardly moved in ten minutes, barely even breathing. And it’s the worst possible thing he could do, glance down through the frames with that small smile you’ve gotten used to and curls loose.
“Nothing’s up,” you let your eyes trail back to the screen. “This is a very cute tradition you guys have going on.”
Charlie lets out a little laugh from across the room. You feel the way Luke exhales against the side of your face. You think you’re able to go back to pretending everything is normal, make a joke and enjoy the rest of the movie. The second you feel Luke’s fingertips on the skin of your knee, gentle and warm, you know you can’t.
“You’re swerving,” he whispers, throwing a quick glance at Charlie to see if he can hear but the other boy is engrossed in his work. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” you bite the inside of your cheek when he nods encouragingly, incredibly aware of the patterns he’s tracing on your skin. “I just think it’s interesting that you’d choose to wear a hat all the time when the glasses are right there.”
“What?”
His hand stills and you wait. You wait and you stare at the shape of his jaw and you chuckle when it finally clicks, his adam’s apple shifting as he swallows the conclusion down. “Are you saying you like my glasses?”
You don’t like how uneven this all feels. Whenever you’ve been with Luke so far, there’s been this mutual balance that you’ve grown used to. Even before now, back when you were locked in silly competitions, you did it on even footing, the expectation that everything meant nothing and you wouldn’t be affected.
This, the way Luke grins around the realization, hand moving to rest on your thigh, is different. It’s heavier. It’s a loss after a winning streak and you’re kind of obsessed with the way it could drag you down.
“I just think that hat is stupid.”
“Yeah, okay,” Luke nods and you know, even if he doesn’t do it outright, he’s laughing. He’s categorizing the information you’ve just given him, placing it where it belongs in his mind, and it’s going to bite you in the ass. “Tell me more.”
“Luke,” you mutter, gritting your teeth. His fingertips brush against the hem of your shorts and, when you glare at him for it, he just shrugs. You throw a glance over in Charlie’s direction. Still nothing. “Are you insane?”
He tilts his head like he’s considering the question carefully. If Charlie were to look over, you know he’d assume you were locked in a debate about something silly - a staple of you and Luke - and it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t know for a second that you were holding onto Luke’s wrist, his hand itching to move just a little to the left.
You sigh and the boy beside you raises an eyebrow. You both know that you’ve lost this round.
When you press your lips to his bicep as the film credits roll, warm even through the fabric of his shirt, you mumble, “I really like your glasses.”
3.
You aren’t used to watching things from a crowd. You’re used to focusing on yourself, on your team - not watching from a distance, surrounded by people who are there purely for enjoyment. There’s no winning from the stands.
Luke doesn’t know you’re here. You’d sent him a text that morning wishing him luck, arranging to meet him when his debate was over. You hadn’t bothered to message him when your afternoon class got canceled, choosing instead to race across campus and find a seat in the dim auditorium they’re using.
There isn’t the crackle of energy you get from swimming, or from watching Luke during track sessions. It’s less intense, for sure, a balance between the fire you know exists within him when he’s competing and the confidence he has in his own intelligence. You’ve argued with Luke, stupid things that neither of you care to take too seriously, and this is just the next stage of that.
He’s got his glasses on, you note, when the debate gets underway. He’s wearing his lucky green polo, even if he’d never personally call it that, and he’s switched his smartwatch out for an analogue one. The cheap biro you’re used to seeing him use has been replaced by a fancy silver pen that he still taps against his thigh while thinking. He’s sitting straighter than usual, shoulders back.
It’s almost like meeting him for the first time, focused and confident and sharp at the edges.
You’re kind of obsessed with it.
An hour and a winning handshake later, you make your way through the small crowd leaving to find Luke in conversation with one of his teammates. She smiles as you wrap an arm around his waist from behind, the slight tension still lingering in his bones melting away when he realizes it’s you.
“What are you doing here?” He says, turning enough that he’s actually facing you now. The girl waves you both goodbye. “I thought you had class.”
“Professor Chase had to cancel. His daughter got sent home from school with a fever.”
Luke nods, pressing his lips to the top of your head quickly. “You didn’t have to come to my debate.”
In the few months you’ve known Luke, you’ve learnt more about him than you expected to. You know from summer that Connecticut means looking after his sick mother, that he’s hoping to introduce some new charity events to ksig, that he used to go to a summer camp growing up. You know that his dad never showed up for anything and that he sits in the stands of all of your swim meets regardless of whether it cuts into his study time or not.
More than all of that, you know that the way he’s gazing at you now, a cross between awe and something deeper, is going to drive you crazy one day. You hope he can read the same expression on your face.
“Thank you for coming,” he says when everyone is finally dismissed, an arm thrown across your shoulders as you make your way out of the building. You loop a finger around one of his, just because you want to. “It means a lot.”
“I told you I would,” and you had, months ago, staring at Luke’s bedroom ceiling, back when you were still caught in the casualness of it all. When Luke was just someone you pretended you weren’t trying to bump into at parties. You’d told him that you would show up for him if you ever got the chance. He’d rolled his eyes, throwing a blanket over you both and told you to go to sleep. He’d drifted off with his nose pressed against your neck. “I keep my word, Castellan.”
“I know.”
In the evening light of campus, you think it might mean something more. Buried under the timing and the bitter wind until it’s a promise only you and Luke could translate. Asking him about where he wants to go for dinner, you like that no one else could understand the depth of it.
+1.
Silena catches your attention as you enter the kitchen, grinning wildly and explaining her concept for tonight. Drew gave her permission to throw this week’s party, something themed and fun and it’s something she’s so proud of that you can’t help but grin back at her energy.
“Even Charlie came,” she tells you excitedly, handing you a drink. “I feel like tonight is going to be it.”
In all the years you’ve known her, she’s been counting down to it. You don’t exactly understand the fundamentals of what it is, if it’s a real thing or something she can just sense intrinsically. There have been moments where she’s thought of it before, mentioned it offhandedly before shaking her head - as if knowing she was wrong.
“What even is it?” You ask and, for the first time, she breathes deeply instead of shrugging it off.
“The beginning of the end,” she says and that doesn’t exactly explain anything. “Everything is about to change.”
You still don’t really get it, but she’s as confident in this as she is about her clothes, so you nod like you understand. She sends you away not long after that, turning her attention to the new group that’s just walked through the doorway, mentioning that you need to be in the basement in about an hour and you just accept your fate, moving into the next room and falling into conversation with Rachel.
*
Luke slips into the basement just as Silena starts yelling for everyone to do so, catching your eye across the room and waving. When you’re all instructed to sit down in a circle, you wonder exactly what Silena has planned for tonight. When she places a near empty bottle down in the center of you all, you laugh.
“Are we actually playing spin the bottle?” Chris asks, prompting a murmured chorus of agreement from everyone else in the room. Silena frowns at him.
“Wanna bet he ends up getting the most into it?” Luke whispers in your ear and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Loser has to buy the coffee tomorrow morning.”
“You’re on,” you bump your fist to his to seal the deal. “I think he’s gonna get bored by round 3.”
“Only boring people get bored of this game. It’s about drive.”
“It’s about power?” Luke lets out a laugh and Silena turns her glare to you. “Sorry.”
She starts to explain the rules of the game, as if you’re all twelve again, and you bite your lip harder with every comment Luke makes under his breath. It’s a little mean, a little stupid, and you wish you were fifteen again, playing a proper game of spin the bottle for the first time.
Nothing much happens for the first few rounds, Chris starting to grumble the longer the game goes on. Luke clicks his tongue when you point it out, cursing his best friend like this was the worst thing that could’ve happened to him.
Lee spins and it’s like cosmic interference when the bottle stops between you and Luke, the two of you glancing at each other and then back towards Lee.
“Should I spin it again?” Lee asks when no one says anything. Silena shakes her head and says, “You can choose or we can vote if that makes you more comfortable.”
“Please let us vote,” Chris shouts, animated and you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the smug smile Luke gives you. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”
Lee glances between you both again, at where your knee rests against Luke’s thigh and the beer you’ve been sharing for the past twenty minutes sits between you. “It might be better to vote.”
“Sure,” Silena smiles before silencing you all. “Everyone that wants Lee to kiss Luke, raise your hands.”
You raise your hand and Luke mumbles beside you, flicking your leg and you poke him in return. Anything to avoid kissing Lee Fletcher after two years of avoiding it.
“That is an overwhelming majority,” Silena says and you know, just by the way her eyes slide over to you, that she didn’t even bother to actually count. “Lee, you may now kiss Luke.”
There’s this moment where you think Lee is going to just leave but instead he stares at the boy next to you, the relaxed set to his jaw, the annoying baseball cap on his head, how he’s so unbothered by it all. You watch as something clicks in his mind, you really want to know what it is.
Whatever it was, it makes him grab the bottle again, ignoring Silena’s protests. It lands on the girl from Luke’s debate team and she straightens her back ever so slightly.
“Silena,” Lee says as he leans towards the girl. “I’m not going to kiss Luke or his girlfriend.”
“Damn straight,” Luke mumbles, grabbing your hand from your lap and holding it in his instead. It’s stupid and it really doesn’t matter to either of you, you know that, but there’s this way he says it - almost like it’s the worst thing he could’ve imagined - and it settles in your gut with the beer you’ve been drinking. “Me or my girlfriend.”
“I’d really like to meet her,” you say, laughing when he huffs and pulls his hat down on your head. When you push the visor up to see him properly, all rosy cheeks and compacted curls, you think you might have found it. Whatever it is.
Based on the way Luke’s nose scrunches and his eyes crinkle, you think he understands that too.
pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader
masterlist
summary: you have never doubted aphrodite when it comes to soulmates, she's the goddess of love, she knows what she's doing and you're getting pretty sick of people telling you she's made a mistake with your soulmate, specifically. you refuse to believe that she could be wrong, but luke castellan is making it really hard for you to have hope.
—or: you and luke are off on your quest you're totally not having second thoughts about choosing him, he's your soulmate after all... right?
word count: 3.2k
warnings: filler chapter (sorry gang), reader's pov, reader is lowkey unreliable and is hiding something, pre-tlt, luke's character is kinda inconsistent but whatever, angsty fight with luke and reader, low-key happy ending
a/n: everyone might've moved on but i'm still here 😔… gang i think i’m coming back to my active era (no one cheered) anyways there’s so much i wanna write for this series so enjoy this little filler!
You'd always been a fan of bad ideas, but choosing Luke Castellan as your companion for the duration of your quest had to be your worst one yet. You felt a pang of doubt, questioning your choice, especially after witnessing the outcome of his quest—a failure that seemed impossible to shake off from the whispers of other campers. A failure your siblings wouldn't let you forget.
"I was there when he came back. I know what happened," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you stuffed clothes into your bag.
Your siblings meant the world to you. You cherished the bond you shared—the familial camaraderie that bound your cabin together. As the eldest, you revelled in guiding and nurturing them, relishing the role of guardian and friend within your cabin's close-knit circle. Yet, like any family, they can sometimes be suffocatingly overbearing.
Alexis, your brother, ever ready to smack a reality check, had been the first to warn you against choosing Luke Castellan, and now he spearheaded a group of your siblings, all urging you to reconsider with reason.
"But that's just it. You don't know. Not really. None of us do." Alexis told you, reclining against the shared vanity in your cabin. The absence of the younger kids, off with Chiron for a lesson on constellations, offered you some peace of mind, sparing them from witnessing the escalating intervention.
As Silena sifted through the clothes strewn across your bed, her soft humming filled the room, a stark contrast to the weighty silence that hung over the conversation. "No one but Chiron and Mr. D knows what happened on that quest. He refuses to talk about it." she mused.
"There's not a lot of glory in that." Alexis shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
"He's been so weird and different since he returned," Silena added, "I remember he used to smile. It was such an attractive smile. And he used to talk... He barely ever talks anymore."
Alexis snorted, "That's called depression, Silena."
"It's just so sad." She frowned and sat on your bed, her gaze distant, "Pretty people don't deserve to be depressed."
"Amen to that."
You couldn't help but roll your eyes at their melodramatic exchange, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you focused on folding another pair of pants.
"He still talks." You said.
"But it's not the same," Alexis countered, his expression grave. Deep down, you knew he was right.
"And the way he's treated you," Silena scoffed, "constantly icing you out..."
"Avoiding you for months..." Alexis added, stepping closer to you with a solemn expression. "Refusing to even talk to you."
When he tried to put his hand on your shoulder, you couldn't help but shrug it off, not wanting his sympathy.
Their reminders, well-intentioned though they may be, served only to deepen the wound already festering within you. Like a knife twisted in your back, the memories of Luke's avoidance and unanswered questions pierced your thoughts with relentless precision. You vividly recalled the disappointment etched across his face in the infirmary, a silent testament to his dismay upon discovering your role in his fate. The weight of his unspoken words hung heavily in the air, a haunting reminder of the rift that had formed between you before it even started.
Your siblings were very careful with their next words: "Do you think that maybe... just this once... Aphrodite got it wrong?"
With a heavy heart, you stormed out of the cabin, your mind reeling with conflicting emotions. You swore up and down to Alexis and Silena that you were fine, that you only needed air. The need for clarity drove you to seek solace in the quiet embrace of nature, the gentle flicker of a breeze offering a touch of comfort amidst the turmoil raging within.
Throughout your life, your unwavering loyalty to your mother, Aphrodite, and the Gods has been a source of solace and guidance. You found comfort in the subtle manifestations of them, from the celestial dance of stars to the gentle caress of sunlight filtering through the trees. Even in the casual interactions of everyday life, you sought traces of your mother's hand guiding your path.
As you gazed into the dancing flames, the remnants of fruit smouldering in their fiery embrace in a tin can, you found yourself caught between hope and despair during your offering for your mother. Silena's words echoed in your mind, a harsh truth you were reluctant to confront. Maybe you didn't have a soulmate. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you're unlovable.
Yet, amidst the cloud of doubt, a flicker of defiance ignited within you. The mere thought that Aphrodite could be mistaken in matters of love seemed impossible to you. You had witnessed firsthand the intricate tapestry of fate woven by her hand, guiding souls to their destined counterparts with unfailing precision.
The yearning for that connection, that soul-deep bond, burned within you like a beacon in the darkness of uncertainty. It was a desire as old as time itself, the longing to find solace and belonging in the embrace of another.
As the flames dwindled to embers, their dying glow casting flickering shadows upon the ground, your prayers went unanswered.
The weight of your impending quest pressed upon you like a heavy cloak. Questions tumbled over one another in a relentless cascade, each one a dagger aimed at the heart of your resolve. Where would you need to go? Would you need to defend yourself? Would monsters come after you? Should you choose someone else? Could it be that Luke was nothing to you but a mistaken thread tethered into your life?
Your shoes stepped over twigs and dry leaves on the ground until you stepped out of the forest. Passing by the armoury, you forced a smile upon your lips. You forced yourself to be excited for your first quest rather than dread it. It was a rare privilege bestowed upon a child of Aphrodite, you should honour it.
As you approached the heart of camp again, the familiar clang of sword meeting dummy rumbled through the night air. The rhythmic sound, though commonplace in the realm of demigod training, carried an ominous weight under the cover of darkness. You would have assumed that all campers were asleep.
Luke Castellan, a boy who had become synonymous with the darker days since his return from his quest, stood amidst the training grounds, his silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight. The sight of him, bathed in the ghostly shine, was haunting. With each precise strike of his sword, a muted testament to the rage that plagued his restless spirit, he seemed to exude an aura of both determination and despair.
No wonder you were so exhausted.
You dared not meet his gaze, instead keeping your head bowed as you navigated the familiar path through the training grounds. Every fibre of your being screamed for you to move faster, yet the pull of his presence was undeniable. Despite your best efforts to remain unseen, Luke's voice cut through the night, calling out your name with a sense of urgency that sent a shiver down your spine.
Shit.
With a sinking heart, you felt his hand land on your shoulder, stopping your escape. You couldn't avoid him now. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that mirrored the restlessness within your own soul. His features, etched with lines of weariness and frustration, betrayed the weight of the burdens he carried.
You were distracted by the way he was looking at you. Brows furrowed, his lips turned and pulled into that permanent frown that had you wondering if he had ever smiled since he came back. Yet, despite the weight of his solemn expression, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glint of warmth, of familiarity, that almost stirred a faint glimmer of hope within you.
Almost.
"You're making a mistake." He insisted. "You need to choose someone else for your quest."
You tried not to seem too disappointed. "I can't pick anyone else." You protested, and he raised his brows at you, doubtful. "The Oracle told me to choose you."
"She told you to-?" A scoff escaped him, "The Oracle doesn't tell you who to choose. She doesn't say anything about who you should bring-"
"Luke-"
"The Oracle tells you what your quest is, then a weird riddle about something that will happen on your quest that will put you on edge the entire time."
Luke had stepped closer to you as he spoke as if his words would've sunk into your head clearer if you could hear them better. He spoke to you a lot that way, hoping you'd cling to every word he had to say; good and bad. Mostly bad.
The Oracle's cryptic words lingered in your mind. She had not revealed much about your quest, offering no subtle hints or insights into Eros' whereabouts to make your life easier. Instead, her assurance that success hinged on bringing Luke Castellan along had left you grappling with uncertainty. "He has all the answers you seek," she had urged, her words echoing with a weight that you struggled to comprehend.
"It has to be you."
"What else did she say?"
You hesitated. "That's it," you replied, your words falling short.
"That's it?" He didn't believe you.
"Just a few hints of where Eros might be, I guess." The lie slipped from your lips effortlessly.
He caught it quickly but never urged you to admit it. Luke remained silent, his expression unreadable as he mulled over your words.
You sort of wished he fought you over it.
You wished he'd do anything with you. At least try to.
"If you don't want to come with me, that's fine," you conceded, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, with or without you."
"Really? You'll just leave?"
The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Yet, despite the resentment that coloured his words, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glimmer of regret, perhaps, or maybe resignation. It only annoyed you further.
Luke Castellan was possibly the most confusing person you've ever met. He didn't want to join you on your quest, but you couldn't leave without him either? What's his fucking deal?
He intrigued and frustrated you, like some curse had been placed upon you, and you wanted to understand every part of him while he wanted nothing to do with you. Perhaps Aphrodite was being cruel when she chose him as your soulmate, but you weren't any better when you put him in the position of joining you on your quest.
"I don't know you." You admitted the words hanging heavy in the air between you. "You've made a really good effort to make sure that I don't know anything about you. I did my part. I picked you. If you don't want to come, that's... fine."
It pained you to say it. You did not want to go alone, but you weren't going to force someone to accompany you who clearly didn't want to be there. However, the uncertainty of what lay beyond the safety of the camp walls loomed large in your mind. You haven't left the protection of the camp in years, you weren't sure of what was out there other than the stories the summer campers would tell you, of their close calls and near misses.
Luke Castellan was the perfect example of what leaving camp does to someone.
Despite the weight of your decision, you held your head high as you turned on your heels. You doubted Luke had anything more to say; he was a man of few words, after all.
You left him there, just as he left you by the docks for months. And then you lied to yourself, clung to the belief that your mother, Aphrodite, would safeguard your journey and that your brother, Eros, awaited your rescue.
And so, the next morning, after bidding your tearful goodbyes to your siblings and friends and earning a proud pat on the back from Chiron, you swallowed your pride and left.
The Oracle's words were etched into the very fabric of your being, a relentless mantra that monopolized your thoughts as you trudged toward the top of the hill and left the safety of campgrounds. Each step forward was a testament to your determination, each footfall a declaration of your unwavering commitment to the quest ahead.
As you climbed, you couldn't help but imagine the faces of campers upon your return. You pictured the awe in their eyes, the pride in their voices, and most of all, the look on Luke's face when he realized the extent of your lone success, his disbelief mingling with a begrudging respect.
"Hey-"
The sound of your name startled you out of your thoughts. You were trudging through the grass when you spotted a body sitting under a pine tree, shaded from the sun by its leaves.
Luke looked up at you, frowning, "Took you long enough."
His dishevelled dark curls fell over his eyes, a stark contrast against the vibrant greenery surrounding him. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid yet tinged with an air of impatience Luke picked up a bag by his side, tossing it over his shoulder. It wasn't until he emerged from the tree's shade that you noticed the subtle changes in his attire. Gone was the signature orange camp shirt, replaced instead by a more subdued navy tee that hugged his frame. His old cargo pants remained the same, but different nonetheless.
Eyeing his bag, you could spot smaller daggers strapped to the sides, prepared for anything. It took you a few seconds to process why he was there. You squint at the sun as he steps out from under the tree. "You came."
He huffed, "Obviously."
You let out a breathless chuckle, maybe one of relief since honestly, despite everything you'd been trying to convince yourself of, you were terrified to leave on your own.
"Why?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of uncertainty as you adjusted the straps of your own bag. The question hung in the air, unanswered. Of course. You almost rolled your eyes as Luke began to descend the other side of the hill. With a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he wordlessly beckoned you to join him by tilting his head to the side impatiently.
You grinned then, wide and bright. "I know I said I didn't care if you came or not, but I'm glad you're here."
He showed no sign of acknowledgment of your sentiment, his gaze fixed ahead as he continued to walk once you joined his side.
As the minutes stretched on in silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of leaves underfoot, you found yourself lost in thought. It was only when the distant hum of passing cars reached your ears, their blurred forms darting through the forest's fringe, that you were jolted back to the present.
Drawing to a halt near the forest's edge, you felt the weight of uncertainty settle upon you. With a hesitant pause, you turned to face Luke, the question that had been gnawing at your mind poised on the tip of your tongue.
"Why'd you stop?" He asked.
"I just..." Your voice wavered, uncertainty lacing your words as you struggled to articulate your thoughts. You worried that if you said the wrong thing he'd leave you stranded right there and return to camp while the two of you were still walking distance from it. It annoyed you a little; how much you had to walk on eggshells with him.
You couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been if you hadn't chosen him. You were being stupid when you picked him, you decided. You already regret it. Maybe Luke was right, the Oracle was just trying to get into your head.
"What made you change your mind? About coming on the quest?" you finally managed to voice, your eyes meeting his in search of answers.
He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and simply stating: "If you break an arm, so do I."
That had been the closest Luke Castellan had ever been to admitting he had a soulmate.
a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader
words: 4.5k
summary: (post-TLT) The one where he meets you at his mother’s house, though both of you didn’t expect the other to be there. A glimpse into May Castellan’s perfect day (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)
a/n: sorry for the hiatus! been on the study grind and didn’t even notice, but i’ve been working on this for a bit! macbeth references (comment if you catch them/or ask and i’ll yap) and slight suggestive stuff under the cut—but anyways let’s just say the prophecy by taylor swift came out at the right time.
(posted 4/19/24, semi-edited)
—
The drive to Westport has become almost an afterthought in these past few years— in the way you unconsciously reach for your favorite hoodie on the way out the door or tuck in your chair before you leave a table, almost automatic but ingrained with a touch of care. With letters to May Castellan occupying your passenger seat instead of the boy who wrote them, you’d make the drive multiple times but stop short just before the property line. It took months of parking at the bottom of the hill and just watching the sun set on the little house, so clearly being able to imagine a smaller version of him running around and wreaking havoc.
Little Luke, with bandaged knees and feet that move as fast as his motor mouth, amber eyes glinting like windchimes in the summer breeze. His mom must’ve watched him play by himself through the bay window before calling him home when the clouds covered the horizon, wispy tendrils stretching over the rain gutter like how lovers hold hands. It must’ve reminded her a lot of his father, leaving nothing but the open air in his wake. Still, all of this was familiar to you too—despite having never stepped foot in the white house.
But knowing Luke meant knowing his home like it was a part of you.
The old hatchback’s engine gently rumbled against the quiet of the property each time you visited, and May would wait for you to come near— waiting for you to be ready to walk into a mausoleum of the boy you both once knew. You were familiar to her too, even as a blurry figure hunched over the steering wheel. She’s seen your face in the small glimpses between the shattering earth of her reality and the hazy foresight she lets herself succumb to remember what her son looks like. In every vision of him since he’s left, you’ve been there; and something about that quells the pain and anguish that it brings to her body when she sees it. But May Castellan is ever an observant woman, gift of prophecy aside. A mother always knows.
It also turns out that she makes excellent conversation over a plate of slightly singed chocolate chip cookies.
—
Luke Castellan is years older than the version of him that last sat at this kitchen table. He doesn’t know if he’s any wiser for it—wondering if he’s made a mistake in coming back here after all this time as he watches his mom hustle around the kitchen that’s suspiciously sparkling clean. A silver spoon clinks against the glass pitcher that May stirs mixed berry Kool-Aid in, his favorite, he remembers, and it makes him squint against the light that filters through the gauzy curtains of the windowpane above the sink. Luke could’ve sworn that there used to be badly patched rips in the fabric, but he attributes it to the dark corner of his memory he still hides away like a secret. Sitting there and taking it all in, he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually grow up here—to stay, for once.
But that’s something he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing. When his mom turns to hand him a glass with her shaking hands, wrinkles and laugh lines are mapped across the expanse of her face. He’ll never know how they got there. The wooden chair creaks under him, groaning under the weight that he carries and Luke once again feels uncomfortable in a place he once called home.
“Knew you’d come back. A mother always knows,” May mutters, voice disembodied like she’s floating just out of reach. Her hands clasped over his, rubbing her thumbs over the veins as if she’s checking his pulse (or the possibility of him being an apparition) and the crack in her smile mirrors his. But this isn’t the home he remembers—his frontal lobe was underdeveloped back then and the only plan it could form was the one to get him the hell out of Westport, there’s something different in the details. Tiny things, like the patio swing chain reattached to its post, a mended table leg, and ceramic tiles on the countertop unbroken and smooth. This is a home and a mother he once longed for as a kid, along with the feeling of comfort and safety you can only attribute to a place like this. Calculating eyes scan the perimeter of the kitchen, but no one knows he’s made the trip to Westport, not even his own crew. Surely nothing could mess this up for him, not here. This was his last step before his quest for redemption eats away at his physical body, and then it will all be out of his hands.
There’s not much left for me here, he thinks— there’s not much of me left here, either.
Then Luke hears you before he sees you—the sound of you humming under your breath mixed with the jingle of keys turning in the front door. With bags of groceries leaving marks on your arms and a soft smile he hasn’t seen you wear in ages, for once you look lighter again. For a moment, the thought crosses his mind that this must be what you look like when he’s not around. Nonetheless, he breathes easier when you’re near. Of course, you’re here, and the irony grips him by the neck almost as if to make it known why his home feels like home again.
“Yeah hon, I’ll have to call you back,” you laugh into your headphones before tapping them with one free finger to end the call. In a split second, your eyes meet. Staggering back at the sight of him sitting at the table and the absolute grin on May’s face, you decide to continue into the space ahead and start putting the groceries away like nothing is out of sorts.
“I see you have a visitor, Miss May. Is he staying long?”
Luke sips at his glass, juice extra tart just how he likes it. His lips pucker at the taste it leaves in his mouth and when he opens his mouth there’s a hint of blue. You try not to look too long.
“For the night,” he answers, even if you weren’t talking to him, but it makes May so vibrant with the notion of him not running again that she instantly hops to her feet and rushes to make the bed in his old room. “I won’t be in your way,” he swallows. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, but move around his chair without touching him—further proving that Luke is, in fact, an obstacle you must overcome. He’s a stranger in his own home and you’ve found yourself at ease in it. You wonder if any of that will make a difference in the long run.
“She’s…”
“More peaceful. I’ve been practicing with my dad, so I do what I can to ease her fits but I’m not exactly equipped to lift a curse from Hades,” you mutter through a bitten lip. Luke stares at you but it feels nostalgic, like someone on the outside looking in. Well, shit. He’s been leading demigods to their deaths every summer and you’ve been trying to cure his mentally ill mother in the time you don’t spend trying to stop him.
“I don’t think I even remember the last time she made sense while talking to me,” he laughs hollowly. You purse your lips and shrug, “I visit her every two weeks. She still has her triggers, and she gets confused but she’s not in pain. Your letters helped.”
“Is that why you came here then?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” you joke feebly. It falls flat and yet he still smiles, even when you say, “They weren’t for me.”
“They were about you. All of them were.”
You know that too. May makes you read them to her before bedtime as you stroke her hair and send her off to Hypnos. You’ve relived your relationship with Luke a million little times, and he’s written about you and all of your yesterdays like it was the only glimpse of Elysium he’d ever reach. In those letters, you get to remember the good parts of being in love—laughing in the empty amphitheater, holding hands under the dining table, sneaking kisses in the strawberry fields.
You used to understand each other so well: every dream, every feeling. But there is nothing you understand about the man sitting across from you now. The both of you sit at the kitchen table and there is nothing more to say.
Luke doesn’t have to stay. While you were at the supermarket, he spent an hour trying to explain to his mother that he needed her blessing to swim in the River Styx. Through nuances and veiled simplicity in the words he weaved to convince her, there wasn’t much opposition in her half-empty, half-prophetic mind. May always knew that Luke loved to swim when she took him to the beach, and that was that.
There was nothing more to say.
—
He knows it’s too good to be true when moments later May’s screams carry through the halls of the little house, down the stairway you’re currently clambering up to reach her. By the time his boots reach the second landing, he finds the two women he loves most in a huddle against the linen closet, his mother’s glowing green eyes and empty groans rattling him to the bone. If he were any smaller, he’d be shaking. Even now he doesn’t know what to do— feet frozen as he watches you brush her curls away from her face and lull her to solace.
“Can’t find Luke’s sheets—he needs the Toy Story ones…” May mutters as she rocks on her heels, “My boy needs to be home…He’s meant to be home!” Her fingernails are cutting into your wrists and then she silences with a wave of your hand.
“He’s home, Miss May. He’s right there,” you whisper. When your eyes look at Luke, you watch him crumble—the cracks in his fortitude tumbling like fallen rocks at the sight of the two of you and then you see him. The boy you met at 14 who was angry at the world for making him run away from his mother and the hands of fate until it crept up to snuff him out for the sake of a prophecy foretold by deities who will never understand what it’s like to be human. But there are no second chances, and there is nowhere left to run. “He’s here for you. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”
“I see it, the two of you together. The worst will be over soon, and then it’ll all make sense,” she says breathily, licking her lips and straightening herself like nothing happened. Even after you send her off to prepare a basket for the beach, Luke doesn’t move when his mother pats his arm and walks around his body and towards the stairs. Neither of you speak until your fingers touch his jaw lightly, and Luke doesn’t know if you’re trying to help him or inspect him. He tilts down to look at you anyway.
“She thinks we’re still together.”
He blinks. Somehow that’s the most shocking thing he’s heard today. Fate is most definitely cruel and fucked up because he never expected it to be like this—once upon a time he hoped he could take you home to meet his mother when everything was said and done; no shackles from Titans or pressure from the gods. It was supposed to be different.
“The letters probably didn’t help as much as you thought they would then,” he mumbles, calloused hands guiding your hands over to his swiftly beating heart. You scoff, “Neither does bringing up my boyfriend. She thinks it’s you.” He’d believe anyone who’d say they watched you yank his heart out of his chest with that statement, everything bloody in your hands. It’s still yours, even if you don’t want it.
“Kit?”
You shake your head and shrug, “That was forever ago. But he treats me well.”
Luke wants to ask more but by the tension in your shoulders, he knows not to push. He’s not entitled to know anything more than what you give him. It’s not his place anymore. So his brow furrows at your next suggestion.
“Just pretend, Luke. For the day, so your mom doesn’t get agitated. I’m not asking for much here.”
It’s a terrible, terrible idea—even you know that. But you both have always been good pretenders. Liars, a voice corrects in the back of your mind. You reason that it’s for May and insist upon that fact, even if the heartbroken girl you left at Camp Half-Blood is raging at you from deep inside the recesses of your mind that you hide her in. What’s one day with him compared to the many you’ve gone without? You don’t need to know the rest of why he’s here, or what more he’s going to do— and you don’t ask.
Not knowing has always hurt less.
—
You’ve forgotten how good Luke is at playing the part of a good boyfriend. He offers to drive to the beach, carries the picnic basket and blanket for you all to sit on, and listens intently when May asks about your college classes. There’s no discomfort in the way he holds your hand as you walk in the sand or dusts your feet off before laying them across his lap. It’s easy to laugh at his bad jokes, it’s easy to act like the boyfriend you describe is anything like him (even if he’s the complete opposite), and it’s too damn easy to fall into the familiar rhythm that is you and Luke. The three of you lay down as the spring breeze covers you from the rest of reality, hiding away from the truth of a broken woman and two ex-lovers. By late afternoon, you find yourself enjoying it, and it’s cruel how the guilt isn’t rolling off you in waves, instead longing for him to follow you anywhere.
He meets you by the shoreline with both of you waist-deep in the water. May’s collecting seashells but she turns to look at you two every so often like she’s framing this memory in her fragile mind. Without saying it out loud, the both of you hope it will hold.
“She always talks about you, you know? Even without trying,” you mutter as saltwater pours from your fingers to the valleys made by the veins in his forearms. It’s like initiating touch without the consequences of actually doing it, and he immerses himself in the feeling as it spills over him, feet rocking against the tide.
“I do too. Can’t help it.”
When the sea ripples once more pushing you against the wall of his body, you end up holding on, and he doesn’t let go. You both smell like salt and sunshine, pressed together and nothing has made more sense. The silence goes on for a beat too long—he whispers, “You still talk about me? Your boyfriend must hate that.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about you? For anyone to get to know me, they have to know you.”
Your shirt is stuck to your skin in the surf and Luke’s hands brush over the waistline of your underwear, daring to reacquaint himself with your touch and spur a reaction from you. You may be the best actress he’s ever known but anything is better than watching you be complacent with the false niceties of the day.
“There isn’t much worth knowing.”
“I’d never say that, Luke,” jaw tensing, you let out a breath when his hands encircle your hips, hidden in plain sight in the deep of the ocean. He chuckles and the sound tickles your brain to remind you it's the type of laugh he spits out when he’s hiding his anger, “There’s a lot we’re both not saying.” Your name slips past his lips, sneaking past your defenses and hitting you head-on like a bullet.
“Why?”
Why are you doing this? Why are you helping his mother, why aren’t you actively fighting and turning him in, why are you letting him hold you if he’s only going to leave again—there are too many questions and only one clear answer.
“Because it’s out of our hands, isn’t it, Luke? You love your mother but you wouldn’t have come here unless it’s too late. Annie told me you went to see her in San Francisco.”
He was never here to make amends or save face. There was no version of him that was going to ask you to run away with him because he knows you deserve more than always running from fate. He’d do it all over again as long as you got this— the life you’re living with your college degree, your boyfriend, and your happy family— and Luke has no place in that.
A dry laugh bubbles from his throat, sticking like seafoam when he says, “You hate San Francisco.”
You wouldn’t have come.
—
By the time you get home for dinner, your skin is sensitive and tingly from the heat of the sun. May’s tracing circles into the back of your hand as she leads you up the patio steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you sway against the doorway.
“Too much time having fun,” she mumbles, patting your cheek, “Take a cold shower dear. Join us when you’re ready?” Luke’s eyes follow you all the way up the stairs and then again, he’s left to his own devices.
Most of the said shower was spent thinking about what your friends would say about you for playing house with the enemy. The guilt felt like ice along your spine, paralyzing you for wanting to be selfish, to choose what makes you happy even if it fucks the rest of the world. But looking in the mirror afterward was scarier—you recognized the girl that stared back at you as someone you thought you’d never see again. A version you left behind years ago, with her head held high and so sure of herself with your Luke by your side.
Surely, there’s no harm in indulging in this vice for the rest of the night. Not when you haven’t felt this relaxed in years.
Dinner is being served by the time you make your way back downstairs. It’s a simple dish you taught Luke how to make back at camp when you raided the kitchens at midnight. Nothing special, reminding you of your own home—but the fact that he remembered makes your smile widen as you take a seat and promise to wash the dishes. Luke chuckles the type that makes his eyes crinkle in mirth once he watches you dig into your meal, knees brushing under the table like old times.
Everything feels easier after that.
“Today was the best day,” his mother mutters as you tuck the covers under her chin. May kisses both of your cheeks before she shuts her eyes and you gently fold the letter she chose tonight back into her nightstand for safekeeping. This time, you read her the story of your first kiss with Luke sitting at the foot of her bed in the dim light of her room. It’s less scary here than he remembers, but maybe it’s because this time there’s no screaming and him running to hide in the closet. Your voice is much more pleasant than those suppressed memories, immersing you all in a more pleasant one— the both of you in the amphitheater kissing on the stage with his hands in your belt loops. Luke could recite every word on that page if it meant he could go back in time, not with Backbiter but with you, just to live through that moment again. I think I’m falling in love with her, is how the letter ended but by then he already knew. Writing it down to tell his mother always made it real.
This, you, right here—everything is real.
He’s silent even as he watches you smoke through the cracked window of his childhood bedroom, and you’re surprised when he steals a puff. His hands are shaking under the moonlight and suddenly it’s clear that he’s scared. Everyone feels fear, but in all the years that you’ve known him, Luke Castellan has never let you see it.
“Those things will kill you one day,” you mumble, watching him lean against the windowpane. It’s what he used to always tell you so that you’d quit, but old habits die screaming. It’s another vice you refuse to let go of.
“Wanted to try something new before I…” his voice drops off.
Lose myself.
Lose you.
Luke coughs as the smoke enters his lungs, a momentary rush hitting him brought by the nicotine. Your hands go to cup his jaw as you set your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to just be honest if there’s truly nothing left to lose.
“I’m out of time, trouble. It’s out of my hands.”
Shuddering at the feeling of him tracing every ridge of your spine, you think the way he says your nickname sounds like the way he used to say I love you. It’s raining outside now, the harsh pitter-patter of wet drops drowning out the sound of your voice, “What can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?” When his head shakes, your noses brush, and your breaths intermingle, almost magnetic. Perhaps the rain is getting in from the open window and you feel it hitting your cheek until you see the shine of his eyes.
“You think I did this because of you. I know you do, but you need to know I did all of this for you, trouble. I choose you and me. Every time,” Luke gasps, intertwining his fingers with yours, the both of you pushing and pulling in this embrace like the moon with the tide.
“Luke…”
You’re pressing yourself against him, face hidden in his shirt as your brain catches up to your heart, hasty breaths and every atom of your being screaming to be held together by him and then you’re on him, through tears and clenched fists tumbling towards the tiny twin bed. The only way he likens himself to his father is his yearning to be a true traveler, but what he knows best out of anything in this entire world is you. He knew this body once too— every birthmark, scar, and dimple. Who else has had the privilege to navigate the ridges of your spine, to know the pressure of your kiss? A tattoo peeks out to say hello at your hip bone. There are new stories and new marks, there are parts of you unknown to him now. Luke thinks that must be what hurts most about each time he leaves you.
But then why does this feel so good?
Warm palms caress your waist, nudging your shirt up in the hopes that this will be enough compensation for all his misdoings—the tears you’ve cried, the anger you’ve felt, the things you had to do and will have to do because of him. Luke is someone who’s gotten comfortable with manipulating time, but time has manipulated him and all of his plans for the both of you. Sleepy setback bedroom eyes meet his own that glow in the gentle light of the lamp on the nightstand. Maybe if you pretend again his childhood bedroom can turn into the star-speckled darkness of cabin 12. You can just lay down and tuck underneath his arms waiting for him to fall asleep. But he stays up this time, making you hiss at the feeling of his lips against your neck.
“We can’t… Angelface,” you say breathily, still leaning into the trail he marks across the valley of your collarbone, “We’re not together anymore.”
A kiss is placed on your pulsepoint, knocking against the cord of your necklace.
“We shouldn’t… I have a boyfriend.”
Another kiss rests against the warmth of your forehead.
“We’re on opposite sides of a war… You’re my enemy.”
Finally, his lips meet yours, for a moment as if to test the waters.
“Not tonight,” he says, and there is no other option but to agree. There is a lifetime to make up for in a night, and fuck it—they’ll crucify you anyway. You were never meant to be a hero, that’s what he always wanted. You just wanted him. Your head hits the pillow and he looms over you until you’re pulling him in for more than what’s necessary to accept an apology.
There’s nothing left to lose.
—
Before your mind can wake up dreading the consequences of last night, your socked feet take you to the kitchen to clean up the mess you’ve both left behind. The old floorboards creak underfoot and there’s a method in the way you’re washing the dishes, hot water and soap starting to seep through your shirt sleeve but you choose not to notice. Scrubbing at the dirt and grime left behind on the porcelain until your fingers start to prune, a lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. Maybe if you scrub hard enough at the glass that Luke drank out of last night it can eventually be clean. But it’s taking you longer than you thought, jaw tensing and fingers turning white at how hard you’re holding on. May appears behind you, guiding your hands away from the scalding water, and though you resist— the glass drops into the sink and shatters with a loud crack.
“Damn spot wouldn’t get out,” you sniff, turning away to look out the window and think of anything but him, but he’s everywhere even when he’s not here, so much so that it suffocates you. Guilt lines every shaking breath you take until lavender eyes meet amber at the sensation of her clasping your red and raw palms with a dishtowel.
You see him in her too.
“His fate is greater than the cards he’s been dealt with. You know that.”
It’s the clearest and most sensible May’s spoken in days. Perhaps when it comes to Luke, she’ll always know better. Eyes darting elsewhere to fight the tears that brim at your lash line, you look down at your swollen hands, palm up towards the heavens almost imploring, “Why couldn’t it be me?”
The question’s direction is unclear and you don’t expect to get an answer, turning away to grab some ice from the freezer and she remains standing there—staring at the windowsill at a compass that’s now found its home next to the faded picture of a man who’s left more times than there are reasons to stay. Just like his father, she thinks, a small smile quirking at the side of her lip where a scar would meet her son’s. Clicking it open delicately like how she used to hold his hand, there’s a photo of you and Luke resting against the cover ripped away from a memory frozen in time.
“It is you,” May says quietly, though you’ve already left the room.
A mother always knows, after all.
—
“Aphrodite,” I pleaded to the moon-drenched night sky. “Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh. And I knew. -Nikita Gill
⤷ he couldn't ever regret you. he'd do it all over again if you asked / luke castellan x (gn + child of aristaeus) reader
⤷ wc; 2.7k | minor survivor's guilt, hoo spoilers, end of an era im sobbing, happy ending we go!! + tracklist: slide tackle, be sweet - japanese breakfast
⤷ the jubilee recollection ( masterlist )
♫ — an ache i meet to desire living (tackling this void)
Luke turns in the bed at night, shifts around to lay on his spine, ceiling spinning dizzy above him. He knows he’s been quiet lately, a silent shadow lingering at the back of everyone’s mind; he lets out a breath, heavy and forlorn, his entire body sinking with the departure of it.
A sleep-heavy rasp, fatigued, “I keep dreaming about them.”
You mumble something unintelligible, burrowing closer and tucking your knees behind his. Luke loves the way your stress lines and scars seem to melt away under the moonlight, thinks that a person like him doesn’t deserve an angel in his bed.
“Who?” The word melts into a little puff of condensation on his jaw.
“Dead people. I—” he takes a moment to will away the lump in his throat. “Most of the time, I think Silena or Ethan’ll turn the corner before I remember that I killed them.
“Why do I get to live and they don’t?” he continues, then pauses for a breath, checks that he’s actually breathing. “Sometimes I wish I ended up in Tartarus instead of here.”
Your fingers trace the line of his jaw, and he’s compelled by the gravity of them to turn his head, eyes meeting yours. There’s something heavy swimming in the dark pools of your pupils, glimmering faint with the dim moon.
( Nose-to-nose, sharing breaths, a sun in orbit. )
You blink, slow, lashes fluttering. He feels your breath straining against your ribs in a sigh and digs his fingers tighter against your waist like you’ll turn to mist if he doesn’t hold you close enough.
“You can’t change any of it now,” you tell him finally, face obscured in the pillows like a half moon. You blink again, studying him, fingertips slicing delicate along his hairline. He’d let you take him apart if you wanted, slice his chest open and see the bloody, bloody mess of his heart. Showing you his secrets feels a lot easier than telling you. “I used to wish you were dead, too.”
“But it’d be harder, wouldn’t it?” He manages a small grin, almost quicksilver with the way it leaves as quick as it comes, like a small, injured bird in flight. “Restless ghosts aren’t ever fun.”
You smile back soft, wrinkles arrowing at the corners of your lips, fingers running down to rest on his cupid’s bow. “No, they aren’t.” And then, “I glad you’re alive, Luke.”
He just kisses your skin, salt and honey and citrus, brings his own hand from the sheets to press his thumb into your palm, reading the scars by touch like a story he’ll always know.
“Me too.”
You hum, breaths already deepening. His exhales come a little easier, then.
♫ — so be good (don’t mind me)
It’s on sight with Clarisse La Rue. One moment he’s strolling through a battle-ready camp and the next he’s getting a mouthful of dirt. His sight goes dark for a second as a weight settles above him—he regains his vision just as the daughter of Ares raises her fist and sinks her knuckles into his cheek.
Luke feels the bruise blooming under his skin as she hisses, “I’ve been waiting for this, Castellan,” and punches him again. Something splinters in his chest, sharp glass spattering into his lungs.
The worst he does is claw at the weeds, letting the girl pour her rage into his beaten face. He thinks it’s raining until he realizes that her blows have slowed, weakened, arm falling limp to thump against his chest. Her fingers twist in his camp shirt, knuckles ruddy, blooming reddish like Half-Blood Hill in the sunset.
He lets the blood trickle from his mouth with a punched-out groan before croaking, “I’m sorry about Silena.”
Clarisse’s fingers pull him up by the collar hard, eyes murderous, red, and wet. Tears run a well-eroded path down her face. Her mouth twitches in a near sneer before she drops her grip; Luke falls limp, boneless to the ground.
“Clean up,” she spits, jaw straining. “Full outfit after dinner, you’re part of my team.”
Luke lays there long after she trudges away, listening to the faint crunch of feet on dirt. Your head eclipses the sun a few minutes later, outline haloed in gold. The upward curve to his mouth is small, a little bloody, and you pull him up, shoulder a crutch as you hobble back to the cottage.
You sit him down on a stool, sliding away to grab a first aid kit while he works his dusty shirt over his shoulders then head, rough fabric stinging at his face. He takes the cup of water you hold out to him, swishing it in his mouth and swallowing, the tang of blood dissipating.
The kit clicks as you flips it open. “Clarisse?” you ask, even though you already know.
“It was about Silena.”
You hum, cotton swab tracing over the split skin of his cheek, fingers cold as you tilt his head gently. “Figures. She really—”
“—loved her, yea,” he tacks on, lips tingling numb. Your lips pinch a moment, an almost-smile, something bitter and sad sewn into the crease of your mouth. “I didn’t fight back.”
“I know,” you say, prodding at the bruise around his eye. You rip a few pieces of medical adhesive and lay them gentle over his cuts. “If you did, you wouldn’t look this bad.”
“Still handsome?” Luke mumbles the question out, tongue feeling swollen and cardboard-like in his mouth as your fingers find his bare sternum. His heart pulls like a magnet to your touch.
You laugh softly and his lungs jump, giddy. “Obviously.”
You wipe the remaining dirt off his face with a damp towel, tossing it to the side when you’re done so you can clamber above his knees. His nape tingles when your knuckles find his spine, a mountain range of divots fitting into you.
Luke’s nose seeks the juncture of your neck like the wandering point of a compass, thumb tracing your side like a cartographer mapping out a shore. You relax in his hold, frame melting to fill the spaces he’s carved into his posture for you—the fit is ridge for ridge, complementary halves meeting in a whole.
“You’re too good to me, honey,” he says, words muffled honest into your skin. You kiss the plane of his temple, fingers twining into his curls. He wonders what he tastes like to you, if his skin has taken on the smudgy blend of citrus and honey of yours.
You laugh softly, and he presses his lips tender to your collarbone. His bruises don’t hurt as bad now that the soothing warmth of you is wrapped against him.
♫ — i’ve turned back running for you
The battle goes by too quickly for him to process. Luke can only catch onto snippets of things, like a movie played for background noise, pieces of it snagging on his attention but not really staying long enough to be memorable.
It’s long, it’s bloody, and by the time Luke gets his clarity back, he’s standing knee-deep in monster dust, a gash running bloody along his thigh and blade chipping at the edge. Then, he passes out right as a shrieking ragdoll in a toga (what the fuck) collides with a mass of churning dirt mid-air; the explosion blooms behind his shuttering eyes and paints bright, persimmon-hued spots in his darkened vision.
Later, he’ll wake up in the cottage, dawn burgeoning through the windows, the heavens veined in each clear ray, and he’ll see your frame slouched over the dinner table. The vat of sharp-scented honey at your side has yet to be jarred and a crate worth of bandages pillow your temple; you look so at peace with the world that Luke can’t find the will to wake you despite the heavy weight of his cardboard tongue.
Well, he won’t need to. You groan, no doubt from the chinks in your nape making themselves known, palms pressing into your eyes and fingertips crusted with honey.
You listen to the silence for a moment. “Morning,” you eke out, the syllables running together in a sleepy slur.
“G’morn’g.” Luke thinks it comes out intelligible, but by the bedraggled furrow in your brow, he knows it’s just a jumble.
“How’s the leg going?” you ask, question petering off to a sigh when you pop your spine just right. The crack of air between your bones lets out a clear ring in the cottage, a bell of wakefulness. The sink rushes over your hands, fingers flecking off droplets; you continue to stretch, neck rolling while you wave your hands above the basin.
Truth be told, Luke can’t feel any of his injuries at all, something that should be concerning to a mortal, but he’s a demigod. So he just smiles, soft, the crease of his smile lines making an appearance as the sun weaves him gold, Midas-touched.
“I don’t know. Could you kiss it better?”
He knows he’s pushing his luck because you pause in your movements, a slow in the pull of your tendons and bones. Gingerly turning to face him, he’s greeted by an expression on your face that vaguely resembles the mouth of a closed drawstring bag with the way your eyes are narrowing, brows furrowing, mouth curled and set in faux disgust.
The grin that he give you this time is short-lived, quick, an apologetic up-down and out. “Sorry.”
You make a sound, a snick of the tongue. “Did I miss a spot?” you question, moving closer to him, thumb sketching a sensitive line along his cupid’s bow. A brushstroke of pain sings through his nerves.
“Nah, just nicked myself shaving.” Like this, you both can pretend that you’re normal, that you haven’t survived a brutal war and just lived through another. Like this, Luke can pretend that he never left you.
You say nothing about it, mouth creasing humorously. A breath passes, a stillness threading the air. Luke wants to fill the silence with something but finds that your thumb is holding his chapped lips down.
“Do you ever regret it?” you ask, tired eyes glassing over, daybreak refracting in them. “Having tea with me?”
That’s a hard question. You have tea every day with him, once in the morning and again at night, the sun perpetually kissing the horizon either way.
But oh, you’re talking about the first time he had tea with you, Annabeth seven and slumped over the Big House table, his camp shirt new and necklace empty. He recalls vaguely that the chamomile had set a line of comfortable fire burning all the way along his throat, honey coming to kiss it better as it went down. Your thumbprint moves along the soft edge of his lip until it rests at the corner of his mouth.
“Do you?” he responds, hand coming to twine his fingers with yours; the smooth, whittled edge of the dragon’s claw ring imprints an echo into his skin. His own rests against his sternum, warmed by the heat of his still beating heart; Luke wonders, briefly, if you’d ever marry him.
You bring up your knotted hands to your face, press your lips gently against the back of his hand. “How could I regret you?”
It sounds less of a question than a statement of fact, and it’s enough for Luke to know he’d do it all over again if it meant he could have this little oasis of peace you’ve created for yourselves.
♫ — be sweet to me, baby (reprise)
The last of the boxes hits the ground with a jangle. Luke rubs at the ache in his palm, the crease of it reddened, dark. His knees are burning, ankles loose, back nearly about to give out.
“Why did there have to be so many stairs?” he complains, propping his knuckles against his lower back and arching, every ligament popping in sequence. You brush past him, fingers trailing against the high point of his hip. The touch leaves a fuzzy heat trailing in its wake, the ache in his bones ebbing away.
( You must be the moon and he the tide. Or maybe, you’re the sun, and he every celestial body drawn to the dip of your weight in spacetime. )
“It’s a nice view, that’s why,” you tell him, opening a window—the breeze that filters in is clear, almost sparkling. “There’s an elevator, though. Don’t know why you didn’t take that. I got more boxes up in the time it took you to get one.”
“It’s the fifth floor. How was I supposed to know that there were like—five flights between each story?”
“Go figure.”
He makes a whiney sound in his throat, stumbling loose-boned over to you, arms coming around your waist and neck craned to prop his chin at the juncture of your neck.
Below him, New Rome sprawls beyond the sill, a patchwork of cobblestone streets and new and old buildings, brick-walled stores and marble-columned offices and intricately domed structures. In a far-off distance, the forum and its collection of sun-drenched gardens glitters, gemstones sewn into every babbling fountain, vines snaking around the glassy haze of brilliantly white sculptures.
He kisses you soft behind your ear. “You homesick for New York yet?”
There’s something glassy in your eyes again, half nostalgia and half determined conviction. You hum, fingers tracing the painted edge of the windowsill. “It’s not really home anymore. I’ll miss Annabeth and everyone, but….”
Luke wounds his arms tighter, like you’re going to float away. You lean your head against his, cheek-to-cheek, lightning arching under his skin and over his nerves. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been electrocuted with the way his system erupts into tingle-mode every time you touch.
“I think,” you say, the forum glimmering in your irises, gardens and fountains and statues and all, “I want to have a normal life here. No monsters. No more war. Are you okay with that?”
He dips his head to press his mouth reassuringly under your jaw, mumbles, “Only if you feel safe here. And if not, we can pack up whenever and get the hell out.”
“Okay,” you turn, kiss his cheek sweetly, “okay.” You’re significantly less wound-up with his words, shoulders coming down and scar-freckled palms coming up to cradle his face.
Luke grins, eyes going crescent, a half moon smile lit by the gentle sun of your joy. He pats your side, hands careworn, palms callused, the fit of your wait familiar to the push-pull of the ligaments and tendons in his fingers.
Urgently, but not entirely, “We’re gonna be late to pick up our books.”
Now it’s your turn to whine and go loose-boned in his arms. He dips down again to nose at your throat, and you dissolve into giggles.
“I’m scared,” you say, looking anything but with your tickled smile, “what if I’m bad at college?”
“You?” Luke chuckles, incredulous. “Camp Half-Blood’s Doctor Doolittle? Failing at being a vet? Oh, please.”
“Shut up, it only applies to bees.”
“Save me, Doctor Doolittle, save me!”
“You’re such a fucking weirdo.” You say this in a laugh, the sound rattling behind your ribs, the seat of your hand slapping weakly at his chest. Luke catches your wrist, pulls you in for a kiss, re-etches the fit of your frame against his even though he’s done it every day.
( What’s one more time? )
Oh. It blooms in his chest, unfurls between his lungs. So this is what you meant by New York not really being home; he could curl into your gentle pool of sun-lit warmth every day and never want to go back. You smile against his mouth, lips curling, something jubilant pulsing through his veins, and Luke just knows that everything will be okay.
closing thoughts ; short and sweet finale, i feel like its a really fitting ending for my ride or dies. anyways, life since OIAR dropped in december feels like a fever dream, like wdym i actually pushed through my commitment issues and completed my first ever series?? thank u everyone who's been following along, whether ur new or have been here since day one, i appreciate ygs sososo much and im so glad to close this chapter with everyone's love <3 stay tuned for more tho im not done with pjo!!
replies and reblogs do wonders for the algorithm!! feel free to share ur thoughts w asks too!!
a/n: poisoned mercury is officially over :( but i will be adding small blurbs in between chapters and adding post-chb five star and luke to the masterlist because i'm not ready to say bye to them just yet. enjoy pm's sophomore album cover, optimism don't come easy (unless it's with you). also no tags for this one because tumblr has been super weird and the tags haven't been working for everyone.
x. long way home by 5sos
series masterlist | previous | next
“thank you all for your participation this summer at camp half blood,” mr. d said into the microphone. he was finishing up his end-of-the-year speech and there was no dry eye in the house. all the campers were sniffling as they reminisced on all the memories they made this summer. your dad cleared his throat, “if any of you tell anyone that i cried, i will never forgive you.”
annabeth giggled, rubbing the tears from her eyes, “your dad makes that joke every year, i swear.”
“oh, i’m sure,” you replied, laughing along with her. “above all, he is a dad and that means he recycles the same jokes over and over again.”
“and they’re never funny,” percy added, though he was laughing at what mr. d was saying. “but i feel like i gotta laugh or else i won’t be accepted next year.”
“you have my permission to not laugh, perce,” you nudged him. “he gotta get some new material.”
“hey,” clarisse said from beside you. you turned to her, letting annabeth, percy, and grover fall into their own conversation. she was no longer adorned in her camp counselor outfit, opting to wear something from her own closet now that her duties for the summer were finished. “thanks for getting me this job, y/n. kinda changed my life with this one.”
your eyes darted between clarisse and chris, who was waiting by the wings of the stage ready for his cue to close out the farewell celebration. you placed a hand on clarisse’s knee, giving it a squeeze, “thanks for always having my back, clar.”
“always,” she nodded, “you’re my sister.”
you were feeling a lot of things at once. there were a lot of emotions coursing through your veins. you always knew that there were people who cared about you. your parents had a funny way of showing it sometimes, but you never doubted that they loved you. your friends, clarisse, silena, charlie, were always there for you, even during the most stressful times of your life. the poisoned mercury boys who welcomed you with open arms like you were a part of their dysfunctional family the whole time.
and luke.
where do you even start with luke? luke castellan was the boy you had promised yourself never to fall for again. the heartbreaker, the player, the musician, and yet, here you were, completely eating your words. everything you thought you knew about him was wrong and since you let your guard down, your world was turned on its axis. he was so much more than what people made him out to be. he was so much more than you expected him to be.
and you were lucky enough to have him. who knew a summer in montauk would lead to this?
“to close out our incredible summer, welcome poisoned mercury!” your dad said, clapping wildly as the boys entered the stage. he placed the mic back on the stand, giving short hugs to the band as they walked up to him. luke was the last to hug your dad and their interaction lasted longer than the rest of the boys’. when they pulled away from their embrace, luke had a slight blush on his face and a goofy grin as his eyes scanned the crowd to find you.
he sent you a shy wave from the stage as he adjusted the mic to his level. you blew him a kiss, which he returned and that made the crowd go wild. to them, luke was blowing a kiss into the ether, a message with no recipient, but you knew it was meant for you. something about it made your heart constrict in your chest. it was still hard to believe he chose you, but luke spent every waking moment making sure you believed it.
“camp half blood,” luke said, eyes twinkling under the lights. travis picked up his drumsticks from the floor, giving the left one a twirl, as he got situated on his stool. connor and chris played their guitars experimentally, tweaking the strings to get the right key. “man, i don’t even think we can explain just how thankful we are to have spent the summer with you all.”
luke turned around to face the boys who all nodded in agreement.luke faced the crowd again, sighing, “i learned a lot of things here. one being, there are a lot of talented people out there in the world. getting to work with y’all was such an amazing experience. many of you guys are aspiring musicians, and i’m here to tell you to keep going. i know it seems like sometimes your dreams aren’t worth chasing, but i promise you they are.”
“some of you kids are so talented,” luke said, shaking his head in disbelief. “little beth, i’m talking about you when i say this. you’re brilliant and i know i’m gonna be seeing your name in the charts in a few years. you got more talent in your pinky finger than we four up here have combined.”
the rest of the boys laughed, but agreed. luke narrowed his eyes, searching for a few more faces to give a shoutout to, “oh! and our boys percy and grover! we love you guys. keep in touch. you guys have to join us in the studio one day.”
“did luke castellan just give us a shoutout?” grover asked, turning to percy with his eyes as wide as saucers.
you laughed, patting him on the back, “i believe he did.”
“holy shit,” percy mumbled.
“language.”
“come on, counselor clarisse,” the blond boy groaned, “camp is over.”
clarisse huffed, smiling teasingly, “fine. i’ll give you a pass this one time.”
“not many people know this, but i went to camp half blood when i was younger,” luke continued, looking down at his feet. “it was my favorite place in the world. some of my best memories involved me sitting right where many of you are sitting right now, but then life happened and things went sideways for me for a while. it took me a while to pick up a guitar again, but man, i’m so glad i did.”
“if it wasn’t for music, i wouldn’t be here in front of you guys today,” he smiled, locking eyes with you, “and i wouldn’t have had the best summer of my life.”
“holy shit,” clarisse said, mimicking percy. she turned to you with a wide grin, “castellan is talking about you up there.”
“he is not.”
as if he read your mind, luke leaned into the mic, “thanks, five star.”
your heart swelled as memories of this summer flooded your mind; the smoke sessions in your secret spot that soon became luke’s as much as it was yours. hours sitting on the creaky bench as you both got lost in the fog of vices and genuine conversations. the bench where you learned about luke and he learned about you, something more than just introductions and superficial answers; the countless impromptu jam sessions in your cabin that started with you playing records on your speaker and ended with the boys playing their instruments as they screamed out lyrics to their favorite songs with you and clarisse. constant noise complaints from neighboring cabins because you were being too loud so late at night with melodies and laughter escaping through your open window. luke pulling you into his lap as he whispered cheesy love songs into your ear as you giggled; the days in your room, locked away with luke, enjoying his company. his lips always finding their way back to yours like a promise that he’ll always be around. luke. luke luke.
you were glad the lights were focused on the stage so nobody could see your red cheeks. the boys cheered from behind luke, unabashedly voicing their approval of your relationship. the crowd cheered along, even if none of them knew what the situation was. luke rolled his eyes at his friends for the commotion they started, “the song we’re playing for you today is not yet released, but we decided that it’s the perfect song to end the perfect summer. this song is called long way home, we hope you like it.”
–
“did you know you had a dimple on your back?” you asked, letting your finger linger in the crevice on luke’s skin. goosebumps raised on his tanned flesh as you lightly grazed his exposed back. “right here.”
“mhm,” he replied, off-handedly. he didn’t really know what you were saying. he was too dazed by the feeling of your touch on him. you two were on the grass on the hill by the lake, a reprieve, a plead for time to stop even just for a few minutes. tomorrow summer would officially be over. tomorrow the two of you would be leaving camp half blood. tomorrow you would no longer have empty hours to fill with each other.
luke didn’t want to think about it too much. he’d gotten too used to finding you lounging in your room or in the living room where he could join you to do nothing. to do everything. he didn’t know how he’d survive the next few months without you. your coach gave you the all-clear to resume practice once you were back on campus, which meant that visits during short breaks were no longer an option. luke was happy that things worked out for you, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed that you could no longer visit him during thanksgiving break.
droplets of water from your hair trickled down his back. he was face down with his head facing you, eyes fluttered shut as a sign of peace, while you leaned over him, tracing shapes on his back. you’d both just emerged from the water, checking off items on your “summer goodbye bucket list.” that’s what you’ve been up to this last week, revisiting memories and places that you weren’t ready to leave yet.
you chuckled softly, pressing a light kiss on luke’s spine. he smiled at the feeling of your lips, eyes hazily opening to meet yours. you took your place beside him, propping yourself up on an elbow as you watched luke come back to his senses, “are you even listening to me?”
“of course,” he lied, grinning at you in the boyish and charming way that always had your knees buckling. he squinted as you moved your head, the heat of the sun hitting his face, “‘m always listening to you, five star.”
“liar.”
he laughed then, letting the sound echo into the air, “i try my best, at least. but i’m no multitasker. i can’t concentrate when you’re sitting here all pretty in front of me and touching me like this.”
“you’re such a flirt,” you grimaced, though the smile on your face gave away your true feelings for the boy. luke looked pretty like this. there was no tension in his shoulders, like he was finally letting himself breathe. you wondered when you’d see him like this again. just last night after the celebration, you two had stayed up talking until deep into the night about how nervous he was to come back to the spotlight. he’d found solace in camp half blood, in not having to look over his shoulder every day in fear of the world. he didn’t know how the public would react to him being back again, especially since he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up his facade now that it’s all crumbled since he met you.
maybe it was his lack of sleep that was making him vulnerable and a little delirious, but he shared with you that he felt like he’s changed. the luke that walked into camp half blood who was too scared to be himself in fear of rejection and failure was no longer there. a few months ago, he wouldn’t be caught dead like this, all soft and gentle for a girl. he couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to see a girl more than once. but with you, he couldn’t help it. the luke that he truly was became his default state when he was with you. all he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and be with you for as long as you’d let him.
“you say that like it’s a bad thing, baby,” he grumbled, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “you don’t like it when i flirt with you?”
you rolled your eyes playfully, adjusting your head until you fully blocked the light from his face again. you laced your fingers with his, letting out a hum when he squeezed your hand. “i didn’t say that.”
“so, let me flirt with you,” luke said. “i like flirting with you. you blush every time i do it and i think it’s fucking adorable.”
“stop,” you whined knowing that the blush he was referring to was starting to show on your skin. maybe you could blame it on the heat, but you both knew that that would be a lie. it was because of him. it was always because of him. “you like teasing me, don’t you, castellan?”
“a little bit,” he admitted, scrunching his face up in a way that brought out the creases between his eyebrows. his lips curved into a lopsided smile. his arms reached out to snake around your waist, pulling you on his body as he laid on his back. he placed his hands along the expanse of your bare thighs as you situated yourself on his abdomen. your fingers played with the silver chain around his neck. luke massaged your thighs, sighing out, “i like knowing i have that effect on you.”
“me and half the female population,” you snorted, “as much as you act like you know just how amazing you are since you have a gigantic ego, i feel like you also don’t give yourself enough credit.”
luke quirked an eyebrow, “was that a compliment, five star?”
“don’t get used to it,” you smacked his shoulder lightly, making him let out a chuckle. his chest rumbled from under you as his hands made their way up your waist. luke’s hands were always warm. he had callouses on his fingers from playing guitar and bumps on his palms from lifting at the gym. there were characteristics about his hands that made you believe that you’d know his touch even if you were blindfolded. there was something different in the way he touched you, even in the most innocent ways, you knew when it was luke. there was a light in your brain that would go off every time he was around, like your body, mind, and heart knew when he was there.
“i’ll take what i can get,” he conceded.
“does it bother you that i don’t compliment you as much as you compliment me?”
“nah,” he replied, looking up at you. the sun was framing your face in a way that made his breath hitch. you looked ethereal like this. it was like you were a figment of his imagination. luke had to place his hand flat on your ribcage to feel you breathe just to convince himself that you were real. “makes these little moments even sweeter.”
“but you know, right?” you questioned, eyes not once leaving his own. a shadow of doubt flashed across your irises. “you know what i think of you?”
luke castellan had a way with words that left you speechless. perhaps it was because he was a songwriter, trained to string together words in a way that you could never achieve. he made a living by writing, by voicing how he felt, and turning it into art, into music. there were many moments where luke would say things so poetically that it made your head spin. he says things so casually, so easily like he didn’t just utter out the most romantic things you’ve ever heard in your life.
you envied him for it, a little bit. you wished you could tell him how you felt about him as easily as he said it with you, but anything you tried to say felt like it would pale in comparison. luke didn’t mind. you had your own way of showing him how you felt. it was in your touch, taking your time to admire his imperfections. it was in the way you kissed him, smiling so wide like you couldn’t help it whenever he would press his lips to yours. it was in the way you paid attention to him, the little things that he didn’t even realize he did.
“‘course, i do,” luke tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. he took his time bringing his hand back to your waist. he liked seeing you nuzzle your face into his palm as you kissed his wrist. “but i wouldn’t be opposed to hearing you say it, either.”
“i’m not good at saying how i feel,” you said, shoulder hunching as you spoke. it felt like you were letting him in on a secret that you’d never told anyone else. luke could feel his heartbeat in his chest. you dropped the poisoned mercury pendant back on his chest as you leaned down to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “i’m working on it, though. might just take me a while.”
luke smiled at you. his voice was earnest as he placed a kiss on the top of your head, “we got all the time in the world, five star. there’s no rush.”
you furrowed your eyebrows at his words, “we leave tomorrow, luke.”
“mhm,” he repeated, thumb running across your lower back. it made you shiver, the realization of his words hitting you. “like i said, we got all the time in the world.”
you pulled away from him, cradling his face in your hands as you placed a kiss on his lips, “yeah, we do.”
well now that you let the angst monster peek out… can we have a luke and five star argument that happens while she’s visiting that leaves everyone tense and forcing them to make up, or smth along those lines?? i need more of their angst it’s too good 😁🙏
song: i choose you by kiana lede
"what do you want me to do, five star?" luke asked, trailing behind you. you both just entered the concert venue for their second album's listening session. the event was starting in a few hours and it was a struggle to sneak in through the back without any of the fans noticing you.
"do not call me that right now," you hissed, marching over to the back exit.
"fuck, are you serious? can you just-- stop walking so fast!" luke picked up his pace and planted his feet in front of you. he looked at you in disbelief as you crossed your arms over your chest with your lips in a pout. you tried to look at anything but him. "what do you want me to do, huh? you don't want people to know about us, which is fine! i'm good with that, but i can't control what people say about me. i can't control that they're speculating things. you know they're not true!"
you were being stubborn. you knew this. it wasn't luke's fault that someone named him as their celebrity crush and that the poisoned mercury fans were shipping them now. it wasn't his fault that your tiktok page was just edits of your boyfriend and the gorgeous, beautiful, singer. she didn't know luke was in a relationship. she didn't even know you existed.
outside of yours and luke's immediate circles, nobody knew. the long-distance thing was a blessing in disguise while you two hid your relationship from the public. no paparazzi pictures. no fan sightings.
"i don't know, okay?" you groaned, rubbing your face with your hands. "i don't know what i want right now."
"it looks like you wanna leave," luke clenched his jaw, gesturing to the door you were racing towards. "is that what you wanna do?"
you looked at him, hard and cold, "maybe i do."
luke scoffed, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to hide the hurt in his face. he shook his head, an empty smile appearing on his lips, "fine. go, then."
around the corner, the boys and clarisse watched in silence. they were startled by the sound of you and luke arguing. you weren't yelling at each other, but the tone of your voices were rough. they'd never heard you guys like this before.
you and luke always spoke in hushed whispers with each other. sickeningly loving voices that were reserved for each other. the boys often joked about throwing up every time you and luke shared a kiss in front of them, but they loved seeing the two of you in love. so seeing you guys argue was something they weren't prepared for.
sure, couples argue and they fight, they weren't stupid enough to think that you two didn't do that, but you two always seemed to work it out. neither of you have ever left each other like this.
connor turned to clarisse when you walked out of the venue, slamming the door behind you as you left the building, "well, shit."
"what do we do?" travis questioned, panic in his eyes. "we have a gig in a few and luke is supposed to be singing these love songs he wrote about the girl who just left."
"dude. that's the last thing that should be on your mind," chris smacked him on the arm, "they just got in a fight."
"come on, it's luke and y/n. they're not gonna break up," he replied nonchalantly, "they're meant to be. i'm not worried about them."
"i am," clarisse mumbled. the boys all turned to look at her. "i-i've never seen her like this."
the boys were close, of course, they were, but they didn't always talk about relationships like this. they only knew about the surface-level things about your relationship because luke wasn't one to gush about the details of it. but if clarisse, who knew more about your side of the story, says that they should be worried, then maybe they should be.
before any of them could reply, luke walked by the group, grumbling and visibly upset. he collapsed on the couch with a thud and glared at them, "what?"
"are we gonna ignore the fucking elephant in the room?" travis asked, quirking an eyebrow. he motioned to the area where luke was previously standing, "what the fuck was that?"
"i'm not in the mood, stoll."
"you need to be more empathetic, bro," connor sighed, placing a hand on the older stoll's back.
"hey, none of you keep me for my empathy," travis shrugged, sitting beside luke. he nudged him with his elbow, trying to get him to crack a smile, "you keep me for my innate ability to kill it on the drums and for my humor. oh! and my killer looks, how can i forget that?"
luke snorted, letting out a dry laugh. he shoved travis playfully, easing his shoulders, "you're terrible."
"you guys okay?" clarisse piped in, standing beside chris. she reached for his hand to anchor her. "that seemed intense."
"i don't know," luke chewed on his bottom lip, "she's mad that fans are shipping me with some actress that said i was her celebrity crush, but i don't know what to do about it."
"oh, i've seen those edits," she cringed, sending luke a sad smile. "they're everywhere right now."
"clar, i don't know what i'm supposed to do here," luke was out of ideas. he propped his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. "she doesn't want people to know about us, which is fair. i get it. i'm fine with keeping it under wraps for now because i also don't want the media in my personal business and i don't wanna subject her to that. but like-- what am i supposed to do? i can't control what people make up online."
"yeah that's fair," she mused. she paused for a second. "did she ever tell you about the guy who asked her out to his frat formal?"
"yeah," luke mumbled, "la rue, if your goal was to get me madder, it's working because i distinctly remember telling five star that i would fly to north carolina to punch that guy square in the jaw."
"calm down," she laughed, "but you know how you're feeling right now? that's how y/n feels, but like a hundred times more. imagine people telling you that your girlfriend would be perfect with some other guy, who probably would make more sense for her. he goes to her school, he's attractive-- their relationship would make sense."
"y/n has to deal with having to share you with the world, luke. and it's not your fault and she wouldn't trade what you guys have for anything, but having to see people talk about her boyfriend being perfect with someone else? i dunno," she shrugged, looking at chris. chris held her hand tighter. she turned to luke again, "i would probably react the same way as her."
"oh," luke conceded. "just curious, what was the guy's name?"
"y/n didn't even bother getting his name," clarisse said. "she just said no and walked away. then she called you because she missed you."
"get your ass up and get your girl, castellan," travis pushed luke off the couch.
luke didn't need to be told twice. he opened the door, craning his head left and right to look for you. he saw you leaning against the wall, a familiar device in your hand. you exhaled, smoke escaping your parted lips, walking over to him.
luke met you halfway, pulling you to his body when he got close enough. he placed a kiss on the crown of your head, "don't like it when we fight."
"i don't either," you mumbled, gripping him tightly, "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have taken it out on you."
"you know there's nobody else for me, yeah?"
"no, i know," you pulled away from him a tiny bit, but luke wasn't having it. he wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you from taking a step back. you looked up at him, feeling vulnerable, "it's just getting to me, i think. it's hard to be unphased when everyone wants your boyfriend."
"fuck everyone else," luke hummed, placing a soft kiss on your lips. your lips molded together perfectly. "want you. only you. next time you're feeling this way, tell me, okay? i can think of so many better ways than fighting to reassure you of how i feel."
you giggled, trailing kisses on his jawline, "i can think of a few ways right now."
he pulled out his phone, turning to face you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "we got a three hours. how many ways do you think we can do?"
--
"so this song is not on the album," luke started, taking his mic off the stand. the crew rushed over to switch to the acoustic set. his eyes found yours in the small crowd. you furrowed your eyebrows in a questioning manner. "but we wanted to give you guys a surprise song at this listening session."
travis got situated on his acoustic drum set, sending luke a thumbs up. the rest of the boys sat on the stools in front of the crowd. cheers erupted from the group you and clarisse sat with, all buzzing with excitement that they were getting an unreleased song.
"i wrote this song a few weeks ago and we haven't gotten the chance to record it so it may be rough," luke laughed into the mic, eyes not leaving yours. "but i wrote this song about a girl that i met last summer. and... well, i'll let the song speak for itself. this is 'i choose you.' hope you like it."
pairing: luke castellan x daughter of apollo reader
word count: 3.1k
summary: silena beauregard helps you get ready for what is absolutely, definitely, totally not a date with luke
content: little bit of insecurity talk, r is insecure about scars she has from fighting
notes: it is october in their universe we are officially in the home stretch!!
Silena Beauregard thinks you’re one of the prettiest people at camp — and it’s not only because of your face.
You’re pretty in the traditional sense, of course. But she’s never seen someone light up a room quite like you do. You’re able to make people glow just by giving them one of your gorgeous smiles, something that it seems only you have mastered. And you’re ridiculously strong. She’s never seen someone look so pretty after effortlessly beating someone into the dirt.
You’re one of the most efficient medics at camp, too. She’s convinced part of your healing ability starts the second you see someone—something about your presence has its own soothing effect.
You’re one of the most capable people she knows, so it’s safe to say that Silena’s beyond honored that you’ve asked for her help with something.
She swings her cabin door open the second she hears the knock.
“Hi,” she greets, a small smile on her face.
You’re already grinning at her, and it feels like she’s lifted off of the floor with the force of your smile alone.
“Thank you so much for helping me with this, Silena.” You throw your arms around her in a big hug, and she squeezes you tight.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” she says genuinely. “Gods, when you first asked me to help you get ready to go out, I was so excited!”
“You’re the best,” you gush. “Your perfume smells so nice, by the way. Where’s it from?”
Silena is grinning while she tells you all about how her older sister took a class on olfaction in college and made this specific perfume just for her.
She leads you over to her vanity next to her bed, and flicks on the switch that lights up the entire mirror. You squint, not expecting it, and she says a little oops before dimming the bulbs.
“Is that better?”
“That’s perfect.”
Silena hums as she starts pulling out her different makeup pouches, searching in each drawer for everything she needs.
“So,” she starts, feeling awfully like her hairdresser back home. She leans against her dresser so she can get a good look at your face. “What’s the occasion?”
You look away from her faster than she can comprehend it, smiling sheepishly.
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
She squints at you, not believing it for a second. “Oh, come on. You came here to get all dressed up! There has to be a special something happening.”
“Well..” You drag out the letters while she gets started on moisturizing your face. “I’m just… It’s nothing super big.”
“Go on.”
“I’m just going to carve pumpkins.”
Halloween is in a couple weeks, and Silena could not be more excited. It’s one holiday Camp Half-Blood goes all out for, and the decorations everyone puts up are a perfect mix between frighteningly realistic and perfectly haunted. There’s pumpkin carving all month and a horror maze being put up next week.
“Oh, that’s so fun! Are you going with your siblings?”
“Oh, no. I’m going with Luke.”
Silena tries not to squeal too loud.
“You’re going on a date with Luke Castellan?”
“No, no, no—” you try to deny, but Silena doesn’t buy it for a second.
“Good for you!” Silena isn’t blind. Luke is gorgeous. He’s both adorably cute and insanely hot, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t have a crush on him at one point. “I’ve been wondering when he was going to ask you out!”
You slump in her chair like a sad balloon, and her hand stills by your face. “No, uh… he hasn’t.”
“Huh?” Silena puts down her brush to look you completely in the eye. “But—but you two are going to carve pumpkins.”
“Yeah, so?”
“And you’re going alone?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“And he asked you?”
You pause. “Yes, but, Silena—”
“Then it’s a date!” she insists, knocking a bottle clear off the vanity.
You’re frowning when you catch the container before it hits the floor. “There’s no way that’s even possible.”
Silena stands up straight, her eyes spinning around the empty room like she’s on a hidden camera show. She looks back at you with a very judgmentally raised eyebrow.
“Wait, you…” She blinks twice. “You don’t think he likes you?”
You look away from Silena so you can stare holes into the mirror instead.
“I don’t just think that. I know there’s no way he ever would.”
Silena knows her eyes are wide as saucers at your completely incorrect assumption.
Luke Castellan has it bad for you — it’s something everyone’s kind of accepted by now. He’s constantly following you around, constantly talking about you, constantly teasing you, and constantly giving you the biggest heart eyes ever. Apparently, it’s obvious to absolutely everyone but you.
Silena thinks the chances of Luke not having a massive crush on you is a big fat zero.
But… you seem pretty sure, and she knows the two of you are close. Who would know better than someone who’s actually friends with him?
She resumes her work on your face after a very hesitant second. “Did he say something to you?”
You shake your head, your eyes shut while she pats product into your face. “No, Luke’s way too nice, he’d never.”
And it’s also probably because he’s absolutely obsessed with you, Silena thinks to herself.
“Then why do you think he would never like you?”
Your face screws up while you think about it, your eyes going through every shade of emotion. After a quiet few seconds, you groan and move to put your face in your hands.
She bats your palms away from the powder she’s set under your eyes. “Not the face!”
“Oops, sorry,” you say, holding your hands up and away.
“But answer the question.”
You look at your shoes, and your face is twisted with embarrassment when you say, “We fight all the time. No guy would ever like someone who argues as much as I do.”
Silena’s at a loss for words. You and Luke’s little rivalry is far from a secret, and it’s very clear to everyone that he enjoys getting his ass handed to him every other day by you. And it’s also totally obvious he loves riling you up and teasing you until you get flustered.
“Boys can be weird,” she says, adding the finishing touches to your eyelashes. “Luke argues with you all the time too. He’s flirting with you in his own way.”
“Could you imagine?” You laugh, but it sounds a little sad. “There’s no way any normal guy would ever like the girl that makes fun of him for breathing too loud.”
If that’s the case, then Luke Castellan is far from normal. He leaves your little arguments with the biggest smiles on his face.
“Me and Luke are only ever going to be friends,” you insist, your eyes fluttering open now that Silena’s all done. “Especially because…” you trail off before waving your hands around aimlessly. “You know how Luke is.”
“What about him?”
She takes a quick glance at the weather outside before cracking open a few of her sisters’ trunks for you. Silena knows they won’t mind that she’s borrowing her clothes, especially if it’s for something as special as a date with Luke Castellan.
Because that is absolutely what this is, no matter how much you deny it.
“He’s really cute,” you say simply, a wistful hint to your words. “And everyone knows it. He could have anyone he wanted.”
“Yeah,” Silena pipes up, ankle deep in an array of sweaters. “Like you.”
You throw a decorative pillow at her that she swats away with a laugh.
“Just off the top of my head, I can name about fifteen people madly in love with him who are much nicer to him than I am,” you point out, turning onto your stomach. “There’s absolutely no reason why he would like me of all people. ”
Silena tosses a nice sweater at you before giving you a very pointed look. It upsets her to see people doubt themselves, especially when it’s a person as lovely as you.
“And how many of them has he wanted to hang out with alone?” she points out.
Your lips flatten out into a line, annoyed, because you know she has a point.
“He asked you,” she reminds. “Not anyone else.”
She lets you sit with your thoughts while she finishes finding something nice for you to wear.
The Aphrodite girls own such a huge amount of clothes, which makes for good variety but makes choosing what to wear beyond overwhelming. Silena takes a few minutes, but is able to narrow down about eight different pants to just two jeans.
“Which one?” she asks, comparing the way they’d look paired with your shoes.
She’s definitely leaning towards the one on the left, but your sweater would look so much cuter with the one on the right. She looks up at you to gauge your opinion, and finds that you’re staring off blankly into space.
“Hellooo?” she says, snapping her fingers at you. “Are you okay?”
You blink hard, like you’ve just now realized that she’s been trying to speak to you. Silena thinks you gesture vaguely to the one on the right before you go limp in her pile of pillows.
“I’m sorry. I’m so grateful you’re doing this for me, I swear. But I just can’t stop thinking.”
The girl gives you a sympathetic smile, tossing the rejected pair of pants to the side so she can come sit down next to you.
“It’s no problem at all,” she insists, fixing a few wayward bits of hair. “Talking about what’s bothering you really helps me.”
You squeeze her hand thankfully. “I just hate Luke,” you say, without a hint of conviction in your voice. “He makes me think about stupid stuff like this.”
There’s a dejected look on your face, and Silena rubs your back soothingly.
“One of my older sisters always tells me that comparison is the thief of joy,” she says sagely. “Don’t compare yourself to those other girls. You’re a gem, and I promise you Luke sees it too. There should be no room for doubt in your life.”
The gloomy shadow over your head wanes when you give her your infectious, always sunny smile.
“You’re really wise, Silena.”
She tries not to let that get to her head, but she can’t help and grin at you. “I know!”
You move to unfold the partition in the corner of the room while she goes to put on some music. She pops her CD in and Natasha Bedingfield fills the room.
“So,” Silena says, while she starts packing away her makeup. “How long have you liked Luke?”
There’s a thud when you drop something behind the divider, and then a shuffle as you hurry to pick it up again.
“What?”
“It’s something everyone goes through,” she jokes as she shuts her drawers. “So don’t worry, you’re not alone!”
“I… I mean, well—”
You cut yourself off before you can trail off too much.
“Gods,” you grumble. “He’s just so charming it makes me sick.”
Silena stops herself from clapping her hands together but allows herself a few seconds of giggling. “I know, right! He’s so sweet.”
“Too sweet. I used to be immune to his stupid face, but it’s like I’m weak now,” you lament from across the room. “He asked me to carve pumpkins with him and I stuttered for like a minute straight before saying yes.”
“Young love,” she says dreamily, imagining the big ask. “That’s so cute!”
You laugh, and it sounds like little bells jingling.
Her CD plays on in the back while you finish getting changed, and Silena begins to tell you about how she almost took someone’s eye out the last time she carved a pumpkin. She insists that painting is much more fun, and the two of you end up making pumpkin painting plans by the time you shut the partition.
You hold your hands out and give a little spin, and Silena’s jaw drops. You have a real, palpable shine to you that makes her feel like the sun is being reflected into her eyes.
Each piece is beyond flattering on you, and she decides that whoever made the whole neon orange camp t-shirt a required thing is downright evil.
“You’re glowing,” she coos. “Oh, you’re so pretty! You gotta be ready to catch Luke, ‘cause he’s definitely going to pass out when he sees you.”
You drag her into one last hug, giggling and bashful. “Thank you, Silena. I look this nice because of you.”
“As if,” she says. “You’re one of the prettiest people ever. This is all you!”
She gives you a once over again, and it’s like an actual light bulb turns on over her head. She pictures you with this leather jacket she got a while back and knows it’s exactly what you need.
“It’s cold out, and I have a jacket that’d go perfect with this, give me a sec!”
Silena darts quickly on her feet to the walk-in closet that one of her sisters built a few years ago, letting you do your own thing in the main part of the cabin. It takes her a few minutes to rifle through the amount of outerwear her family owns, but she finds the coat tucked between a big black puffer and a thrifted hoodie of her brother’s.
Silena calls your name, excited to see your final look come together, when she pauses in her tracks.
Someone else is standing in the cabin, and she can’t help but slap her hand over her mouth to resist screaming.
“Sunshine, as I live and breathe.”
Luke’s also exchanged his Camp Half-Blood shirt for more casual clothes, and though that orange tee does wonders for his arms, he looks especially nice in his knitted sweater and nice jeans.
He’s so hot. She has no idea how you’re even conscious right now.
You’re looking at yourself in the mirror, but Silena does not miss the wide grin you have on your face when you catch sight of him behind you.
“You’re breaking into cabins now?” you ask.
Your voice is so calm and even that Silena wants to applaud you. She feels nervous just at the sight of him.
Luke matches your grin with his own. Completely ignoring your question, he says, “You look really pretty.”
You duck your head, flustered. “Thanks, Luke. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
He clutches his chest, his knees buckling. “Wait, did you just—”
“Luke Castellan, don’t start—”
“Did you just compliment me? Are you getting soft on me?”
“In your dreams.”
“I’m starting to think this is one,” he says easily. “I’d say there’s an angel in front of me right now.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you answer through your laugh.
Neither of your smiles fade away for a single second as he moves to stand behind you in the mirror.
You stick out your hand in his direction. “Do you mind helping me put this back on?”
There’s a little flash of metal that Silena recognizes as a necklace you’d had on earlier, and she stifles a laugh. You’re more smooth than you give yourself credit for.
“Of course,” Luke says, as kind as ever.
From the walk-in, Silena has an excellent view of him struggling with the clasp. He pulls an awkward face or two before he gets it secured around your neck and even goes to fix the chain for you.
Silena’s jaw nearly unhinges itself when Luke’s hand slides down your back, his fingers dancing over your skin.
“Pretty gnarly scars, right?” you say, shifting your sweater. It has an open back, and though you don’t look too uncomfortable, you don’t seem used to having your back exposed. “They’re kind of scary to look at.”
“I think they look cool,” Luke replies, and it’s clear he’s not just saying that to flatter you.
There’s a bunch of scars littering the expanse of your skin, both new and old. Some are the size of a scratch while others are larger and inches thick.
Silena knows that although some campers see their scars as a sign of strength, there’s still a bunch of them who get insecure about the way the marks look.
She immediately feels bad. She hadn’t even thought about asking if the sweater was something you were comfortable with.
You look disarmed by his words, your hand moving back to run over a few of the marks. After a few moments, your face breaks out into another smile.
“Watch out, Luke, or I might just win our next sparring match,” you warn teasingly. “I’ll slip right through your hands with the way you’re buttering me up right now.”
“Funny,” he says flatly, before dragging you away from Silena’s mirror. “Wanna head out?”
“Sure.”
He’s starting to walk backwards to the door when his head tilts. “You don’t have a coat?”
“Nope. I’ll be fine, though. A single gust of wind won’t kill me.”
Silena fights back another squeal when Luke shrugs his jacket off and places it around your shoulders.
“You can borrow mine.”
“I’ll be fine, Luke. You keep it.”
“No, I insist.”
“Silena’s just run to get me one of hers, I’m sure she’ll—”
The coat and hanger get shoved back into the depths of the racks before you can even finish your sentence. She swings the closet door open, a fake frown on her face.
“Whoops,” Silena says. “I think I lost it.”
“What?” you say incredulously, looking awfully embarrassed with Luke’s jacket around you. “Are there no other—”
“Nope, sorry.” She shuts the closet door behind her. “My sisters get a little tetchy about sharing their clothes, you know how siblings can be!”
You glance down at your borrowed sweater before looking back at Silena, realization creeping up your face.
“Man, that really does suck,” Luke says, not sounding disturbed in the slightest. He’s grinning when he puts his hand on your back to usher you out the door.
“Maybe that jacket will show up eventually.” Silena shrugs, a shameless smile on her face. “What a bummer.”
Luke shuts up the rest of your complaints by slotting your arms through the sleeves himself, refusing your attempts at giving it back to him. He zips up the front too, just for good measure.
“I hope you guys have fun!” Silena says before the door shuts.
Luke looks back to wink at her while your back is turned. Before he lets the door close, he mouths two words at her.
Thank you.
notes: so so sorry there was not much of luke and sunshine in this but i really wanted to show more of her feelings for him!! she has some real struggles as a girl in love with the camp sweetheart
++ thank you all so much for ur patience bc its been a hot minute since ive updated lol. as always feedback is soooo appreciated tysm for reading! <3
“ WHERE EVEN DEATH CANNOT PART US. ” @anywherebuthere - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
