anywherebuthere

[anywherebuthere]

SO BE GOOD (SWEET) TO ME —

⤷ 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!!

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

[anywherebuthere]

poisoned mercury | long way home

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.” 

[anywherebuthere]

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."

[anywherebuthere]

one year with luke castellan

↳ october 14 with silena beauregard

series masterlist

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

[anywherebuthere]

rumours (fic)

jj maybank x grumpy!fem!reader | HEAVILY inspired

content warning: mentions of drinking and smoking; absent parents

word count: 20k.

blurb: your life has been surrounded by rumours, and so has JJ Maybank's. One night, out of the blue, he strikes up a conversation with you. From there, the rumours only grow, and some rumours are far worse than others.

There was a rumour that you and your sister weren’t allowed to date until graduating high school. That one was true, until March of Junior Year.

Kildare Academy was full of spoilt assholes.

Well, in fairness, not everyone fit into that category. Some people were spoilt but bearable, and some people were assholes but not particularly spoilt. Rafe Cameron was the perfect culmination of both. He was in your junior year despite being a senior. He flunked so hard last year that the academy insisted that he retake it to graduate with a subpar diploma. At the yacht club, it had been the talk for about two months, much to the displeasure of Ward and Rose Cameron. You’d found yourself sharing nearly every class with Rafe since the year started and, man oh man, was it torture.

He found you the perfect bear to poke, never passing the opportunity to make a jab about your clothes or your face or your overall demeanour. The latter to mean that you weren’t the most approachable of people. Whilst you self-described as tempestuous, others might prefer the term ‘heinous bitch’. Rafe Cameron knew how to push your buttons it seemed, and you in turn knew how to bite back just enough to leave a mark.

“I can’t wait to get out of this town,” you complain to your friend Mia. “If I have to spend another seventeen years surrounded by these half-wits then I’ll pull a Sylvia Plath, I swear.”

“Clearly today has been a good day,” Mia chuckles. She’d known you long enough for the bitter grump of your character not to phase her. “Rafe bothering you again?”

“He’s intolerable,” you tell her, indirectly answering her question. “In music today he thought it’d be funny to put cola in the trombone. Men blow my mind with their stupidity. God knows how the patriarchy was even formed with how little brain cells they use.”

The two of you walk down the stairs of the school, heading to the parking lot amongst the herd of students. The spring weather is finally creeping in now that you're in March. The floral smell of blossoms hangs in the air, embracing the world in a warmish breeze. The briefly pleasant moment is rudely interrupted by none other but the devil-boy himself. His bright red Mercedes whips into the throughway of the parking lot. He doesn't seem to care about hitting anybody. To him, others are like bowling pins: he’d probably take delight in taking someone out.

You and Mia ignore him as you walk up to your car. At least, that was the plan, until you look up from your keys in time to see your younger sister Charlotte hopping into the back of Rafe’s pimped out ride per his offer.

“That’s an interesting development,” Mia remarks.

You watch as Rafe revs the engine - grinning like the pompous asshole he is - before jetting away. He narrowly misses knocking some poor kid off his bike in the process.

“It’s disgusting, is what it is,” you correct, promptly blinking away the surprise.

You follow Mia into your car, tossing your track bag into the backseat, and start up the engine.

Charlotte was only fifteen. She was young, innocent, carefree and (more often than not) insufferable. You couldn’t be more different. Whilst Charlotte searched for the good in people, you tried to find ways to stay as far away from them as possible. The only tell that you were related were your features. The same nose and same chin, you taking your father’s eyes and her your mother’s. At school, Charlotte enjoyed pretending that she didn’t know who you were. Your reputation didn’t pair well with hers, and at fifteen, nothing was more important to Charlotte than popularity. Those things didn’t matter to you. What someone thought of you didn’t make much difference to your mood or your future. Studying on the other hand? That was the stuff of consequence. Nevertheless, you cared for your sister. Her cushioned upbringing made her vulnerable. She had been sheltered by your family’s wealth and because of your father’s obsessive protectiveness, her experiences with boys were minimal. That to say, having her in Rafe’s line of sight certainly made you uneasy.

You drive home chatting to Mia about the plans for the weekend - planning to head to The Wreck for lunch on Saturday - but you can’t stop thinking about Charlotte sat in the back of Rafe’s car. When you pull up outside Mia’s house, she pauses just after opening the door.

“What do you think that was about? With Charlotte and Rafe?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” you reply, turning down the radio. "But I’m not gonna let it go any further.”

“Amen,” Mia agrees. With that, she gives a small wave and climbs out the car. “See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

When you pull up outside your house, you spot your dad sitting on the porch. He’s probably reading notes about the latest case he’s taken on. As one of the best lawyers on Figure Eight, he always has plenty of work to be chipping away at. Sometimes it feels like he has a new client every week.

You make your way up the neatly kept garden path, the creaking gate giving you away.

“Afternoon sweetheart,” he says, not looking up.

“Hey dad,” you reply, walking up the steps.

“How’s your day been? Made anyone cry yet?”

“Not yet, but the day’s still young,” you return, only half joking. With that, he glances up. “How’s the case?”

“Long. Boring. Don’t let on that I said that.” he says. “Where’s your sister?”

Before you can delight in telling, as if manifested into existence, Charlotte comes floating up the pathway. Her ridiculously short white tennis skirt floats in the wind like a dove’s feathered wings taking flight. Not one hair is out of place and not one eyelash misaligned. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as she makes her way up the stairs.

“Where’ve you been?” your dad immediately quizzes.

“Nowhere daddy.”

“How come you’re later home than your sister?”

“Well, somebody wouldn’t give me ride,” Charlotte replies, shooting you a glare. Her perfect smile takes on an edge when you lock eyes.

Your dad sighs and looks up at you. “We talked about this. Until Charlotte gets her license, you drive her to and from school. Y’all are both heading to the same place anyway, so what’s the big whoop?”

“She hijacks my radio and plays fluffy pop crap.”

“Taylor Swift is not ‘fluffy pop crap’. She’s the bible itself. You’re just not used to listening to good music,” Charlotte replies.

Swallowing your anger, you correct your stance, folding your arms across your chest. Biting back a smirk, you say, “ask Charlotte which guy drove her home today.”

“Don’t change the—Guy? What guy?”

Charlotte’s face goes to drop but she recovers quickly. Taking a reproachful step towards your dad like he’s an unpredictable stray dog, she talks in a sickly-sweet voice.

“Now, daddy, don’t be angry, but there’s this boy at school and I think he—”

“Believe me, I think I know what he’ll be thinking,” your dad immediately cuts in. “And the answer is no. It is always no.”

As your little sister’s eyes flash to yours, you grin victoriously. Enjoy, you mouth to her. The angry twitch in her brow is delightful.

“Daddy, this is ridiculous! I’m the only girl in high school who isn’t dating!” Charlotte whines.

“You’re fifteen, you don’t need to be dating. And you’re not the only girl. She isn’t dating either,” your dad replies, shoving a thumb over his shoulder in your direction.

“And I don’t intend to. I got bigger fish to fry,” you say. Charlotte’s deadly stare hardens tenfold. “Besides, the boys in this town are whack jobs.”

“Like music to my ears,” your dad practically sighs. Very rarely do you seem to please him, but your stance on boys appears to be the one common ground the two of you have. “Now y’all both know the rule: no dating ‘til you graduate.”

“This is so unfair! The two of you are so unhinged!” Charlotte goes on. She seems about a minute away from stomping her feet and waving her fists like a toddler throwing a tantrum. You’re only half ashamed to say that you relish in every moment of it.

You see, Charlotte was a daddy’s girl. Pretty, pink and poised, she loved the theatrics of Kook life. At the yacht club gatherings and the monthly dinner parties, the two of them would soak up every minute whilst you’d skulk in the back, headphones in and bitch-face on. You’d never much connected with either of them. Your mom understood you well, but she wasn’t around now, so, what did it matter? All the Kook crap was just that to you: crap. Fickle people who were so rich that their nerves were deadened, leaving them to enjoy nothing more than gossiping about everyone and everything. Whilst one half of the island waited tables and sweated out in the sun day-and-night to keep the lights on, the other was complaining about their golf clubs not being shiny enough. It was all crap.

“Alright, fine. Here’s how we fix this. Old rule out, new rule in. You can date,” your dad says to Charlotte. Her smile is instantaneous. As your mouth goes to gape open in horror – the thought of Rafe Cameron snapping up your sister like a crocodile preying on a bunny – your dad makes your day. “…when your sister does.”

“What!?”

“Har har,” you grin.

Charlotte points accusingly at you. “But she’s a mutant! You couldn’t pay a guy to date her!”

Your grin only grows with the thought.

“Then I guess you’ll never date. Oh! I like the sound of that,” your dad gloats. God, you have never loved him more. “Now get out of my hair, the both of y’all. I need to get these notes done for tomorrow.”

“Thanks dad,” you chirp, promptly heading into the house. Charlotte is quick to follow.

“You’re evil,” she hisses.

You shrug, back facing her as you start up the stairs. “And you’re spoilt.”

“Urgh! Has it ever occurred to you that you’re like clinically insane!?”

“Don’t care!” you sing-song before darting into your room, closing the door behind you. Through the wood, you hear Charlotte let out a shriek.

Smiling, you dump your school bag and take up shop at your desk, hoping to get some studying done, peaceful at last with the thought of Rafe Cameron never getting near your sister.

There was a rumour that when JJ first spoke to you, you spat in his face. That one was false.

“Hiya princess.”

The rasp of a guy’s voice interrupts your conversation about the yacht club’s annual spring-ball with Mia. Slowing turning your head to your left, you come face to face with a dirty-blonde haired boy. He looks to be about seventeen. His skin is slightly glossy, presumably from sunscreen and sweat, and there’s a smirk hiding behind his smile. That’s when you know that this boy is trouble.

“You talking to me?” you ask, unimpressed.

“Who else?”

“Hopefully anyone,” you say.

Mia snorts. You look away from him to share a bemused look with your friend. This guy cannot be serious…

“You need’a hand there?”

Eyebrows pulling together, you glance at him. He seems to think you’re confused about what he’s referring to, nodding down to the Sprite bottle in your hand. The cap’s still on. The truth is, you’re confused as to why he’s even talking to you at all. Wordlessly, you lift the bottle to your mouth and secure your teeth around the cap. There’s the satisfying click-crack as it comes lose and you spit it on the floor by his feet. Then, holding his gaze, you take a drink. His eyebrows quirk up in surprise.

“That’s, uh, certainly one way to get a guy’s attention,” he says, chuckling to try and regain some charm.

“My mission in life,” you return. Then, before he can cook up something else to say, you turn to Mia and loop your arm in hers, guiding the two of you to the exit of The Wreck. You’d been planning on heading out anyway, having finished your lunch earlier, and this was a sign from the universe that whatever good time you’d been having was officially over.

Unfortunately, the guy doesn’t seem so easily deterred.

“I’ll pick up at eight then?”

“Oh, yeah, eight. Uh huh,” you agree dismissively.

He falls in step with you on your left, hands casually shoved in his short pockets, combat boots loudly thudding on the wooden floor.

“Well, you know, the night I take you to places you’ve never been before.”

You see his boyish grin in your peripheral, making you whip your head around to meet his stare.

“Where? The seven-eleven off main street?”

His lips part, blundering for some quick-witted reply, but you don’t give him chance.

“Do you even know my name, screw-boy?”

The smirk is back, full force. Tilting his head slightly, self-assured, he replies, “I know a lot more than you think.”

“Doubtful. Very doubtful,” you assure.

Finally, you and Mia seem to shake him. He doesn’t follow you to your car door and he probably made the right call, because you were moments away from using the bottle of Sprite as a weapon. As you unlock the car, Mia leans against the side of it.

“What was that all about?”

You spare a glance back to The Wreck to find him stood there, glancing inside the building as if debating heading back, scratching the back of his neck. His misplaced confidence seems to have dwindled significantly. Ah, success.

“God knows."

“You know, I think that’s JJ Maybank. One of them Pogues who hangs out with John B,” Mia says.

JJ seems a fitting name for him, you think. You vaguely recall seeing the Pogues hanging around. Kiara from the academy seemed quite close with them. You watch as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting up and taking a drag. Gross.

Pulling open your car door, you look back to Mia. “Come on. Let’s hang out at the beach.”

“Yeah, and far away from that nutjob,” she snorts, walking around the car to the passenger side.

As you go to climb in, you find yourself looking one final time to the entrance of the restaurant. The messy haired boy is nowhere to be found. Good riddance, you think to yourself. Happiness restored, you swing into the driver’s seat and shut the car door.

There was a rumour that your mum was in witness protection. That one was false.

You weren’t entirely sure how it got so late but it was nearly one in the morning. Having spent the past three hours studying, you’d sort of lost track of time. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you’d checked your phone screen.

“Goddamn,” you mumble. Pushing away from your desk, you close your notebook and switch off your lamp.

Walking to the bathroom, you don’t bother closing the door. You know your dad’s asleep by now and with his own en-suite, there’d be no reason why he’d need to use this bathroom. Charlotte is probably asleep too: beauty rest and all that. You turn on the faucet and pull your hair out of your face. You wash and dry and reach for your toothbrush. That’s when Charlotte appears.

“Oh,” she startles. “Didn’t know you were still up.”

“Could say the same to you.”

You take in her pyjamas. They’re Roller Rabbit, selling at $150 a set. Pastel pink and plum purple, they sit sweetly on her dainty frame. You on the other hand are dressed in an oversized t-shirt that you got given for free at an indie film festival, and a pair of boxer-short bottoms.

“Cute pjs,” you tell her.

“Thanks. Daddy bought them for me,” she chirps.

Charlotte makes a b-line to the vanity. She opens the drawer and retrieves the tweezers. You watch her in the mirror as she tames her already perfect eyebrows. She makes eye contact with you through the reflections, taking in your own nightwear. “You could try a new look, you know? People might like you if you weren’t so hostile.”

“I’m not hostile,” you defend. You put toothpaste on your toothbrush, breaking the line of gaze. “I’m annoyed.”

“Potato potata. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if people didn’t like me.”

“You forget that I don’t care what people think,” you reply honestly. What would it matter if some thought you unwelcoming? Everyone ends up as bones in the ground anyway.

“Sure you do,” Charlotte says. “At least on some level.”

It’s too late in the night (or early in the morning) to argue. Instead, you start brushing your teeth. Charlotte goes on pimping and preening her appearance in the mirror silently. She produces a jade face roller and begins massaging her cheekbones and jawline. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. As you’re rinsing out your mouth, you see Charlotte’s extensive skincare routine continue. If someone was to walk in, you’d think she was heading to the Oscars at the crack of dawn. She unbuttons the top two fastenings of her polo pyjama top and shrugs it down enough to reveal her collarbones, taking the effort to jade-roll them too. That’s when you notice the string of pearls around her neck.

“Nice pearls,” you comment, putting your toothbrush away. They did suit her, as did most delicate jewellery.

“Thanks.”

“Dad buy them for you too?”

“No,” she says. “They’re moms.”

Your stomach twists like a viper. “Moms?”

“Yeah. Daddy found them in a drawer last week.”

“And what? Now you’re just gonna start wearing them?” you say aghast, spinning around.

She frowns, looking over her shoulders. “It’s not like she’s coming back to claim them any time soon.”

You scoff. “You’re woefully missing the point.”

“Whatever,” Charlotte mumbles. She looks back to her reflection, smiling at herself, lifting a hand to fiddle with the small beads. “I think they look good on me.”

“Well trust me, they don’t,” you lie before promptly leaving the bathroom.

There was a rumour that you wrecked Rafe Cameron’s car. That one was true.

“Morning Lucy,” you greet, walking into An Offer You Can’t Refuse.

“Morning. Early start for a Saturday, don’t you think?” Lucy replies from behind the counter.

You shrug and shift your tote bag further up your shoulder. “Wanna get first dibs, I guess.”

“Well, all the new stuff is back there, like always,” she says, gesturing with her head to the far end of the store.

You were somewhat a regular at the shop. It was the only spot in town that sold old movies. Not old movies like the nineties. Old movies like the early 20th century: the black and white classics, with extravagant sets and telephone-voices and an untouchable charm that modern things just couldn’t quite capture. You weren’t a film snob exactly. You’d sit through a Marvel movie and tag along with Mia to see the latest cheap jump-scare horror. But those weren’t as gripping, as enthralling, as captivating as the classics. Somewhere along the way, you’d made it your life mission to see every old movie on earth.

Flicking through the cases, you pick out a couple that had been sat on your list. One was a thirty’s flick and the other from the sixties. Lucy settles up with you and you slot one in your bag. You keep the other out to read the back, scanning over the summary as you walk out the door.

“Nice car.”

Stunned, you stop and look up, finding none other than JJ Maybank. He’s sitting on the bonnet of your car with such carelessness that one would assume he owned it.

“Are you following me?” you outright ask.

He looks offended by the insinuation. Gesturing across the street, he says, “I was in the fishing shop. I saw your car and I came over to say hi.”

Rolling your eyes, you put your movie in your bag and continue to your car. “Hi.”

Before you can reach for the handle for the door, JJ slides over, effectively blocking it and forcing you to meet his gaze once more. You catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells more modest than some of the fancy crap the guys at school practically drown themselves in.

“You’re not much of a talker, are ya?”

“Depends on the topic. My car doesn’t really whip me up into a verbal frenzy,” you return, folding your arms across your chest.

JJ takes a moment simply watching you. It’s annoying. First, he interrupts your pleasant weekend by wiping his grubby cargo shorts all over your car, and now he’s trapped you in the most disinteresting conversation of all time. You quirk a brow, hoping that your displeasure reads plain and clear on your face.

“Can I help you?” you prompt, annoyed.

The smile he gives you is less cocky than usual. It’s almost curious. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

You frown. “Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?”

He shrugs. “Well, most people are.”

“Well, I’m not,” you counter.

Whatever he was thinking before seems to have passed. His grin turns smug again, as quick and smooth as the moment dusk turns to flat-out night.

“Well, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked, huh?”

Oh, brother.

You gasp, feigning your fluster by lifting a hand to your sternum. “Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby.”

With that stellar performance, you practically shove him out the way whilst forcing the car door open. JJ seems to take the hint and backs off, shoving his hands in his short pockets. He watches you climb in your car and he pulls out a cigarette in the process. You’re half-surprised he doesn’t keep blabbering away. JJ doesn’t seem as wounded this time by your dismissal and you’re not sure whether that ticks you off more. As you glance in the rearview to reverse out the parking spot, none other than Rafe Cameron drives up behind you. He then parks illegally in the middle of the parking lot, blocking you in.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“What is it? Asshole day?”

Rafe shuts off his engine and walks past your car with a faux swagger in his stride. It makes you sick.

“Do you mind?” you loudly ask him as he goes by.

He doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Not at all.”

Your blood is bubbling under your skin, boiling up your nerves and burning up your patience. Doing one last glance at the Rafe’s back as he walks away from you, you don’t think twice before pulling your keys out the ignition. Getting out the car and slamming the door shut, you storm over to the ugly Mercedes. With the car key positioned between two fingers, you lean down slightly and dig it through the paint and into the metal, dragging it along in a satisfying streak. The sound is as pleasing as nails on a chalk board. One cut doesn’t seem to diffuse your anger enough, so you go in for a second. You debate doing a third but better to be safe than sorry. So, you pocket your keys and start walking home. You can pick up your car tomorrow. As you go to leave, you catch JJ’s impressed expression in the reflection of Rafe’s blacked out windows.

There was a rumour that you and JJ hooked up at an outdoor movie night. That was completely false.

Over the dialogue over the movie, the swell of the orchestral music, and the mumbled chatter of friends and families, you can’t hear the soothing lap of the sea waves on the sand. That didn’t take away from the beauty of the scenery. Twilight had painted the sky in the most ethereal pinks, purples, oranges and blues. The boats which had taken anchor looked like shadows with how the sun had dipped. Huge trees framed the waterline cinematically. You can’t seem to help glancing at the view every now and then. It feels like something from a coffee table book. No wonder the beach was your mother's favourite place to be.

There were few island traditions which you liked, but the movie nights were one of your favourites. From March onwards, they ran bi-weekly. A huge screen would be put up in a lawn and people would come with deckchairs and picnic blankets and take up space on the grass. Snacks and cakes and drinks would be shared in the jovially calm atmosphere of the evening. There was a snack bar over near the bathrooms selling bags of candy and pre-prepared tubs of popcorn. When you hadn’t been shooting looks to the view, you’d been looking to the snack bar, debating buying some. At the rumble of your stomach, you relent.

“I’m gonna go get some snacks. Want anything?” you ask Mia in a whisper.

She doesn’t look away from the film when she shakes her head.

“Okay. Be right back.”

Standing up, you whisper out apologies to other movie-goers as you slink away from the lawn, venturing to the snack bar. It’s only when you’re seconds away do you recognise JJ Maybank. He’s wearing longer pants this time, still of the cargo material, and an old t-shirt that says Pelican Docks on the left breast. It looks well-worn at the sleeves. His hair is tucked under a cap. The most notable thing you pick up on is the fact that he isn’t smoking. Every other time you’ve seen him outside, he’s had one of those cancer sticks stuck between his lips. It’s annoying to admit to yourself that he looks good.

Ignoring him, you head straight to the girl manning the snack bar.

“A bag of Sour Patch kids please,” you smile, holding out a couple of dollar bills. She exchanges them for a bag of sweets. Candy in hand, you walk over to JJ.

“If you’re planning on asking me out again, you might as well get it over with,” you tell him, already disgruntled.

He looks away from the movie screen. “You mind? You’re kinda ruining this for me.”

You frown, glancing between himself and the film. “You like ‘Singing In The Rain’?”

JJ shrugs. “Course. Don’t you?”

The guilt from assuming is overshadowed by your curiosity. Before you can think of something to quiz him with, he’s talking again, eyes fixated on the actors.

“I mean, it’s no ‘Casablanca’ or ‘Some Like It Hot’, but I’ll take it,” he says casually.

Your eyebrows must shoot up into your hairline. “You know the movie ‘Some Like It Hot’?”

“No doy. It’s a classic,” JJ says. “Jack Lemmon is a natural in roles like that. It’s kinda rogue of me to say but I gotta admit, I think he’s better in that than in The Odd Couple.”

The question ‘you know The Odd Couple?’ is on the tip of your tongue but it’s silenced by a loud crash in the movie, catching your attention. You watch the theatrics of Cosmo as he performs ‘Make Them Laugh’, and you can’t help but smile. It’s one of your favourite parts of the movie.

“You know, I saw you earlier and I was gonna come over,” JJ admits, drawing your gaze to him once more. “I’ve never seen anyone look so sexy without even trying.”

The pre-teen at the counter snorts, clearly having overheard. When you and JJ look to her at the same time, she flushes bright pink and presses her lips together in embarrassment. It makes you laugh though, and when you look back to JJ, he’s holding back too. The sunset and reflection of the screen is painting his face in a youthful glow. The smile on his lips seems more genuine than before; it’s no longer bolstered up with ostentatious flare. His self-assured demeanour remains though. You can see it in how relaxed he stands, shoulders loose and back.

“You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”

“Yeah, I quit. Turns out they’re bad for you,” JJ says.

“You think?” you mirthfully reply.

Come with me to the keggar tomorrow night,” JJ asks out of the blue.

You don’t roll your eyes this time. In fact, you’re not even annoyed. Instead, you find your smile growing. “You never give up, do you?”

“Is that a yes?”

You chuckle under breath, passing your candy bag between hands and turning to return to Mia. "No."

You begin to walk away.

“Well, is that a no then?” JJ calls. Someone shushes him abruptly.

Sniggering, you call back, “no!”

“Nine tomorrow night! I’ll pick you up!”

“Hey, shut it, man!”

“Sorry, dude. Jeez,” you hear JJ mumble.

You bite back your laugh, making your way back to the film. Mia is waiting impatiently for you. Taking your spot on the blanket again, you fight the urge to look back over your shoulder to JJ. She takes the bag of candy despite her earlier turn-down.

“What took you so long? You missed the best song,” she whispers.

You shake your head and steal a gummy, eyes fixating on the screen again. “Doesn’t matter.”

And then, you’re lost to the cinema. 

There was a rumour that you threw up on JJ’s shoes at the keggar. That one was (unfortunately) true.

You know you’ve made a mistake braving going downstairs for a snack the moment your foot hits the final step.

“Daddy, it’s only for one night!”

Charlotte is there, whinging away, stood beside her friend Laura. You didn’t like Charlotte all that much but you liked Laura even less. Whilst Charlotte was losing her sense of humanity bit by bit, Laura was a hollowed-out husk dressed head to toe in Shien. Maybe if she had a stellar personality you wouldn’t care, but she didn’t. She was cruel, two-faced and you trusted her as far you could throw her. So, you were obviously thrilled to find her stood in your house.

“You know anything about a party?” you dad asks you, roping you unwillingly into the conversation.

You shrug, shaking your head no.

“Of course she doesn’t know, she’s a cave troll,” Charlotte snarls.

“That’s a new one,” you mutter under breath, starting for the kitchen.

“If she isn’t going, you’re not going,” your dad tells Charlotte.

“Urgh!” Charlotte exasperates. She rushes over to you, taking you by the shoulders and forcing you to meet her gaze. You’re a little surprised to find how genuinely desperate she is to leave the house for a dumb keggar. “Can you please forget that you’re completely wicked and just be my sister for one night. Please.”

You suck your teeth, feeling your conviction dwindle. Suddenly the half-completed page of notes about maths drops in your priorities. Charlotte seems to notice. The puppy-dog eyes come out in full effect - the ones that she used to get the new Mac book and the ones that she used to get your old pair of converse when they suddenly became trendy again.

“Please,” she begs, doubling down.

You sigh, shaking your head as if in disbelief of your own actions. “Fine, I can make an appearance.”

Charlotte looks over to Laura and they begin to squeal, hopping up and down like the floor is lava. You realise that she’s wearing the pearls still, but before you can think much more about it, you’re trapped in a hug. Everything tenses, from your head to your toes, and it isn’t over soon enough. You open the downstairs cupboard and retrieve a jacket to combat the spring breeze that’s likely going to haunt the beach at this hour. Your dad is lecturing Charlotte and Laura as you shrug it on; you pass them to the door.

It's a little frightening to open the front door and come face to face with someone who you’re not expecting to be there.

“What are you doing here?” is the first thing out of your mouth when you meet JJ’s eyes.

“Nine o’clock, right?” he replies.

It’s impossible to bite back the smile that’s coming to your face at the sound of his voice. When did that start to happen?

“Well, I’m little late, so,” he admits almost sheepishly.

You blink out of your stupor with that. A man who can’t even be on time for a date that he practically begged for – once again, the bar is on the floor.

“Whatever, I’m driving,” you tell him, brushing past and down the porch steps. He follows.

“Nice digs here.”

“Thanks,” you reply. You pull open the front gate and it creaks like it might snap off any moment.

“Y’all rich and can’t afford to oil that damn thing?"

“Help yourself to it,” you jokingly quip back. You pull your keys out your coat pocket and unlock the car. “Hop in.”

The drive to the keggar is mostly quiet. JJ points out the turnings you need to take and you refuse to let him turn on the radio. He goes to put one leg up on the car seat but must see your sideways glare, making him stop. Instead, he rests an arm on the window frame and taps his fingers along to a non-existent beat.

He’s dressed rather nice. Quite casual, but you supposed for a keggar, it didn’t much matter. It wasn’t like you were dressed to the nines either. A grey sweater hangs slightly big on his frame, but it sits on his broad shoulders a little too nicely. He’s wearing a pair of black cargo shorts which are muddied with dust on the thigh, probably from biking, and those damn cargo boots again. No cap this time, he lets his blonde hair sit mussed, seemingly from running his fingers through it. That’s something he seems to do. A lot.

When the two of you park up, the beach is already buzzing. It’s swarming with people from your school and his, yapping away to one another. People are passing drinks and passing out. Some are carrying coolers in and others are shot-gunning the moment their feet touch the sand. Sighing, you mentally prepare yourself for a hellish night.

JJ tries to walk beside you but you seem to be one step ahead every time. He takes to following your tail around the keggar as you survey the scene. A girl vomiting in the corn; a group passing around a bong; a group of horny dirtbags jeering and cheering as two girls make out. A brunette girl comes stumbling over, practically throwing herself at JJ.

“Kiss me,” she slurs, clearly hammered.

JJ doesn’t look too thrilled but it doesn’t keep you from rolling your eyes and continuing on.

“Not tonight, girly,” you overhear him say. You then hear his footsteps behind you once more.

His popularity among the Pogues is startling. Soon enough, someone else is coming up to him, followed by a third. You overhear good-humoured conversation kick up, spirits high, and the smacking of hands as they enact a brief handshake. It seems a good opportunity to ditch him.

The moment of freedom is over quicker than the final week of summer. Rafe Cameron, in all his knobheaded glory, saunters over.

“Didn’t peg you as a keggar girl,” he tells you. Even on the night, you can’t catch a break from him.

“You know me: full of surprises,” you return dryly.

“Surprising in that outfit too. Nice to see the puppies out today,” he says, licking his teeth as his eyes shamelessly flit down to your top.

You roll your eyes. “Eat crap creep.”

Rafe doesn’t seem to be finished. He follows after you leisurely when you walk around him. “Your little sister coming tonight?”

“Stay away from her, Rafe,” you warn.

“Oh, sure, sure, I’ll stay away,” he nods, raising his hands in mock surrender. The most wicked, twisted grin sinks into his skin. “But I can’t promise she’ll stay away from me.”

Your disgust must read plainly on your face. Rafe chuckles darkly, apparently finished with the interaction, and you watch as he makes his way over to his pack. You shiver out your repugnance and distract yourself by making another lap of the keggar, hoping to find your sister in the process.

Unfortunately, you’re not quick enough to get to her before Rafe. He’s fiddling with a strand of her hair, looking down at her in a way that she might think is doting but you can only read as looming. Your stomach sinks as he notices you, jutting up his chin proudly.

“Yo. Look who found me,” he taunts.

Intestines are now in your shoes as you spot his hand looping around her waist and laying grip. Charlotte tangles her fingers into his, a red solo up in her other hand, and goes to lead the two of them away. You quickly dart after her.

“Charlotte, wait, can I talk to you?”

“Don’t address me in public,” she hisses, horrified.

You hope your expression is as pleading as hers was earlier, but it mustn’t be, because she continues to move away from you.

“Go, enjoy the night,” Charlotte says. She probably thinks she’s being nice, putting your mind at ease, but it makes you all the more concerned. “That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Looking around as if something or someone might tell you what to do next, your eyes fixate on the coolers. You soon find yourself taking a swig of tequila. It burns as it runs down your throat; you close your eyes with wince.

“I’ve been looking all over the place for you!”

You open them to find a very disquieted JJ.

“I’m getting trashed bro,” you reply, lifting the bottle up in proof. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a party?”

“Not with that crap,” JJ replies.

Rolling your eyes, you take another shot. “Whatever. I’ll catch you later.”

Then you’re walking away from him and weaving through the crowds. The trashy RnB music playing over a loudspeaker thumps through the sand and rattles through your bones. You find yourself collecting drinks like a pre-teen collects trading cards. With each sip, the alcohol goes down easier and easier, and your control becomes lesser and lesser. You’re only half sure of the time. Nobody here looks familiar to you and you have no idea where Charlotte has gone. The thought of her with Rafe has you reaching for another drink but it’s taken from you before the bottle can meet your lips.

“Hey!”

“How about I have this one?” JJ offers.

You snatch it back. “No way, this one’s mine.”

Was that your voice? Jeez, maybe you’re more drunk than you thought. That doesn’t keep you from necking the whole thing, some dumbass cheering you on. Dumping the bottle in the sand, you pull a face to JJ, extending out your arms as if to say ‘see – what you gonna do about it?’ .

The makeshift dancefloor becomes randomly appealing. The rhythm of the music seems to have finally crept out of the ground and into your bones, and you stagger your way to the crowd of dancing, swaying drunks and begin to move to the music. Closing your eyes, you drag your hands up your sides and into the air, hips dipping and diving to the song. It isn’t your usual thing but you find the groove to it. The reason you lose it is the elbow that suddenly jams into your back. You wince in pain and tumble forward, balance screwed from all the drinks. The ground comes to meet you surprisingly quick and you don’t have time to put your hands out to save your head from hitting a stuck-out branch from driftwood.

“You alright?”

It’s JJ.

“I’m fine,” you slur.

When you go to stand, everything is spinning. It makes you slip in the sand and nearly face plant a second time.

“You’re not fine. Alright, come on,” JJ mumbles as his hands gently take your biceps. You grumble out complaints as he helps you off the ground.

The music drifts away from you as JJ guides you somewhere. The shakiness of the world makes you feel nauseous so you opt with keeping your eyes closed. There’s a throbbing from where you hit your head.

“Can I talk to you?” someone asks. You don't open your eyes to find out who.

“Not right now, man. I’m a little busy,” you hear JJ return, patience clearly dwindling.

“Can you give me a second?”

The firm but friendly hold JJ has on you momentarily vanishes. You hear the crunch of sand as he walks away a few steps but you’re too busy fighting to keep yourself upright to see where he’s gone. Just as you’re about to lose the fight, JJ’s back, catching you and steadying you on your feet.

“Woah, woah,” he chuckles. “Come on.”

As the mayhem of the party fades, you find the pounding in your head to lessen. You’re slowly lowered to sit on a piece of driftwood.

“This is so patronising.”

“Leave it to you to use big words when you’re smashed,” JJ says.

Braving to open your eyes, you find JJ digging around in his cargo pockets. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m worried you might got a concussion,” he tells you. He produces a small box from his pocket, no bigger than the palm of his hand, and he cracks it open.

“You wouldn’t care if I never wake up,” you snort. The scrunch of your brows has you reaching up to the stinging pain of your head wound. Before you can touch at it, JJ’s pulling your hand away by the wrist.

“Sure I would.”

“Why?”

 “Cause otherwise I’d have to start taking out girls who actually like me.”

“Like you could find one.”

“See? That right there, makin’ me swoon, mama,” JJ ribs. He reaches out for your face then. “Alright, this might sting a little.”

His fingers are warm as they touch your skin. He lightly coaxes your head up and back by the edge of your jaw. You watch with half-blurred vision as he concentrates, gently dapping what must be an alcoholic wipe to your cut.

JJ has a pretty face. Dimples that are visible even when he isn’t smiling. A soft jawline that sharpens when he’s flexing, whether it be in concentration or aggravation. The long slender nose sits nicely on his face, guiding into surprisingly neat eyebrows and eyes with lashes so long Charlotte would cry with envy.

The wipe hits the deepest point of the wound. Flinching back, you hiss in pain.

“Sorry,” JJ mumbles.

“S’okay,” you quietly reply.

He finishes dabbing the blood away and sighs, pulling the wipe back. JJ seems to notice your stare at that point, flitting his eyes down to meet yours.

“What?”

“Your eyes have a little grey in them,” you observe.

His lips twitch in a smile. Maybe it’s the warmth of the booze, but you’re half sure that the boy blushes. Your eyes glance down to his lips, the one part of his face you haven’t yet analysed. JJ clears his throat and removes his hand from your head. He litters the wipe on the beach floor and shoves his hands in his short pockets, creating some distance. He doesn’t move any farther away from you though.

“How’d you know to do all that?”

“Cleaning cuts?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“Kinda have to learn, when you grow up in a house like mine,” JJ vaguely replies.

You spare a glance at his side profile to find his eyes trained ahead in an almost vacant stare. He comes back to himself, looking at you.

“So, uh, why’d you let him get to you?”

“Who? Rafe?”

“Uh huh.”

“I hate him,” you state.

JJ purses his lips and nods. “Fair ‘nough.”

Someone whoops out to another in the far distance. You try to ignore it, instead focusing on the susurrus of the wind, the sighs of the sea, and the steady inhales and exhales of the boy sitting beside you.

“So, your mom a nurse or something?” you ask.

“My ma?”

“Yeah. With the cut cleaning and all that.”

“Nah, she ain’t a nurse,” JJ replies. “Fact, I don’t know what she is. She ain’t around anymore.”

“That sucks,” you say.

He shrugs. “Happened a long time ago. She walked out on us so guess there can’t be much to miss, right?”

“I guess,” you agree, though you’re not sure if you fully do. For some reason – maybe because of the alcohol blurring your barriers – you find yourself telling him, “My mom walked out on us too.”

“Really?”

You nod, and instantly regret it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It gave the yacht club something to talk about for like a year,” you say, cracking a smile.

JJ grins. “You Kooks gotta have your gossip.”

“Oh yeah,” you whistle, nodding. “Otherwise we’d actually have to start making conversation about shit that matters. Or realise how little we all like each other.”

The two of you laugh and lock eyes. His dimples are now out in full force, teeth shining in the off-cast street lamp glow and enchanting moonlight.

“You know, you’re not as vile as I thought you’d be.”

His smile only grows. “Thanks. I think?”

The pulsating pain in your head seems to vanish for a moment. You think it’s because of JJ and his weirdly wonderful ways. You think it is, until you realise it’s because your body is distracted by a whole new problem.

Head whipping down, you aim away from your shoes and somehow directly at JJ’s.

And then bam: vomit.

There was a rumour that you and JJ hooked up in the back of your car. That one was false.

It’s abnormal seeing JJ sat behind your steering wheel. His elbow is propped up on the window ledge, knuckles cracked as he grips the wheel at the top, guiding it with the other hand. You keep stealing glances. He focuses ahead on the road. It’s pitch-black asides from the glare of the headlights and the few and far between streetlamps. You’re not entirely sure how you got to this point with him, to have him driving your car and to find yourself completely okay with it.

The playlist that the radio is humming out changes to the next song. You instantly feel your body soften in the passenger seat with the swell of violins and cellos. Naturally, gradually, they find a melody. It’s solemn and serene all at once.

“I love this song,” you hear yourself say.

“What is it?”

“Love Theme, from Cinema Paradiso,” you reply.

JJ’s lips twitch with curiosity. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s my favourite piece of music of all time,” you tell him. “It makes me cry.”

“Really? Don’t know if any song’s ever made me cry.”

“Then you’re listening to the wrong things,” you're quick assert.

JJ chuckles at that, but he doesn’t disagree.

The piano chimes in now; steady waltz-like chords which complement the strings flawlessly. You sigh and watch the world pass by through the window. After throwing up, draining the alcohol from your body in the least flattering of ways, you feel more stable. There’s still a blur to the edge of the world hinting that you’re not fully sober but you no longer feel out of control. The three mints which you had the moment you got in the car helped to freshen your mouth.

“It’s a pretty song,” JJ observes. You’re surprised that he’s listening to it. “Is it meant to be happy?”

“Sort of. It’s the third version. There’s three reprises of the song throughout the film. The movie’s sort of a culmination of genres. It’s a love story about Salvatore and Elena, this girl who he’s completely infatuated with throughout his teens. But it doesn’t work out. It’s also about his relationship with Alfredo, this old man who runs the cinema. Salvatore falls in love with cinema and Alfredo is like a father figure to him. As he grows up, he’s pushed to leave the small town and live his life.”

JJ whistles lowly. “That’s a lot’a unpack.”

“Sorry,” you meekly reply. Maybe you rambled on a bit too much.

“Don’t be. It’s interesting,” JJ says.

You glance over to him and see him smiling, and you struggle to bite back your own, looking back to the road.

“You seem to have a thing for movies,” JJ notes.

“I love them,” you sigh, pushing your hair behind your ears. The music builds at that moment, with the wind instruments taking control of the melody and pushing the emotion to another level. You find your eyes slipping shut on reflex. It’s with them closed that you find the confidence to admit, “I want to write movies for a living. But nothing like the new crappy things. Films like the old ones. The ones with real emotion and meaning behind them. I’m so sick of the cheap rewrites and remakes. All the CGI junk that fills the cinema now and the empty scores.”

“So, why don’t you? Write movies, I mean?”

As JJ asks you this question, he pulls up outside your house.

You scoff. “Yeah, my dad would just love that. He wants me to go to school for accounting or economics. Something with ‘a future’.”

The engine shuts off but the song continues to play. JJ glances down at the radio, his eyes scanning over the song title. He seems lost in thought, or perhaps lost in the music, and you feel a small smile settle comfortably on your face. He’s so pretty in this light. He’s pretty in any light.

He seems to remember himself, coming out of his stupor in a similar manner to how he did back on the beach. Looking up to you, JJ catches your gaze. He reflexively switches off the radio, cutting the song off and enveloping the two of you in silence.

“You uh,” he begins, gesturing lamely to the house, “don’t seem the type to ask for your dad’s permission.”

“Oh what? Now you think you know me all of a sudden?” Your tone is teasing. It’s so different to the usual bite it has from your other interactions.

JJ shrugs. “I think I’m starting to.”

The honesty behind his words has your lips parting, somewhat taken aback. The bad-boy façade that he hides behind seems to have slipped tonight. You hold his gaze and he offers you a warm, tender smile. There’s a nervous yet excitable thrum in your chest. It's terrifying.

“Yeah, well, the only thing people know about me is that I’m scary,” you say dismissively.

“Well, I’m no picnic myself, so,” JJ muses.

And it’s things like that which catch you off guard. Your efforts to push him away and close him off are so easily dismissed. He seems to have a talent for peeling away your walls and it never feels intrusive. Instead, it makes you feel seen. Understood. It’s something that you haven’t really known since your mom walked out. Mia understood you to an extent, but you weren’t sure that she knew you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever let her, as awful as it sounds.

“Well, thank you. For driving me back,” you quietly say.

JJ nods. His eyes never stray from yours. He’s so beautiful it’s unfair.

“Course. Anytime.”

He takes a breath and it’s shaky, tempered with nerves, and that’s when you wonder if his heart is beating as fast as yours. If his stomach is full of butterflies too, bringing about the most addictive of anxieties. As his tongue darts out to dampen his lips, you find yourself taking the leap. Slowly, so slow that you’re not sure you even are, you lean forward to him, letting your eyes slip shut. In the moonlight, in your car, after the conversations of the night, you finally feel as though you have seen the real JJ, and he’s seen the real you.

A second passes.

Then another.

Then a third.

You hear the rustle of clothes and the creak of the car seat as JJ shifts. It makes you open your eyes. He’s watching his fingers trail along the leather grip of the steering wheel, knuckles uncomfortably tight and lips rubbing together.  

“Maybe we should do this another time,” he eventually says.

For a moment, you just sit. You take him in. He doesn’t appear cocky or disgusted, or even amused. He seems timorous. It’s so confusing and irritating that you find yourself defaulting to anger. It’s that anger that smothers the burning hot embarrassment you feel deep in your chest. It conceals the crumbling disappointment of not having his lips on yours. Suddenly, you want to be as far away from him as possible.

You scoff and push open the car door. It slams loudly behind you as you storm back up to the house, arms wrapping around yourself in comfort as you feel your heart painfully pulling at your throat. The sting of tears is hard to fight but you manage to keep them at bay until you’re in your bedroom. It’s there that you feel safe enough to cry.

There was a rumour that JJ tracked you down in a movie shop. That one was true.

Have you ever had so much on your mind that it’s physically impossible to concentrate, even on the simplest of things? Ever since the keggar three days ago, that’s how you’ve felt. Studying was more gruelling than usual. You would start reading an exert from Romeo and Juliet and somehow, you’d find your mind drifting to the sound of JJ’s voice on the beach, telling you about his mom. Watching movies was no longer an escape because any guy on screen had you back in the passenger seat, basking in JJ’s beauty. Even now, stood in An Offer You Can’t Refuse, you find yourself staring blankly at the back of a DVD case, trying to make sense of the blurb.

Sighing, you give up and shelve it. You wander back to the main throughway of the store and look at some of the more recent releases. Tugging your cardigan tighter around you, you round the end of the shelve, heading for the exit, to instead come face to face with JJ.

It’s a shame that your stomach twists unpleasantly at the sight of him.

“Excuse me, have you seen ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s?’ I’ve lost my copy?”

You hold back a grunt and opt to roll your eyes instead. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard there was a secret screening,” JJ tells you, humour lining his words.

You scoff. “You’re so…”

“Charming?” he offers.

You breeze past him.

“Wholesome!”

“Unwelcome,” you correct.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are, you know,” JJ suddenly tells you, tone taking an edge.

Mystified, you return, “and you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Oh, somebody’s still got their panties in a twist,” JJ quips.

Spinning around, you raise a finger threateningly. “Do not for one second think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.”

JJ lightly taps your hand away. “What did I have an effect on then?”

It’s moments like these that you’re thankful your mouth is quicker than your mind. “Other than my upchuck reflex, nothing,” you lie.

JJ sighs, frustrated.

In the corner of your eye, you see the movies of the week. The universe works perfectly sometimes. Snatching up a copy, you shove Breakfast at Tiffany's in JJ’s chest before leaving the shop.

It sucks to be mad at JJ. You don’t want to be, but you don’t know how not to be. The whole night felt like an oxymoron. There was a moment when things felt so perfect and then he shattered it. It was abnormal. All that hard work to get you out on a date; the time taken caring for you and driving you back, checking you got home safe; and the conversations that felt far from empty and false…And then nothing. You knew JJ wasn’t a virgin. Not all rumours are based in truth – you knew that – but when it came to JJ Maybank, it was common knowledge that he had a way with girls. You weren’t the first girl for him to lay eyes on, and you certainly wouldn’t be the first girl he’d kiss, so why did he suddenly seem so discouraged? It didn’t make sense.

Whatever.

You close the car door and start up your engine.

You had more important things to sort out than deliberating over JJ’s intentions. Since when had a man ever interrupted your life before? There were some math notes which needed finishing back at home, and a track meet practice to prepare for tomorrow. Life was bigger than some pretty teenage boy.

Catching your eyes in the rearview mirror, you harden your gaze. “Get a grip.”

Your day doesn’t seem to improve when you get home. Whilst you’ve managed to put thoughts of JJ to bed, letting the irritation rest, your dad seems unwilling to give you peace. You walk through the door to hear himself and Charlotte talking animatedly about the Spring Ball at the yacht club.

“I’m not sure,” your dad sighs.

“But daddy, I’ve gone to them before.”

“But this one’s different. The guys there are older now. You’re older now. After last year, and our reputation, I’m just…”

The creaking floorboard before the kitchen doorway gives you away. Charlotte jumps at the chance to lasso you in.

“What if she comes?”

“She has a name,” you mutter, heading to the cupboard for a snack.

“I mean, if your sister goes then you can go, but I doubt she will.”

“She will what?” you ask. Cereal bar in hand, you tug away the wrapper and take a bite.

“Go to the Spring Ball.”

You guffaw loudly. “Yeah. No.”

“Knew it,” your dad says.

“Oh, come on! What’s wrong with the Spring Ball?” Charlotte carps.

You roll your eyes. “They’re stupid and performative and in bad taste. And old-fashioned. It just makes me feel icky. Whilst the Cut are trying to raise money to renovate the parks, we’re throwing balls for the fun of it. Plus, they’re boring. It’s just a bunch of rich morons talking about other rich morons. No offence, dad.”

“Plenty taken,” mutters your dad.

“You’re exhausting,” Charlotte tells you. “And unhinged.”

“Thanks,” you grin before taking another bite of your snack. You go to leave. “I’ll be upstairs.”

There was a rumour that JJ snuck into your school. That one was true.

You started running track following your school guidance counsellor’s advice. It was after you kneed Kelce so hard in the balls that he had to go to the nurse (you pride yourself for that achievement daily). Track was a good way to let off steam though. The world felt smaller and simpler on the circuit. You felt as though you could run away from all the things that were bothering you: Rafe, your dad, Charlotte, your mom. And now, JJ. The steady beat of your feet hitting the sand-topped track works like a metronome for your musings.

You’d heard the rumours that had been circulating about the night of the keggar. Charlotte hadn’t told you what happened between herself and Rafe, but there was a rumour that he didn’t drive her home. Apparently, someone called Louis had given her a ride back. You’d seen him at school every now and then. He’d only transferred a few months back so there wasn’t much to know about him. He seemed harmless enough though. Compared to Rafe, a rabid dog would be preferred.

“Good pace!” your coach praises loudly to you as you complete a third lap.

You’re panting in the warm sun. April was right around the corner now and the temperature was picking up, bit by bit, every day. Slowing to a jog, you direct yourself to the benches and retrieve your water bottle.

As your swallowing your third sip, you hear the loudspeaker system crackle to life. At first you don’t pay it much mind, assuming it’s one of the band members checking everything is working for a game tomorrow night or something. But then a voice is droning out of the speakers. It has a Carolina twang to it that is more common on the Cut and a youthful rasp that’s now all too familiar.

JJ.

‘Morning you wonderful Kook folks.’

You stare wide-eyed at the speaker.

‘Y’all are probably busy preparing your caviar or whatever the hell it is that you be doing out here on Figure Eight, but I’m here to read something I prepared. Brighten up your day and all that.’

Surely you have heatstroke. Surely this is not happening.

“’I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.’”

Sense and Sensibility. You glance around the field as if to check that you’re not the only one hearing this and - yep, you’re not.

“‘Me? I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of what I saw, I’m scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.’”

Dirty Dancing. Lips twitching into a smile, you’re in disbelief. Some people are sniggering at the cheesiness, others are completely befuddled by the whole thing. It is rather random. If you didn’t know what he was doing, you’d be confused too. Well, you still are, in fact. Did he know you'd be at the track today?

“And my personal favourite, ladies and gentlemen: ‘No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing. Badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.’”

Your perplexed smile turns more sober with that. Something trills in your chest – most probably your heart – and you nod in quiet approval.

“Alright then, Kooks and…Kooklemen. Y’all have a blessed day.”

The speaker clicks off with a crackle and some people on the field whoop and cheer, laughing and jeering. You shake your head and finish your drink, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe, just maybe, you can find some room to give JJ another chance.

There was a rumour that JJ Maybank spent his free time fishing. That one was true.

JJ Maybank was like a candy bar. He had a way of being sweet without being sickly, and he stayed on your mind the same way one gets chocolate stuck between their teeth. After asking around, you’re told that the best place to find the so-called delinquent was at a local fishing spot, down some old jetty. The floorboards creak unnervingly with every step you take. The sun is high in the sky, it only being mid-morning, and you find JJ easily. He’s perched on the end of the jetty, leaning forward against the rotting wooden railing. In one hand he’s supporting a rod, the wire of which is submerged deep in the water, waiting for a bite. There’s a small cooler by his feet alongside a bag of fishing tack. The back of his t-shirt has a large circular graphic on it. It’s well washed but you can make out the ‘sex-wax’ text.

“Yo,” you call out.

He startles then turns. There’s a strange flurry of emotions that cross over his face in a second when he lays eyes on you.

“Hey. How’d you find me?”

“I have my ways,” you reply, finishing the journey to him.

JJ moves so his back rests against the fence, body now facing you, and you pause a comfortable foot or so apart.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I was kind’a an asshole at the movie store, the other day,” you say, uncomfortable in your confession. The proud twitch of his brow doesn't go unnoticed. “So, I figured it was only right to fess up.”

“Mhm. Anything in particular brought this on?” JJ wonders innocently.

You smile at that, rolling your eyes. Nevertheless, you play along. “You know, it’s so weird. This voice came over the speakers at school yesterday and it got me thinking.”

“Oh? You know who it was?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, scratching your hairline. “Maybe God?”

“You sure it weren’t an angel?” he checks, tongue poking through his teeth with his boyish grin.

“Nah, but he sure had the voice of one,” you play along.

The entertained lift of JJ’s brows makes your smile flatten into something more genuine.

“Did you get in trouble for it?”

“For breaking into Kook Academy and hacking your intercom?” JJ asks. His face scrunches up as he shakes his head falsely. “Nah.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“I’m a pro, sweetheart. I was in and out, like an ops-mission,” he recounts, using his free hand to gesture lamely like a discount spy.

You roll your eyes once more and move to stand next to him, separated only by the cooler. Leaning your arms forward on the jetty fence, you sigh and close your eyes, basking in the sun.

“What’re you doing right now?”

“Right now?” you say, opening your eyes to look at him. He nods. “Nothing much.”

“Wanna go to the break? Hear the waves are meant to be pretty sweet today,” JJ asks.

Your lips twitch at the corners. His seem to mirror. “Sure, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Sweet. Lemme just pack this stuff up,” he says. “My friend’s lent me his car for the day so we can ride there in that.”

There was a rumour that you nearly drowned when you went surfing with JJ. That one was completely made up.

The water is so blue you can almost taste it. The gradient of blues and aquamarines is mouthwatering in beauty.

Sighing, your feet sink into the sand, desensitised to the burn on the soles of your feet. On one shoulder you have your rucksack. It’s packed with snacks that the two of you picked up from a local shop: granola bars and a large back of chips, that sort of thing. JJ found some cans of soda when turfing through the cooler. Tucked under your other arm is a surfboard that JJ’s letting you borrow; there were three attached to the roof of the beat-up camper van he’s borrowing. JJ’s carrying a tattered looking picnic blanket that he dragged off the backseats and his own board. It seems JJ’s surfboard is the thing that is the best kept out of all the belongings he has.

JJ whistles. “Pretty good swell, huh?”

“Hell yeah,” you agree.

He walks in front and dumps the picnic blanket, lazily spreading it out with his foot. You put the rucksack down with it before leaning down to place your board carefully on the sand. As you go to stand, you find your eyes falling on JJ’s back. He’s tugging off his shirt, lats and triceps tensing and relaxing with the quick change. You can’t help but stare. The guy’s in good shape – nobody can disagree with that. He turns and catches your eye just before you can divert your gaze to the water, frowning as if assessing the waves. There’s an amused smirk that comes to his face, cocky like always.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks.

Your face scrunches in deliberation. You pretend that he’s referring to the sea. “Yeah; the waves look pretty strong.”

“Mhm,” he hums, entertained.

It’s then that you decide to seek some revenge. Casually, like the whole situation doesn’t make your heartbeat with elated anxiety, you pull your top off, revealing a crotchet-style bikini top. Living in Kildare meant that bikinis instead of underwear were sort of a given. Unbuttoning your shorts, you wiggle them down your body before stepping out and tossing them on the blanket. Glancing up, acting as if you’d completely forgotten JJ was there, you quirk a brow. He’s staring shamelessly at your body.

“Something up?”

“Not yet,” he mumbles.

It’s hard to bite back your smile. Hard, but not impossible. Dipping down to retrieve the board, you strain a little as you lift it.

“Come on. We’re wasting daylight,” you tell him, walking past towards the water.

“Yes ma’am,” you hear him say.

The crunch of sand behind you tells you he’s following. Then, his pace picks up and he’s rushing past, taking a moment to dab at your head jokingly.

“Hey!”

His laugh is light like buttercream frosting. You chase after him, towards the break, and soon enough you’re sliding atop of your board and paddling through the wake. JJ’s just a bit ahead. His back glistens in the sunlight with saltwater. You swallow your pride and dignity and let your eyes trail up his legs and butt. The water makes his clothes stick more than usual. He steadily rises to his feet, finding his balance on the board in such a natural manner that one would think he was born on it. The way he leans forward and back is effortless. He tames the waves like a creature of the sea, dipping on the currents and following the dives. You can’t help but sit up on your board for a moment and watch. His face is tight with concentration but the joy is as clear as the water. The sharp edge of his jawline teases you as you watch him surf. The tremble of your heart and knot in your stomach isn’t unfamiliar and yet it still catches you by surprise. To distract yourself, you paddle out some more before rising to your feet.

You know the old saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun’? You never much believed it until today. The two of you must have been on the water for an hour. Somehow, simultaneously, the two of you agree that it’s time to call it off. The scratchy over-washed cotton of the blanket is only slightly uncomfortable on your legs as you sit. JJ takes your rucksack and digs about for a snack. You opt for taking in the quietness of the beach; it feels as though you’re the only souls for miles.

“Who’s this?” JJ asks.

You glance over to find JJ holding up a photo he’d taken from your wallet. A part of you wants to make a jab about how he’s snooping around, but you don’t. Instead, you smile weakly.

“My mom.”

“Oh,” JJ says, looking back down at the photo with new interest. “She’s pretty. Can see where you get your looks from.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

JJ reaches back into the back and pulls a can of soda free. He tosses it to you and you crack it open.

“I go through phases of having it in there,” you say, nodding down to the photo that he continues to hold. “Sometimes I want it around and other times I don’t. I know that probably sounds dumb.”

“No, it doesn’t,” JJ responds rather easily.

He tucks the photo back away in the wallet, safe and sound, then grabs a can of sofa for himself. He reclines on his elbows. Your eyes fixate on the shark tooth necklace hung around his neck on a discoloured piece of yarn. It rises and falls with each steady breath he takes. As your eyes trail down his stomach, you notice the water droplets drying in the sunlight. In a desperate effort not to stare, you find yourself watching him crack his feet, outstretching them on the sand. Crossing your legs, you take a sip of your soda and glance back up to his face. Then, you follow JJ’s line of sight to the water. The routine of the waves pulling in and pulling back, over and over, is calming in a way few other things are. As the sky’s mosaic of colour darkens by the minute, the water reflects it back like a mirror with a pretty shimmer.

“Sometimes I wish I had a photo of my ma.”

“Don’t you?” you ask, looking to him again.

He shakes his head. “My dad went on this crazy rager when she left and burnt up all her stuff. I was too young and stupid to take a photo for myself and hide it somewhere.”

“Bold of you to assume that you’re not still those things.”

JJ snorts, shooting you a glance. “Thanks.”

You smile back but correct your manners. “Seriously though, that sucks. I’m sorry.” It’s a lame understatement for the reality of it, but it’s all you can think to say. Tenderness isn’t something that comes very naturally for you.

He shrugs, looking back to the water. You know he’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother him, and maybe if you’d only met yesterday, you’d believe it, but there’s something about his composure that tells you that it isn’t true.

“I just wish I could remember what she looks like, y’know?” he says, looking to you once more as if seeking affirmation. You give a small nod. “I mean, I can’t even remember her voice. Not that it should matter. Fuck her, right? She’s the one who left.”

He takes a hasty sip of his soda, breaking eye contact. You frown and watch him, and deliberate whether to speak your mind. I mean, of course you’re going to, but it feels good to deliberate first.

“Well, no, not ‘fuck her’,” you eventually say.

JJ looks to you, eyebrows knotted: bordering on angry.

You continue. “I think it ain’t that simple. It’s why I go through phases of having that photo of my mom in my wallet. You can be mad at someone and still miss them. At least I think you can. They’re not binary things, or mutually exclusive. So, I don’t think it’s as simple as ‘fuck her’.”

There’s a moment where JJ just looks at you, as if he’s soaking you in the same way the two of you are basking in the warmth of the sun. It’s a certain kind of stare; the kind where you don’t feel calculated under his gaze but unquestionably seen. There’s a momentary concern that you’ve offended him but then JJ gains this almost-smile that’s becoming more and more familiar to you, and he nods.

“I’ve never really talked to anyone about her before,” JJ confesses.

You smile sadly. “Me too. About my mom, I mean. Dad shuts down when I bring it up and Charlotte…She remembers things differently.”

“Well, it’s nice to talk about it.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It is nice.”

The whispering of sea waves melts into the sound of songbirds and geese, singing and squawking in a weirdly melodic harmony. There’re crickets in the dunes which chime in from time to time and you take a moment to look back to the water, close your eyes, and enjoy it all.

“So, what’s your excuse for it?”

“My excuse for what?” you wonder, never opening your eyes.

“You know.” There’s a soft scrape on your skin as JJ kicks some sand off his feet and onto yours. “For acting the way we do.”

Sighing, you deliberate on how to answer. JJ has this way of opening you up. With others, you were hard-shelled and closed off, but like a pistachio, he knew where to pry just right to get you to spill. It was like he already knew the password so you never questioned letting him through the door.

“I don’t want to care what people think of me. It makes no difference, whether I impress them or not, so what should it matter? Why should I waste my time with it?”

“‘Makes no difference?’ Like makes no difference whether they stick around?” JJ wonders.

You open your eyes and look to him, a little taken aback by how easily he translated your words. “Sure. Like that.”

“Like your mom?”

It doesn’t affect you when he asks that. If someone else were to, your fury would spike suddenly and you’d snap. Say something you’d regret. But maybe because JJ might understand more than others, it doesn’t. So, you nod.

“Yeah,” you quietly reply. “Like my mom.”

“I get that,” JJ muses. It’s with that small token that you feel comfortable to elaborate.

“I think it really came clear after she left, how fake people can be,” you say. “Seeing how all our so-called friends reacted. At the Yacht Club, my dad was the laughingstock. Everyone talked about him, about mom leaving, like they didn’t know him. Like he wasn’t this great guy - which he is - and like they hadn’t been drinking cocktails and pints on his tab for years. It was so fake. That’s when I realised that people will think whatever they want to, even if they say another thing. So…why bend yourself backwards to try and change it?”

Sniffing, JJ nods in understanding as he digests your story. His toes dig into the damp sand and you find your own spare hand reaching out and playing with the grains, sifting through them soothingly.

“What about you? Why do you act the way we do?”

“I guess the same, in a way,” JJ replies. You notice that he likes to gaze ahead when he talks about himself, like eye-contact is too painful. Too vulnerable. “With my dad being who he is, people just assume the worst about me. I’m sick of trying to prove them wrong. They’re gonna think what they wanna think so what’s the point, right?”

“The ones who care enough won’t judge a book by its cover. They’ll get to know you and see through all the bullshit,” you assure him.

His head turns with that. Unblinking, he asks, “like you?”

You’re momentarily stunned by the bluntness of the question but soon enough, you’re smiling at him.

“Yeah. Like me.”

When JJ smiles, his teeth peak through in this adorably youthful way. There’re dimples that poke through his cheeks and no tension in his forehead or jaw. Just happiness. You like him like this, all tousled and sun-kissed and seawater bathed. It’s strange. Sitting here with him on the beach feels like the first time you’ve ever been to the water and truly appreciated it. It’s like you’d always thought you would sink, so you never swam. But now, with JJ looking at you the way he is, and the way the two of you seem to click in an inexplicable manner – as if you’d been the two missing parts of the other’s jigsaw puzzle – you realise that maybe you were wrong to make such an assumption.

“It’s weird. We come from such different lifestyles but I don’t think anyone understands me as good as you do.”

JJ’s voice is quiet but not small when he tells you this. It’s a private thought that you’re honoured for him to have shared. There’s only one way you can think to answer.

Leaning forward, you leave your drink abandoned on the blanket and cup his jaw, fingers damp from condensation. His lips meet yours willingly. The kiss the two of you fall into makes your feelings for him all the more obvious to you, and all the more terrifying.

There was a lot of rumours about the both of you. Some were true, and some were not.

JJ drops the campervan off at his friend John B’s house. It’s this quaint fishing shack that could definitely do with a lick of paint on the boarding, and a few fresh nails to keep the porch from caving in on itself. But it’s homely by how clearly lived-in it is. There’s no emotionless ornaments like in your house; only fishing gear, empty cans of beer by the stairs leading up to the front door, and far-from-new throw pillows. You wait on the grass at the bottom of the stairs as JJ heads up to the door, skipping one of the steps entirely. He raps with his knuckles on the door before letting himself in.

“Yo! John B, you home?”

“Back here!” you hear a guy call back. JJ vanishes into the house, car keys in hand, ready to hand them over.

Shoving your hands in your short pockets, you glance out to the backyard. There’s an impressive sized tree from which a hammock hangs, and a less than stable looking jetty. A sort-of shed stands, filled with all sorts of tools and gear, and a half-waxed board lies on a table.

“Alright, let’s bounce,” JJ says, reappearing. He hops off the porch and grabs your hand like it’s second nature, guiding the two of you away from the house.

“You known John B a long time?”

“Since kindergarten,” JJ replies.

“Damn. Don’t think I’ve ever known someone that long. Well, apart from Charlotte.”

“What’s her deal, anyway?”

“Who? Charlotte?”

“Yeah. Like, is she as conceited as everyone says she is?”

Your brows quirk up. “People say she’s conceited?”

Watching JJ fumble and stumble over his tongue is entertaining. He looks to you, mildly panicked. “Well, like, I don’t say that but—”

“I’m just messing with you,” you grin. He unconsciously gives a small sigh of relief. “I know she’s conceited. And spoilt. And bratty.”

“Hm. Sounds like you’re really fond of her,” JJ chuckles.

You laugh under breath and rock your head from side to side in deliberation. “She’s hard to love but harder to hate.”

“That’s ice cold, girl,” JJ whistles.

The moment your feet hit the tarmac of a main road, you realise that you’ve been following the blonde-haired boy blind.

“Where are we going, by the way?”

“To mine.”

“To yours?”

JJ seems to catch onto the innuendo. He looks to you and adds, “my bike’s there. I can give you a ride home.”

 “Oh.” Something inside you sinks with disappointment. You don’t dwell on it though. “Thanks.”

The weight of JJ’s fingers nestled between yours is casually intimate. Usually you’d feel coddled and clammy and want to pull away, but instead you feel safe.

“What’d you think I meant? When I said we were heading to mine?” JJ asks you.

You quirk a brow and pull a face which seems to be answer enough. He cracks up. “I mean…I’m down if you’re down…”

“Slow and steady, JJ Maybank. Slow and steady,” you return with a grin.

“That’s my motto baby,” is his sultry reply, topped off with a wink.

You’d be lying if you said your body didn’t flush with that comment.

“You’ve got a reputation, JJ. I’m not gonna be another notch on your belt,” you jokingly say.

JJ rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, half of my reputation is bullshit rumours.”

“Same here, amigo.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta admit, I’ve heard some pretty batshit things about you,” JJ tunefully says.

Smirking, you turn to look at him. “Oh really? Like what?”

He takes a moment to think. The eventide light shadows his skin like a painting. “The state trooper?”

Ah. You remember that one. Bobby Cromack spread a rumour that you’d kicked a state trooper in the balls during a protest. On accounts that no protest ever existed that month in Kildare, that was a lie.

“False,” you say. You take the opportunity to debunk some of that you’d heard about JJ. One that you were certain wasn’t true was the rumour that he ate an entire turtle raw. “The turtle?”

He blows a raspberry. “Bullshit. The college guy?”

“Hearsay,” you say. Apparently, a friend of a friend of someone at Kildare Academy saw you at a frat college party in Wilmington, snorting coke off some guy’s chest. Incredible how easily fake news flies. “The hooker?”

“Lies,” he debunks. So, JJ didn’t lose his virginity to a prostitute. “The Banksy side-gig?”

You guffaw. “Complete crap.”

Yes, it appeared that people at school thought you were spending your free time running around Kildare, throwing up mediocre spray paint art as an act of rebellion. Stunning.

“Damn. You’re just full of disappointments, ain’t ya?”

JJ leads the two of you up a small dirt road and through a culmination of trees and shrubs, a house begins to emerge. It’s slightly bigger than John B’s but still small. It is somehow even more banged up, but not in an inviting way like his friend’s. No, this place looks desolate and lonely. Sad even. You feel a sympathetic tug when you notice JJ’s shoulders tense at the sight of it. You’re not even sure he realises that he’s doing it. There’s a bright red bike that you recognise; it’s sheltered under a small shack in the garden. It seems that neither of you are ready to close off the conversation yet. Instead, JJ takes you to the steps of his porch and the two of you sit. You lean against one pillar and him against the other. The wood is splintering and the paint is peeling off in strips. Facing one another, you slot your feet between his staple combat boots.

“Tell me something true.”

“Something true?” he checks, rubbing at his jaw. You nod. “I don’t like snakes.”

Laughing, you shake your head. He seems to like your laugh, smiling at the sound and sight. “No. Something real.”

JJ reaches out and plays with one of your laces.

“Something nobody else knows,” you explicate.

“Okay,” JJ nods. He retracts his fingers from your shoe, using his hand to help him keep his balance as he leans forward. You can smell the salt on the skin of his neck from the sea as he presses a kiss to your skin. There’s something sensual about the warmth of his breath on the apple of your cheek.

“You’re sweet,” he says. Your lips push together, suppressing your smile, and JJ pulls back only to move to the other cheek. “And sexy.” He pulls back so he can plant a kiss on your lips. You love how JJ kisses. “And completely hot for me.”

You guffaw, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re amazingly self-assured, has anyone ever told you that?”

He frowns momentarily before nodding, saying, “I tell myself that everyday, actually.”

The smile that his joking response brings you quickly fades when he kisses you again. There’s something different about this kiss. Something passionate, and emotive, and sensuous. When his hand reaches up to cup at the place where your jaw fades into your neck, you find yourself leaning into his hold, deepening the kiss. The brush of his tongue on yours sends electricity shooting from your head, down your spine, straight through your toes. It’s over all too soon. When he speaks, he’s close, and he asks his question against your lips.

“Go to the Spring Ball with me.”

“What?” you dumbly ask, eyes slowly opening.

“The Yacht club spring ball. Go with me,” JJ clarifies.

Your smile doesn’t falter as you gaze into his eyes, admiring the flecks of colour. The answer is easy. “No.”

His brows gently tug together. Smiling, he repeats, “come on, go with me.”

“Is that a request or a demand?” you half-joke. The magic of the moment is dissipating as quick as vapour. He doesn’t reply but the way he holds your gaze suggests that he’s still waiting for an answer. “No.”

“No? Why not?”

You pull away now. “Because I don’t want to. Because it’s a dumb tradition for fake rich people.”

“Come on! People won’t expect you to go. Plus, it’d be a laugh seeing the look on those Kook asshole faces when you show up with me, don’t you think?” JJ prompts.

You frown. Something manifests in your gut. It weighs heavy like a stone. Cocking your head, creating more distance between the two of you, you ask, “why are you pushing this?”

JJ’s lips part. You see them try to form words but nothing comes out. It makes you prod further.

“What’s in it for you?”

He turns, sitting fully on the porch, feet side by side on the step below. You watch his side profile and notice how his jaw ticks and tightens, like he’s annoyed. Like you telling him no has annoyed him. That stone turns into a rock.

“So, you’re saying I need a motive to be with you now?” JJ asks, tone clipped.

Your anger ticks. “You tell me.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, glancing out to the unkept yard. Suddenly, he looks to you. There’s a dark, twisted look on his face that’s so scarily unfamiliar. “You need therapy, you know that? Has anyone ever told you that before? Like you’re actually sick in the head.”

The words hit like darts aimed straight for your heart. You swallow the pain and keep your gaze steely but your voice gives you away. It’s shrinking and holds no conviction as you say, “answer the question, JJ.”

The ugliness of him only grows as he shakes his head once more. There’s a sick smile on his face that comes and goes quick like a hurricane before he sardonically says, “nothing, alright? Just the pleasure of your company.”

The rock in your gut is a boulder; it makes you feel like you’re sinking into the ground. The shock barely has time to settle before he delivers another blow. You watch JJ dig into his short pockets and pull out a pack of cigarettes, shucking one free and propping it between his lips. He said he was quitting. Scoffing, you reach out and take it as he searches for his lighter. You toss the cigarette carelessly on the ground before getting to your feet, hastily walking away from him. It’s like you can’t get away fast enough. Your arms wrap around you in a far from comforting hug the minute you feel obscured by the foliage. When you realise that JJ isn’t following you, your head dips and lips tremble. With the call of a songbird, your mind flashes back to earlier that day, at the beach, and your tears finally start to fall.

There was a rumour that your sister wanted to go to the spring ball with Rafe. That one was (thankfully) false.

Academics don’t hurt you the way people do. Math equations can’t talk back and Shakespeare quotes don’t bite. Throwing yourself into your studies seems the best way to get your mind of JJ’s cruel words. The look on his face when he snapped at you was so different to the way he’d been with you before. It was cold and callous and downright mean. It was also befuddling, how defensive he got. JJ and Spring Ball didn’t seem like the most obvious pairing to you. You knew that JJ liked to stick-it-to-the-man and get under the Kook’s skin, but pushing the spring ball just to take the piss was so abnormal. Maybe that was what hurt the most.

You’re halfway through analysing a sonnet from Romeo and Juliet when there’s a soft rap on your bedroom door.

“Come in!”

It creaks open and you glance over to find Charlotte. She softly closes it behind her. Then, she takes a seat on your bed.

“What’s up?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say, closing your notebook. Spinning around in your desk chair, you face your younger sister.

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. She stands out like a sore thumb in your bedroom, amongst your old movie posters and tapestries and postcards, and the deep grey and white of your bedsheets. Her blossom pink skirt doesn’t quite fit the theme.

“Why don’t you want to go to the spring ball? Is it just to keep me from going?”

You sigh and look away, down at the floor. Shaking your head, you say, “no. I just don’t like the yacht club people. You know that.”

“You act like you’re not one of us,” Charlotte tells you.

“Because I’m not,” you reply quickly, offended. She quirks a brow.

“Look at where we live! At the car you drive! We’re in a lucky position in life and it’s stupid to act like that isn’t true!”

“I can acknowledge my privilege without leaning into it,” you say.

You weren’t stupid. You knew your socio-economic status gave you an advantage in life. Not once had you ever had to worry about money, or not having dinner on the table, or not being able to go for coffee. Your dad worked hard to get to the place where you were at now; it wasn’t handed to him. Nonetheless, spending more time with JJ, seeing his and John B’s homes, made you realise just how easy you had it. That didn’t mean that you liked the frivolities of the lifestyle, though.

“Look, I know you think the yacht club is dumb and fake and all of that stuff,” Charlotte reals off. “But I actually care about it. I really do. It means something to me.”

“But it’s so—”

“You can preach all you want, but it won’t change my opinion,” Charlotte interrupts. You slam your mouth shut. It’s a fair point (something she rarely makes). “Look, there’s a guy that I really like, and he wants to take me.”

“Rafe?”

“No.” She says it in a way that makes you think she’s almost amused at the thought. “Louis. He’s actually nice.”

“Actually?” You check.

She smiles and nods. She has a pretty smile. “Yes. Actually. But daddy won’t let me go if you don’t and I really want to go.”

You swallow. It’s clear where this conversation is going now. Sighing, you look out the window. It’s windy today. Blossoms keep getting blown from the trees and they pass by your window like fake snow.

“The thing with the yacht club isn’t just as simple as not wanting to get all dressed up for some dumb tradition,” you admit. “I don’t like how they treated dad, after mom left.”

“I know,” she says. Then, after a moment’s thought, adds, “But that wasn’t everyone. Remember how Mrs M brought us casserole for a week? And Mr Cameron invited dad out on a fishing trip? Some people are fake, that’s true, but not everyone. Not everyone has ulterior motives.”

That last sentence has your eyes snapping back to hers. She doesn’t seem to realise what she’s said. In fact, it looks like she’s waiting for you to tear into her like you usually would. But when you take her in, you see a sweet fifteen-year-old girl who’s a little tightly wrapped in cotton wool, who wants an excuse to wear a pretty dress and dance to trashy pop music and get to know a cute guy. The thought of keeping her away from that makes you feel guilty. Plus, if you’re there, at least you can keep an eye on her from the outskirts. Check that this Louis isn’t just another Rafe in disguise.

“Fine.”

She blinks at you, confused. “Fine?”

“I’ll go. We can go.”

“We can!?”

The way her whole face lights up like New York at night makes the night of horror already worthwhile. Starting to smile, you nod. The hug that Charlotte fires at you nearly sends you falling out of your chair. As much as you hate hugs, this one might be the best one you’ve ever had from her.

There was a rumour that JJ’s dad beat him. He never told you that was true, but you had a feeling.

JJ’s house seems eerily quiet. It isn’t the sort of quiet that makes you feel as though nobody’s home. It reminds you of the quiet in the movies when the hostages are hiding from the bad guys. The kind where nobody wants to step on a twig and give away their location. Something about it stops you from heading up the porch and knocking on the door. You’ve barely rounded the corner of the house, about to see what you can spot around the back, when someone is grabbing at you from behind. It’s a man, you can tell by their arms. One wraps around your middle, fastening one of your arms to your side, and the other comes to cover your mouth. It muffles your panicked yelps.

“Calm down, calm down, it’s me,” JJ’s whispering frantically in your ear.

It doesn’t stop your struggling though. He’s barely pulled you away from the house before you shake free, shoving him off you. He takes you by the wrist then, guiding you into the marshland.

“What the hell, JJ!”

“Shut up, alright? He’ll hear,” JJ shortly replies.

You do as he says begrudgingly and let him take you further from the house. Eventually, JJ lets go. He takes a second to catch his breath, bringing his arms up to clasp his hands behind his head, back facing you as he paces.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Don’t matter.”

Turning around, it seems as though his whole demeanour has reset. Well, almost. There’s a tension in his muscles that he can’t fully shake. You overlook it the same way you overlook the bruise forming near his eye. It’s brown and purple. Definitely caused by more than a tap on a doorframe.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I had to come see you,” you say. Suddenly, with the spotlight on you, the confidence that Charlotte instilled within you falters. “About the other day.”

“The other day?”

“Yeah, on your porch…” you clumsily say.

JJ raises his brows, changing his weight from one leg to the other. It seems easier to fixate on his cap rather than meet his eyes. It’s green and purposefully frayed on the edges; it compliments his skin tone well. Swallowing your pride with a sigh, you awkwardly twiddle your fingers.

“I came to apologise for how I reacted.”

“You did?”

Your eyes dart down from his hat to meet his. “Yeah. I shouldn’t have questioned your motives. It was dumb of me, and stupid, and…dumb.”

“Said that one already.”

“Shut up.”

“Right.”

You sigh and rub at your forehead like this conversation is causing you a headache. It turns out pride and stubbornness are sisters.

“Anyway, I just wanted to come and say sorry and see if you still wanted to go. Maybe,” you rush out.

“You wanna go to the spring ball?” JJ frowns.

“Yeah. Charlotte wants to go and my dad—You know what, that doesn’t matter. Because you’re right,” you tell him, cutting yourself off in the process.

His eyebrows almost shoot into his hairline with that. Something tells you that he doesn’t hear that phrase a whole lot.

“It would be funny to rub it in the kook-club faces. And maybe I’d actually enjoy the night if I went with you.”

JJ purses his lips and plants his hands on his hips, looking off to the greenery. You know what he’s doing. He’s basking in this moment, with you stood, tail between your legs, and milking it for what it’s worth. It isn’t exactly amusing, but it does somehow ease your anxiety.

“So, you’re saying that I’m right and that you want me to take you to your fancy spring ball?”

“Yes,” you reply through gritted teeth.

“Huh.” JJ nods, pulling a face. “So this is what it feels like to be right…"

Silence.

"It’s oddly unsettling.”

“Look, do you wanna go or not, cause I’ve got plenty of other things I can do with—”

JJ makes it to you with two large strides. Your face is enveloped by his hands as he guides your lips to yours in a smooch-like kiss. It’s awfully annoying how all of your worries seem to melt away with that one gesture.

“Yes. I’ll go with you,” JJ says the minute he pulls back.

You want his lips on yours again already, but you practice restraint. Bringing a hand up to lay over one of his, you look up into his eyes. God, he’s so dreamy.

“I’m sorry for questioning your motives,” you repeat, more sincerely now.

JJ swallows before nodding. “You’re, uh, you’re forgiven. I’m sorry too, for saying the things that I did. I gotta pretty ugly temper sometimes and I just speak without thinking.”

You missed the smile that comes to your face. Nobody makes you smile like JJ does. Nobody gets you like JJ does either. As if trying to tell him so, you lean up and kiss him again. You can feel his smile against yours, melding and merging like you’re two of the same souls. You assume that this is JJ’s way of saying yes; he’ll join you to the spring ball.

There was a rumour that your sister punched Rafe at the spring ball. That one you weren’t sure about.  

The yacht club was a cream building with pastel green shutters and doors. It stood in front of the beach, surrounded by perfectly trimmed green fields and a stone’s throw from a golf course. Several flags stuck out of the thatched roof, waving proudly in the air. For the spring ball, the porch had been decorated with ivy and flowers. Purple and blue blossoms were intertwined with foliage and string-lights, dancing up the poles as if growing. The main event was held in the back, facing the sea. The extensive decorations continued, only now with white sheer-like fabric hanging from place to place, creating somewhat of a shelter. A makeshift dancefloor was put down using wooden boards directly before a small stage for live musicians to perform throughout the night. Tables for snacks which looked as though they’d been meticulously crafted by God himself lined the back wall of the building.

“Holy crap,” you can’t help but mutter at the sight of it all.

JJ whistles lowly in wordless agreement. His fingers intertwine with yours, squeezing, and you look up to him.

“Ready for this?” he asks.

“Are you?”

He grins with that. “Baby, I was born ready to show these Kooks a good time.”

You roll your eyes, smile flowering on your features, and guide the two of you up the porch. The moment you pass Mr and Mrs Johnson, dressed in the over-the-top attire, you hear their hushed whispers. It makes your smile grow.

JJ manages to snag a couple of drinks for the two of you from the bar. You sip and lead the two of you outside, into the belly of the beast. Adults stand chatting away, gushing falsely over their lives. Did you hear the Carol got accepted into Yale? Oh, isn’t it just marvellous! You spot Charlotte fairly quickly and it brightens the night. She’s dancing with Louis, giggling like a child on Christmas morning, and he’s watching her like she hung the stars shining in the sky above.

You and JJ find a quieter spot to the side to people watch. Your leg rests against his as you perch, sipping on the champagne.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” JJ says, breaking the silence.

Looking to him, you smile. He’s the only person who can make you bashful. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I kinda forget to say earlier,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. You love when he does that. It makes you giddy to know you have that kind of effect on him.

“Well, what I think you said was ‘wow’,” you correct.

You know that’s what he said. You think the look on his face, somewhat mesmerised, and the way that the words made your heart hammer like you’d run a marathon, will be permanently etched in your memory.

JJ smiles, looking down to his shoes. You have no idea where he got them from. They’re seemingly brand-new leather loafers, starkly different to his worn-down combat boots.

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself, Maybank,” you clumsily compliment.

He shrugs, confidence somewhat boosted. Glancing down at you, he asks, “Oh really?”

“Mhm. Kinda like you in a penguin suit,” you say.

You fix his collar just for an excuse to touch him. He seems to realise this, wrapping his fingers around your wrist to hold it steady before dipping his head down. Your lips meet his in a chaste kiss that has your toes squirming.

“You wanna walk around. Show my penguin suit off to a few more people?”

You laugh quietly, nodding. “Sure.”

The peruse of the party is probably heightened by the alcohol that JJ keeps managing to sneak for the two of you. At any opportunity, you’re whispering in his ear or his in yours with jokes and jabs about people’s outfits. Rose, looking like lady liberty. Mr Dulany, here to haunt us from his grave. As the night rumbles on, you find yourself actually enjoying it. Somehow, someway, the two of you find yourselves on the dance floor. You’re letting JJ swing you around in some makeshift jive to the mini orchestra’s upbeat rhythm. His theatrics have you practically doubling over. JJ was born with two left feet and then some. You don’t care though. It’s perfect.

When the song ends, there’s a lull as the band catches their breath and sips on some water. The crowd applauses, including yourself, and JJ nods at you as if approving of the talent. It makes you laugh even more. Just as you go to make a joke about it, an all too familiar swell of violins emerges from the stage. Your lips part, head darting over, hands pausing mid-applause, because there’s no way. There is no way that they’re playing what you think they’re playing.

The melody materialises out of the melancholic chords and your heart breaks into a million pieces. Cinema Paradiso: Love Theme.

You scoff in wonderous disbelief, extending a finger dumbly to the stage as you look to JJ, mouth agape. He’s grinning, watching you like he was waiting for your reaction. It patches your heart back together in an instant.

“They’re…” you begin to say.

He nods. Leaning forward, beside your ear, he tells you, “I called in a favour.”

You pull back suddenly, meeting his gaze, checking for some sign of a lie. But he isn’t. He’s smiling, sweet and safe, and you can’t help but step towards him and wrap your arms over his shoulders, around his neck. He accepts your embrace willingly, hands finding solace around your waist. JJ holds you against him as the two of you sway. You practically hide your face in the lapel of his blazer, smiling like a drunk. He did this for you. He remembered this specific song, this specific reprise, for you. The weight of the realisation nearly brings you to tears. Nearly.

In this cocoon of JJ, it feels as though the music coils around the two of you like a snake, trapping you in the lovingly lugubrious song. It ties in perfectly with the distant sound of the ocean. That’s when you realise that you’ll never be able to hear either of those things again without thinking of the seventeen-year-old boy who busted his ass to win you over. You have no idea what you did to deserve him, or what possessed him to pursue you, but whatever it was, you’re eternally grateful.

It takes a split-second to register the hand shoving at your shoulder. It pushes you apart from JJ, making you stumble over your heels as they catch in your dress. After untangling it, you look up to find Rafe’s back facing you. Stepping around him, about to intervene, you see JJ’s face. Something about his expression stops you. He looks anxious.

No.

He looks terrified.

“Look, I didn’t pay you to take out her psycho sister just so some little punk can take out Charlotte instead.”

In that instant, JJ looks like someone who’s just found out his whole religion is a lie, and it’s his fault.

The words parse together slowly. Each syllable as it registers feels like another vice wrapping around your lungs, robbing you of air.

Pay you…

To take out…

Her psycho sister…

JJ isn’t looking at Rafe. He’s not even acknowledging that he exists. He’s staring at you. It doesn’t feel like his usual stare; the kind that makes you feel like he can see you through smog. No. It makes you feel exploited.

That’s when you finally find enough oxygen in your body to form some words.

“Nothing in it for you, huh?”

That same God-awful feeling from the other days returns but tenfold stronger. The urge to just get as far away from JJ as humanly possible. The urge to run. You turn and rush away from the dancefloor, from the crowds, from whatever chaos is bound to follow Rafe like a shadow. From JJ. From the only person you’ve ever really trusted since your mom.

Even though you’re outside, the air feels suffocating. You’re trying to navigate your way around the building, to the carpark where you can call an Uber or just walk home. Anything, anything¸ but stay here, near him.

But JJ’s persistent. You’d known that from the moment you met him. You can hear him calling for you, his voice desperate, and it makes everything hurt even more. He’s faster than you, especially when you’re wearing heels. When he catches up to you, his fingers wrap around your upper arm.

“Please! Please, just lemme explain!” JJ pleads.

“You were paid to take me out by the one person I truly hate.”

You shake him off and turn to face him. He looks guilty as sin and you can’t do it. Can’t bare it. Turning again, you continue to walk away.

“I knew this was a set up.”

The gut feeling from the porch is so horrifically ironic. You should have known. You should have known.

“It wasn’t like that!” JJ insists.

“Really?” You snap. He grabs for you again and you stop, meeting his gaze. You’re not sure how you’re not sobbing. “What was it like? A down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?”

“No, look, I didn’t care about the money, alright!?” JJ desperately insists. You can’t seem to look away. His eyes hold so much feeling but it all feels so lifeless now. “I…I cared about you.”

It all feels so fake.

“I don’t believe you,” you whisper.

Shaking your head, you swallow thickly. The tears finally come, teasing at your waterline, stinging like Rafe’s words from moments ago.

“You’re so not who I thought you were.”

JJ almost physically winces. You push his hand off your arm and go to leave but he’s relentless. He takes you by the wrist with a firm grip, his other hand taking you by the jaw. Then his lips are on yours. The kiss isn’t like the others. It’s dirty and disgusting and disingenuous and desperate, and you shove him off by the shoulders. You glance over him, wet cheeked, like he didn’t cause this. But he did. He hurt you. He hurt you.

This time, when you walk away, JJ doesn’t chase you. Maybe that’s what hurts most of all.

There was a rumour that JJ was paid to take you out. That one was horrifically, painfully true.

When your mom left you cried for a week. Endlessly, morning through to night, tear after tear. It would sometimes pass, but then it would hit again, out of the blue, like a boat colliding with an iceberg in the sea in the vast darkness of night. But after a week, you didn’t have anything left. You just felt hollow and empty. Then you promised that you wouldn’t cry about her anymore.

“You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

You sigh and try to focus on the comforting black and white picture on your laptop. George Bailey stands beside sweet little Mary, stood in the night.

“Hey, that’s a pretty good idea. I’ll give you the moon, Mary.”

“I’ll take it.”

The gentle knock on your door is almost a blessing. It’s hard to distract yourself from the awful pain in your chest.

“Come in,” you call out.

Charlotte creeps in, closing the door behind her. She leans against it and looks at you. You’re wallowing in your bed, tucked under a blanket, surrounded by comfort snacks that Mia brought for you and tissues.

“What’s up?” you ask her when she doesn’t speak.

She shakes her head and walks over, climbing onto the bed. She crawls around so she can lie on her back, and you wordlessly turn yourself over, rest your head on her stomach, and begin to cry for what feels like the millionth time. Her fingers lovingly stroke your hair, soothing you through your pain. Suddenly, you’re immensely thankful for your sister. You wouldn’t want her any other way than how she is, no matter how whiny and spoilt she can sometimes get.

“Charlotte?” you sniffle.

“Yeah?” she quietly asks.

It feels like another splinter cracks into your heart as the confession falls from your lips. “I really miss mom.”

She’s still a moment, and then she’s wrapping her arms around you, hugging you tight and close. For once, you don’t pull back. You let yourself be held by your little sister.

“I know,” she whispers. “I do too.”

There was a rumour that JJ regretted what he did. You weren’t sure if that one was true, but you wanted to know.

About a week after the spring ball, you finally brave the outside world. The old movie shop is your first point of call considering you made your way through all your ‘to be watched’ films in the past seven days. It’s nice knowing that you won’t run into anyone in the shop; that you can lose yourself to the world of fiction in sepia and black and white.

The brass bell chimes as you walk through the door.

“Hiya Lucy,” you say.

She glances up from the spreadsheet she’s ticking at, smiling at the sight of you. Then, as if something dawns upon her, she’s waving out her hands for you to pause. “I have something to give you!”

“Oh?”

You didn’t put anything on hold. Wandering over to the counter, you lean against it as Lucy ducks down to rummage for something under the desk. Eventually, she heaves an old typewriter onto the counter.

“What…”

“There’s a note, too,” she says, bobbing back down to search.

Whilst she looks, you reach out a finger and trace it over the iron letters. They’re cold and a little dusty, and beautifully ornate. It’s painted black with gold accents. You’ve never seen something so beautifully vintage. Maybe your dad or Charlotte put it aside for you, as a pick-me-up. You can’t imagine it to be very cheap, not with the quality it is in and the year it was made.

“Here,” Lucy sighs. She holds out a small envelope for you. You take it with a small thanks and open it up.

For you to write your movies.

JJ

The two initials printed in black ink make you pause. You stare at it, throat constricting painfully at the sight. You look to the typewriter again and then back to the note. Just like everything else with JJ, you’re overcome by a confusing concoction of emotions.

Remembering Lucy, you flash her a hopefully unbothered smile and tuck the note in your back pocket.

“Thanks, Lucy,” you say. You brace yourself and lift the typewriter with a huff.

“You got it?”

“Yep, yep,” you strain, beginning towards the door. Some nice old lady holds it open for you as you struggle out, hollering a farewell to the storeowner as you go.

The whole drive home, the typewriter watches you. It watches you as you park and it watches you fight your way up the stairs. Finally, in the quiet of your room, you sit and digest the note. It’s funny that a one sentence message has left you so stumped. But you don’t know what it means. An apology, most likely. But is that enough? An apology for lying to your face for over a month. For letting you open up to him and for letting you believe that he was doing the same, only to find out there was a paycheck at the end.

It's so frustrating that no matter how you try to, and no matter how much easier it would be if you did, you just don’t hate him. You don’t. You can’t. You can’t believe that everything that happened between you was a front. Every little anecdote and gesture, ever look and kiss, was all an act. It just can’t be. Just like you’d said to JJ on the beach, feelings aren’t mutually exclusive. ‘You can be mad at someone and still miss them.’ Is that what this was?

Pulling open your desk drawer, you turf around for some pages of plain paper. You tuck them into the typewriter and practice a few of the keys. There’s the aesthetic clack as they mark the page and the ping when the edge of the page is met. Once you feel confident in how it works, you slot a new piece of paper in the machine and sigh. And then, you begin to type.

I hate the way you talk to me

And the way you cut your hair.

I hate the way you drive my car.

I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big dumb combat boots

And the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick.

It even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way you’re always right.

I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh

Even worse when you make me cry.

I hate it when you’re not around

And the fact that you didn’t call.

But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you.

Not even close.

Not even a little bit.

Not even at all.

You reread the poem time and time again. It feels like healing, in a strange way, almost as if you’re soothing your wounds with a homemade balm. Finally, for the first time in a week, you feel yourself give a genuine smile. Gently taking the paper from the typewriter, you deliberate what to do with it. The answer comes to you clear like the water at daybreak.

There was a rumour…

Like clockwork, you find JJ on the fishing jetty. His back is to you once more, only this time he’s wearing a loose navy-blue button shirt. Those same cargo shorts and those same combat boots adorn his lower half. His long, tousled mousy-blonde hair is out free, not buried under a cap: your favourite style on him. You make your way down the jetty slowly, giving yourself time to change your mind. There’s a nervousness in your stomach and it doubles when JJ glances over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps. The moment he sees you, he leaves his rod propped and turns around fully.

“Hey,” he breaths.

You come to a stop in front of him, leaving a safe distance. “Hey.”

“What, uh…I didn’t know you were coming here,” he eventually says.

You shrug. “I didn’t know I was, ‘til now.”

He nods, uneasy, and pushes his fingers through his hair. His wonderful nervous fidget. You love that one almost as much as the neck scratch.

“The typewriter?”

“Hm?”

“The typewriter. What’s that for?”

He shrugs, gesturing out to you. “For your movies. So you can write those films that you wanna make.”

“But what’s it for?”

JJ catches your gaze and flounders. He shakes his head and glances off, inspecting a corner of the jetty. You take a step forward but he seems to think you’re going to leave, because suddenly he’s looking up at you again and talking. “I’m really sorry about how everything went down.”

You pause in place and watch him. In one of your hands is the poem, folded up into a tiny rectangle, withered at the seams from fiddling.

JJ shakes his head. “I’m not proud of it. At first, I was happy to. I mean, I was getting paid to take out some random chick. I don’t come from much and that amount of money can stretch a long way.”

“I know,” you quietly say.

“No, you don’t,” JJ says. He isn’t exactly angry; it seems he just wants to be clear. “My dad’s a deadbeat, alright? He gets fired from every gig he gets and I gotta help keep the lights on. It ain’t your fault, and I’m not blaming you, but you don’t know what it’s like living from paycheck to paycheck. You ain’t ever had to worry about going hungry, or not having gas or power for a week, or going without internet for a month. So, when Rafe offered me $50, course I said yes. I’m a scumbag who’s dirt-broke with no fucking morals.”

You can’t help but close your eyes. It hurts to hear him talk about himself like that. It hurts to hear him admit to taking the money.

“But then I actually got to know you,” JJ continues.

He’s watching you when you open your eyes. Gauging your reaction.

“And I meant everything I said to you. I didn’t make any of that shit up – the real stuff. And I meant it when I said nobody has ever understood me like you do,” JJ tells you. His voice is thick and weighty with emotion.

You purse your lips in a bid to keep from crying. “What about the movies?”

“Well, I didn’t like them all that much before I met you,” JJ admits. “But you’ve made me a fan. To be honest, they make me think of you.”

“And the typewriter?” you can’t help but ask.

JJ’s lips tease to smile. “Well, this asshole paid me a whole bunch of money to take this really cool chick out. But I messed up and I fell for her, so I had to do something useful with the money.”

Your thumb brushes over the paper of the poem. It feels like a safety blanket. You can’t tear your eyes from his and it seems he feels the same. He nods, gently, as if confirming whatever doubt you have.

“I don’t expect you to just forgive me. I know you don’t trust easy and I threw that in your face. But I don’t wanna lose you. I want you around forever, if you’d let me.”

The heaviness in your gut is gone. There’s a feeling of enlightenment that washes over you. Here, stood before you, honest and open, pockets empty and heart on a platter…You find yourself taking a chance. The pain from your mom leaving you without rhyme or reason fades behind one simple fact: all people are different people.

You no longer want to give JJ the poem. It doesn’t feel right to, at least not right now. Pocketing it, you dampen your lips and deliberate.

Eventually, you nod, “I’ll let you. It’ll take time for me to trust you again, like I did before…But I don’t want to lose you either.”

JJ’s smile slowly grows. It’s your smile, the one he saves just for you, and you feel the pain already passing just by seeing it. Stepping towards him, you make the first move to reconnect. He’s more than happy to accept, pressing his lips to yours in a tender, tired kiss.

“‘Sides,” you say, looking up at him, arms thrown around his shoulders. “Everyone knows the best movies are when the couple gets together at the very end.”

[anywherebuthere]

i’m kinda feeling a jealous!luke rn…… how do we feel about luke going to cheer for fuve star in one of her matches but afterwards when he’s going to congratulate her, he finds some dude trying to flirt with her. and she’s clearly not interested but luke doesn’t miss the chance to greet her with a kiss and then look at the guy with the most annoyed, dismissive expression ever. then luke smiles. “sorry, was i interrupting?”

a/n: i know nothing about field hockey! beware!

"mr. d, i don't know how you do this," luke muttered, eyes darting between you and clarisse on the field. the score was 1-1 and it was end of 2OT. both teams were gearing up for a shootout for the national title. "i've never been this nervous in my life."

mr. d chuckled from beside him, placing a comforting hand on luke's upper back, "trust me, it doesn't get any easier."

"i think i'm gonna throw up," chris mumbled from beside luke, anxiously waiting for the referee to indicate that the shootout was starting. clarisse was third on the line-up.

"you and me both, brother," luke replied, chewing on his bottom lip. he tugged on his shirt, suddenly feeling confined in the fabric. you were so close to the championship. this was the final game and if you won, you'd be a back-to-back national champion.

luke knew how hard you worked to get here. he often got voice memos from you, ranting about how practice and training wore you out, but he knew you got up bright and early the next day to do it again. you fell asleep on facetime calls often, sometimes only lasting ten minutes before you fell asleep on the call.

"it's starting," chris said, getting up from his seat. "i don't know if i want to watch or look away."

northwestern was up first. goal.

"fuck," travis groaned, echoing the sentiment of fellow unc supporters in the stands.

connor and travis were sitting behind him, both equally nervous to see how the game would unfold. you and clarisse had bought them unc merch to wear to the game, but luke and chris wanted to surprise you and clarisse with diy shirts that said "number [your jersey number/ clarisse's jersey number] biggest fan." you and clarisse both laughed when you saw their shirts. you loved them.

by the time it was clarisse's turn, the score was 1-0 (shootout) with unc trailing behind.

"come on, clar," chris hollered, clapping his hands, "you got this!"

clarisse masterfully maneuvered around northwestern's goalie and sunk the ball into the net. the boys and mr. d screamed in celebration as the score changed to reflect the goal. 1-1. unc was still in it.

clarisse pointed to the stands, eyes finding chris' in the crowd and blew him a kiss. chris beamed as he saw himself on the big screen. he pointed to his shirt, mouthing, "that's my girl!"

"i love how two days ago you guys had no clue how field hockey worked and now look at you," silena teased, adjusting the unc cap on her head.

"we still don't know what's going on, to be honest," luke replied sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck, "but this is the big game!"

"i get it," she said, nudging charlie, "i still don't understand football but i'm at my wits end every time i watch him play."

charlie chuckled, wrapping an arm around silena's waist, before cheering with the rest of the crowd when you stepped up for the shootout.

you were the last one to go and even that alone is a lot of pressure, but you were the tiebreaker for this shootout. the score was still 1-1. nobody has scored since clarisse, both goalies were brick walls and luke's heart was hammering in his chest.

"come on, five star," he whispered, biting his knuckles, "light work baby."

you took a deep breath and dribbled the ball. you were electric out there. you were strategic and quick on your toes. luke was mesmerized watching you play. he'd seen your tapes before, in preparation for this game just so he wasn't completely clueless walking into the championship game, but watching it in real time was something else.

you swerved around the goalie and hit the ball. luke held his breath. goal.

"let's fucking go!" you screamed, falling to your knees on the field as your teammates rushed to engulf you in a hug.

the screams from the unc fans were defeaning. luke was grinning from ear to ear as the boys cheered around him. chris wrapped an arm around his shoulders, shaking him relentlessly. luke couldn't contain his excitement, but he knew that he should let you have this moment with your team. he'll celebrate with you in a bit, for now, you needed to soak in this feeling. back-to-back national champion.

as the adrenaline from the win began to subside, luke and chris, with the help of mr. d, made their way to the field. chris wandered off to find clarisse and luke was standing on the sidelines as mr. d talked to your coach. he watched as you did your post-game interview. you were glowing and it took all his willpower to not run up to you and kiss you on national television.

when you shook the reporter's hand in goodbye, luke began walking over to you, only to stop in his tracks when a boy approached you. luke blinked, tilting his head as he watched the situation unfold.

the guy was... okay-looking. he was definitely an athlete too, based on his build and height. luke's assumptions were proven correct when he got close enough to see his unc basketball hoodie. the boy's eyes fucking twinkled while he spoke to you, a charming smile adorning his face that luke wanted to punch off his prince charming facade.

he watched as you took a step back from the boy, awkwardly gesturing somewhere in the stands. luke felt smug hearing you say, "well, i have a boyfriend and he's over there actually so i should go find him."

but the guy was not letting up. luke watched as the guy rolled his eyes, obviously unphased by your revelation. luke clenched his jaw, keeping his composure.

luke marched over to you and wrapped an arm around your waist to turn you around. he roughly connected his lips with yours, smirking inside when you moaned at the contact. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him deeper. his hands traveled up your spine, pushing you flush against his body. when the two of you pulled away, your eyes remained closed, a giddy smile on your face as you breathed out, "hell of a congratulations, castellan."

luke laughed, placing a quick kiss to your lips before turning to address the boy, "sorry, was i interrupting something?"

you had to cover your mouth to muffle the snort that came out of you. luke was staring at the boy intensely, lips in a tight line, as his hand squeezed the skin of your hip in possessiveness. the boy faltered, taking a step back in defeat. luke continued to shoot daggers at him, not deterred by the threat, or lack thereof, in front of him. eventually, the boy got the hint and walked away, shaking his head.

luke's cocky smirk was unstoppable as he faced you again, "great job, baby. national champ, again! look at you."

"thank you," you sighed, nuzzling your face into his neck. luke welcomed your public display of affection. "are we gonna talk about what just happened?"

he rolled his eyes, playfully, "nah, not worth it."

"yeah, but it was hot."

"then yes, let's talk about how hot you think i am."

"shut up," you replied, kissing him again. if this was your way of shutting him up, he wasn't going to complain.

[anywherebuthere]

poisoned mercury | delicate

friend group shenanigans | set after pink skies | series masterlist

song: delicate by taylor swift

“good morning,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes as you exited your room. travis was taking up the entire couch, doubled over in pain. “woah, what happened to you?” 

“food poisoning,” he replied, wincing. he had a blanket draped over him, acting like he was on his deathbed. 

connor walked in with a bowl of chicken soup for his brother, rolling his eyes as he shoved travis’ feet off the couch to have somewhere to sit, “and whose fault is that?” 

clarisse was sitting next to chris on the love seat, shaking her head, “told you not to get a hot dog from the gas station.” 

“rookie mistake, babe,” chris chimed in, “whenever you tell trav not to do something, he does it. it’s in his dna.” 

“connor shares the same dna as him and he’s not like that,” you called out from the kitchen, making yourself a bowl of cereal. the dining hall was already closed for breakfast since you woke up so late, thanks to the boy who was still passed out on your bed.

you couldn’t remember the last time you slept so well. you felt bad for leaving him alone, sleep in your room but your stomach was growling and if you didn't get some food in your system soon, you were bound to catch an attitude.

“that’s because i got the brains between the two of us,” connor joked, scoffing, “i let him borrow some brain cells once in a while.” 

“fuck you guys,” travis complained, sitting up. “i’m dying here and you’re making fun of me?!” 

you walked out into the living room, pulling one of the bar stools to sit closer to the group. your eyes darted to the screen in front of you, internally cheering at the familiar scene. they were watching barbie. the five of you watched in silence, letting out little laughs at the jokes, until the door of your room opened. 

luke walked out, half-asleep, and made his way over to you. he kissed your lips, mumbling, “g’mornin, five star.” 

“mornin’, pretty boy,” you squeezed the arm he wrapped around your waist. he sent you a lazy smile, nuzzling his face in your neck before disappearing into his bedroom. you turned your attention back to the screen, shoving a spoonful of fruit loops in your mouth, “oh, i love this part!” 

when you were the only one who burst out laughing at ken’s “sublime!” you turned to look at your friends, wondering why none of them were laughing. they were staring at you with wide-eyes, jaws ajar. their eyes were bright, lips breaking out into teasing smiles. oh. oh. 

“castellan get your ass in here, now!” 

luke walked out of his room with his eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why chris was screaming his name like bloody fucking murder at 12 pm on a sunday. surely, he hadn’t done anything wrong yet– he just woke up! he put his glasses on, finally able to see the looks on everyone’s faces, including your red cheeks and sheepish smile. 

luke didn’t even realize what he did until that moment. it just felt natural for him to greet you good morning, like he always did anyway, but it’s just sweeter this time around because he’s allowed to kiss you now, at least he thinks he’s allowed to. he was a little butthurt that he woke up alone on your bed this morning so when he walked out and was only able to make out your silhouette, he didn’t think twice before placing a chaste kiss on your lips. he got a taste of what it was like to kiss you and he couldn’t help himself to do it again.

he thinks now, though, that perhaps he should’ve thought twice because there was no way your friends would let the two of you leave until you explained. luke’s face paled at the sight of his friends. were you mad at him for kissing you in front of people? if his head wasn't spinning with all the negative thoughts he was having, he would see your face and understand that you were happy your friends knew about the two of you.

clarisse clicked on the remote to pause the movie, “soooo… seems like we skipped a few chapters.” 

“more like we finally got to the next chapter,” travis snorted, earning a smack on the back of his head from connor. the older stoll hissed, “don’t act like y’all weren’t tired of their pining.” 

chris rolled his eyes, eyes darting between you and luke. he was trying to fight the smile threatening to show on his features, “so care to enlighten us, guys?”

"luke?"

luke's head snapped to the sound of your voice, pulling him out of his head. you had an arm outstretched, beckoning him over to where you stood. it made luke feel giddy inside as he trotted over to you, finding comfort in standing behind you and placing his chin on top of your head. he swung an arm around you, hoping that you wouldn't see the thumbs-up he sent to the boys.

"yeaaaaahhhh castellan's got the girl!"

"oh my god," you whispered, turning around to bury your head in luke's chest. you were blushing furiously at the cheers from your friends. you think you might've even heard travis complaining about losing a bet to connor. clarisse and chris were babbling about how double dates would be fun, though clar mentioned that luke and chris would end up third and fourth-wheeling the two of you more than anything. "our friends are crazy."

the arm he had wrapped around you pulled you in tighter. you felt the rumbling of his chest, "they are."

"you guys are so fucking cute," clarisse said, a hand over her heart. "y/n, he finally made a move!"

you turned back around to face clarisse and the group, "actually i made the move!"

luke scoffed, "you did not. i kissed you."

"i asked you to come in last night."

"yeah i believe, y/n," connor piped in, shrugging. "luke was not gonna make a move."

clarisse gasped, placing a hand on chris' bicep, "we should compare notes."

your eyes widened, "do not compare notes."

"wait, what do you mean notes?" luke asked quizzically. "was five star talking about me?"

"clarisse i will never forgive you if you tell him anything."

"i'm not gonna tell him directly," she hummed, lacing her fingers with chris', "but if i told my boyfriend who happens to be his best friend and he tells luke, then, technically, i haven't done anything wrong."

"y/n, i assure you, you should not be embarrassed," travis said, snickering. it was luke's turn to panic. "whatever you said to clarisse about lover boy here, i'm sure it can't be any worse than what he's said about you to us over the last two months."

chris cleared his throat, putting on his best luke impression, "five star is so pretty. i don't think i've ever seen anyone so beautiful."

"five star is so funny. i can listen to her talk about anything for hours." this was travis.

"oh, luke where were you today? we haven't seen you all day," connor said in his regular voice before deepening his voice a tad bit to match luke's, "oh, i was hanging out with five star and we accidentally fell asleep by the lake."

"not to mention the dozens of songs he wrote about you," chris teased, "thanks for inspiring the second album, but bro was like alexander hamilton writing those songs."

luke whined, tugging on his hood to cover his face, "guys, stoppp."

"oh my god, y/n, you should see his tweets."

"do not show her my tweets!"

you burst out in laughter, getting up from your seat. you wrapped your arms around luke and he took the opportunity to hide his face in the crook of your neck. you could feel the heat on his cheeks against your skin. you played with the hair on the nape of his neck, "all right, guys, enough."

"can we go back to your room?" luke whispered in your ear, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"mhm," you couldn't deny him of anything if you tried, "come on, pretty boy."

you couldn't help but laugh and throw up the middle finger to your friends as they called out jokes and kissing noises as you and luke went off. it was funny, really, how they all knew there was something between you and luke before the two of you did. it was nice to know that your friends were supportive, regardless of how annoying they would be now that you and luke were together.

luke collapsed on his side of your bed, unable to wipe the dopey smile on his face. you sat on his lap, leaning over to press kisses on his cheeks, "just so we're clear, i wanna see the tweets. and hear the songs."

"well you can't ask me that while you're sitting on top of me because i'll fold."

you giggled, kissing his lips passionately. his hands gripped your waist as he sat up, getting in a more comfortable position, "that's the point, castellan."

luke pinched your side, chuckling when you squealed, "you're evil."

"uh huh," you mumbled, "you know we're never gonna catch a break with our friends now right?"

"honestly, i haven't caught a break from the boys since i met you," he admitted, "but at least i get to kiss you now, so it's really a win."

you couldn't agree more.

[anywherebuthere]

jackie and wilson.

previous | next masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

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

word count: 5.3k

content: fluffff, loser!reader, happy!luke if you squint and a sprinkle of loser!luke, brief mentions of suicide but nothing heavy, we finally find out which state reader is from

notes: this is so cute i love them.

PART III — she’s gonna save me, call me ‘baby’, run her hands through my hair

Wading through a misty green lake with Luke Castellan was not on your camp bucket list — something you’d produced with a young girl called Silena who you’d met in the arts and crafts cabin — but alas, here you were; knee deep in pond water and ankle deep in whatever sludge lived at the bottom, hands searching blindly along the floor while you tried your best to keep your chin dry. 

You probably wouldn’t have been there if you were any good at Volleyball — which really doesn’t make much sense with the given context. 

Okay, here’s what happened. It was Saturday at camp halfblood — and while you had been there for a solid three days now, you were yet to experience the joy of the weekends. Not that you knew they were any different, not until Travis Stoll approached you after breakfast. 

“Heyyyy, uh...newbie.” He chuckled, sidling up beside you while you were occupied with deciding whether your camp shirt was better tucked into your shorts or left hanging over them. 

You turned to the boy with an amused smile, reminding him of your name. He snapped his fingers at you, “I knew that. I did. I just prefer newbie.”

“What’s up, Travis?”

He dropped his finger guns, rocking back and forth on his feet and looking at you sheepishly, “Well, me and a few friends were gonna chuck a ball around on the beach and we need an extra player to make it even. Now that Luke’s not an option.” 

He muttered that last bit low and under his breath, not in hopes that you wouldn’t hear but in hopes that Luke wouldn’t — there was no telling how far he was from you at any given moment, but he wasn’t going to tell you that, so he just put on his charming Stoll Smile and said, “So, wanna join us?” 

You didn’t have anything to do that day, and since you’d assumed you were in for another long eight hours of finding out what you were good at and failing, a friendly game of ball (which you were safe to assume was volley, per what Luke told you yesterday) seemed like a great idea. 

Only it wasn’t — friendly, that is. You wandered over to the net set up on the beach with Travis at your side and a taller girl with curly blonde hair narrowed her eyes at you in suspicion, “How good are you at this?” 

“Uh —“ You shrugged, shaking your head slightly, “I’ve never played. We don’t have many beaches where I’m from.” 

“You don’t need a beach to play volleyball, newbie.” Connor Stoll appeared out of nowhere, grinning at you, “But it’s easy to pick up. You can be on our team.”

Their team consisted of Connor, Chris, Poppy from the Demeter cabin, Evie and Evan (twins from the Ares cabin) and now, yourself. Apparently it was a lost cause whenever the Stolls were on the same team, so Travis was on the other side of the net with the blonde girl from earlier — who’s name you’d learnt was Sabine, and who’s godly parent was Nike, which did not decrease your nerves even a little bit. 

“It’s pretty simple once you get the hang of it.” Evie explained to you once she noticed your unsure eyes. “Just don’t hit the ball twice in a row, Sab’s a stickler for that rule.” 

“Other than that, we’re pretty lax.” Her brother tagged on, smirking at you, “This isn’t the Olympics.” 

“Tell her that.” You side eyed the blonde on the other side of the net, who was cracking her knuckles and discussing strategy with Travis and Brynn, an Athena kid with a bright blue buzzcut. 

The twins let out identical chuckles, sharing a look before patting your shoulders, “You’ll be fine.” 

You didn’t have time to quip that the pair of them talking at the same time was a little foreboding before the game was on, and a volleyball was heading straight for you. 

To be fair to you, you lasted longer than expected. Maybe it was your battle instincts kicking in, but you hadn’t missed the ball once — sure, your defence lacked any real strategy and was more you hitting the ball in whatever direction and hoping for the best, but it was working, so why complain? You wouldn’t qualify for varsity, but at least you were one upping a Stoll brother — the same couldn’t be said for most campers, you knew that much. 

You actually thought you were getting pretty good, too. Your team was up by a few points (no thanks to you, all thanks to Evan. Seriously, he was like six foot four) and Sabine was getting angry. Every now and then she’d turn and scowl at Rhea, one of her teammates, and the girl would just shrug in response before returning to her position. But then, just when you started to get confident with it, Travis got you. 

Hard, too. You were paying close attention to your feet, making sure you didn’t trip over any sand when you had to move, and unfortunately didn’t notice the ball coming at you until it clipped you in the face. You went down onto your ass, both hands flying to your nose and groaning when you felt a warm trickle of blood slide through your fingers and down your hands. 

“Holy shit, newbie.” Travis sped over, dropping to his knees next to his brother and hovering over you, “I am so sorry, are you okay?” 

Your speech was muffled and nasally when you replied with a swift, “No, asshole!”

“Shit.” He muttered, looking between Connor and Evie, “Uh, I can take you to the infirmary if you want —“

“I’ll take her.” Evan interrupted. He was crouched somewhere behind you, looking at your teammates over the top of your head. You felt his hands flatten on your back as he pushed you up to stand, the rest of the group joining him and wincing when some blood dripped onto the sand. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to —“ You held out a hand in his direction now that you could see him, only to press it firmly back against your face when your nose simply started to gush once the pressure had been removed. 

“Yes,” He nodded, “I do. Let’s go.” 

You let him lead you, sending an apologetic look to the remaining teens on the sand — you were pretty sure it looked nothing like an apology since your hands were covering half of your face and there was blood seeping through your fingers, but it was the effort that counted. 

You didn’t receive as many looks as you thought you would’ve on the walk to the infirmary, although you assumed demigods had gotten worse injuries than a nosebleed before, so it wasn’t exactly odd. When you got there, you stopped on the porch and tried to speak to Evan as best you could without letting any more blood spill. 

“You can — you can go.” You said through your hands, “I got it from here.”

He looked a little unsure, but you nodded firmly and he turned back the way he came. It was pretty embarrassing, walking into the infirmary with a bloody nose on your third day at camp, but the Apollo kid who took care of you said it was only a matter of time before you shed first blood, and that you’d better thank the gods it was a volleyball and not a hellhound that did the damage. 

They stopped the bleeding with some sort of special gauze and told you to be a little more careful before sending you on your way — which was when you found Luke. 

You didn’t even see him at first, more focused on folding the gauze you’d been given into a perfect square while you stepped off the wooden porch. But then a voice muttered your name in slight shock and confusion, and you looked up to meet those baby brown eyes you couldn’t help but love. 

You grinned, “JoJo.”

Luke shook his head, “What were you doing in the infirmary?” His eyes tracked all over you, assessing for any visible injuries. When he found none, he turned his questioning gaze back to your face. 

You sucked in some air through your teeth, embarrassed, “I, uh, got hit in the face with a volleyball. Turns out, I’m awful at it.” You let out a weak chuckle, and Luke rolled his eyes in amusement. 

“Of course. I thought baseball was your thing?” 

“It is.” You nodded, “But there’s nobody out here to play with, so…” Then an idea sprung, and your face lit up so visibly that Luke took a tentative step back, “Hey, why don’t you come watch? We’re playing on the beach.”

“Oh.” The boy paused, eyes sliding to the beach and back to you, “I don’t think so…I, uh, tend to spend my weekends alone.”

“You spend your everything alone.” You pointed out with a raised pair of brows. He pursed his lips. You sighed, “Come on. You don’t have to play.”

He looked as if he was thinking about it, and your hopes were raised a little. You liked Luke, you wanted to know him better and one day consider him a friend rather than a guy you harassed every day. But you were very aware of his aversion for all things social — the comment Travis made about Luke not playing with them anymore saddened you, and it pained you to imagine Luke all alone while his brothers and friends still had fun around him. But then his face dropped, and so did yours, Luke shaking his head no. 

“I just…” He shrugged, “I don’t really…”

“It’s okay.” You interrupted before he could spout out his excuse. He didn’t need one. “We can do something else.”

“Oh, I —“ Another shake of the head, “You go back to them, don’t let me ruin it.”

“You aren’t ruining anything.” You said plainly, and you thought that those four words hit Luke a lot harder than expected, because he had this pensive look on his face that didn’t fade until you spoke again, “Listen, I know baseball isn’t exactly a camp sport, but I’ve got a ball. This place has gotta have bats — I mean, if it’s got swords, it’s got bats, right? So we grab them, we go off somewhere and take turns batting. I need to stay in practice anyway, if I’m gonna make varsity.”

You sent him your shiniest smile paired with some doughy eyes, and after squinting at you for a solid ten seconds, Luke agreed to your idea with a hesitant nod. You weren’t exactly expecting him to jump up and down in joy, so you took the liberty of doing that before asking him, very enthusiastically (because if you stayed positive, maybe it would rub off on him), to go look for a bat while you grabbed your ball. 

Chris caught you exiting the Hermes cabin while he was filling up his water bottle using the outdoor tap not far from the porch, asking you what you were doing with a baseball. You explained that volleyball was definitely not your thing and ignored his chuckle of agreement in favour of informing him that you would be teaching Luke how to become the next Babe Ruth. He raised a brow. 

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah.” You replied, a little put off by his reaction. “Is that a problem?” 

“No, no.” He backtracked quickly, hands raised and water sloshing around his bottle as the movement, “I just…I dunno. Luke’s been a little off recently. If I were you, I wouldn’t meddle in it.”

“Meddle?” You asked, shaking your head, “In what?”

“In his…” He puffed out his cheeks, trying to find the words, “His funk.” He shook his head then, eyes glossing over as he thought about it, “He failed his quest, he’s a little butthurt, but…he’ll get over it. Y’know?”

You didn’t know. 

“I just don’t think he needs babysitting.” He firmed, looking confident in his wording now that he’d found it, “He’s just gonna talk your ear off about how much he hates his life until you’re borderline suicidal. I wouldn’t bother, personally. He's a big boy, he can get over it.”

You rolled your lips over each other, staring blankly at Chris as he sent you a polite smile and walked back to the beach. Slowly, your eyes narrowed, and your brows pulled together. But you didn't say anything, you just turned around yourself and walked to where you’d asked Luke to meet you. 

He was tossing the bat between his hands when you got there, dropping it in his left when he spotted you and nodding, “Alright, where are we doing this?”

You stopped, snapped out of a stupor you didn’t even realise you were in and blinking at him. For the first time since you’d met, it seemed that he was more focused and lively than you were. It irked him a little bit, and he frowned, “Sunny?” 

“Sorry.” You responded immediately, shaking your head to rid yourself of your spiralling thoughts, “I just…uh, let’s go somewhere clear. We don’t wanna hit anyone with the ball.” 

Luke led you to a clearing in the woods, explaining that the wood nymphs would be able to help you if the ball got lost in the foliage, so there was no need to hold back the arm you’d been bragging about for the entire walk. You just smirked, raised the bat level, and nodded at him to serve. 

Yes, you were a thousand percent better at baseball than you were at volleyball. You knew that, of course, but it was nice to be reassured. Luke wasn’t half bad either, but you were also a really good runner, so you kept having to remind him that an average level fielder wouldn’t have a chance against his bats — you just so happened to be way above average. 

Plus the wood nymphs were very helpful — apparently they didn’t get to watch many demigod activities other than capture the flag so it was refreshing for them to see you two play, and to actually be able to help. 

All in all, you were having a great time. Which of course meant that you were long overdue for something going wrong. Of course. 

“I can’t find it.”

“What?” You asked breathlessly, staring at the tree nymph who shrugged at you plainly. 

“It rolled into a pond, I think.” He sniffed indignantly, “And I am not climbing into a pond.”

“Oh, and you expect us to?” 

And that, kids, is how you ended up knee deep in pond water and ankle deep in something else — with Luke Castellan right by your side. 

“This is so gross.” You whispered, grimacing as your hands ran over the murky bottom. You couldn’t see anything but your own reflection when you looked in, so you were replying on touch alone to help find your ball. “I can’t believe this. My lucky ball and it falls into a pond! Not so lucky anymore, huh? Yeah, lucky my ass.”

“Hey, Sunny?” A slosh of water rippled over you and you had to straighten up to avoid the tiny waves splashing in your face. They only increased at your movements, but you were too busy glaring at Luke to notice. He pressed his mouth together, holding in a chuckle, “You’re not being very sunny right now.” 

You huffed, flinging your arms out at your sides and wincing when you splashed water on yourself by doing so, “I —“ A huff, “I don’t feel very sunny, Castellan. I am wading in sludge.” 

He actually had the audacity to let a tiny grin slip through, “Wow, the last name? You’re acting like me right now. It’s weird.”

“I can’t believe this.” You repeated, narrowing your eyes at the boy, “I’ve been trying to cheer you up since the day I met you and when you finally do, it’s because you’re relishing in my pain? Fuck you.”

As if he was trying to piss you off, Luke laughed. He actually laughed, exactly like he had yesterday and if you weren’t so annoyed you’d be smiling at him for it. But you were annoyed, so all you did in response was send a wave of pond water at him and drench his front. 

He stopped laughing. You started laughing. 

“Okay, is that how you wanna play this?” He asked, stepping closer, “Is it?” 

You grinned, stepping back. The water moved when you did, and the paired struggle of your’s and Luke’s legs under the water just increased the waves that oscillated around your knees. It slid up to your thighs and threatened to wet the denim of your shorts, but you were too busy prying your foot out of whatever the hell lived at the bottom of the pond so you could escape Luke’s wrath. 

You shook your head, “You don’t wanna do this.”

He nodded mockingly, “I think I do.”

Then it was on. He lunged for you, and you dived to the left in a swift attempt to get around him. Water was splashing everywhere at this point but neither of you cared — especially when Luke’s hands were mere inches from your arms, waiting for your ankle to snag on some algae and pull you back so he could push you over. You were smarter than that though, so you did a swift one-eighty, dragging your hands under the water with you as you did — the wave that accumulated from the momentum doused Luke from head to toe, his curls sticking to his forehead. He wiped them away and blew hard from his mouth before forming a weak glare in your direction.   

Your jaw trembled as you held in what you knew would be some serious chortles — but it was silent. The only noise apparent was the settling of the waves now that you had both stopped moving and Luke’s heavy breathing in front of you. He shook his head, stepping forward slowly, and you braced yourself for what was about to come. 

“Hey!” 

You paused. You shared a look with Luke before looking confusedly at the form that had appeared suddenly between the two of you. It was a girl by the looks of it, only she was made entirely of the water the two of you were standing in. She glared between the pair of you, hands on her hips. 

“I don’t appreciate all this splashing.” You felt suddenly like you were being berated by a school teacher for talking too loud during class, “Are you trying to drain my pond? Are you?”

“N—No.” You responded, shaking your head, “We were just looking for — ”

The water nymph held up your ball with a stern expression, “This? Yeah, it looked like you were.” 

Her sarcasm was not lost on you, and you tried your best not to meet Luke’s eyes, knowing they would fail you the second you did. Instead you looked at the nymph before you and took the ball from her outstretched hand, “Thank you. And, um, sorry…about the splashing.”

She folded her arms, lifting her head and straightening her shoulders, “That’s okay. Now get out.”

You were both quick to exit the water, although not too quick that you made anymore of it splash onto the rocks. Once you were out, the nymph nodded in satisfaction and melted back into the pond, and you and Luke were finally able to breathe. Then, you both burst into laughter. 

“Oh my gods.” You huffed, shaking your head and looking down at yourself, “Did we just get into trouble?” 

“With a water nymph?” He finished, shrugging off his wet shirt and wringing it out, “Yeah. How embarrassing.”

Your mouth was suddenly very dry. You knew Luke was strong — he had to be to fight a dragon and come back alive. To be known as the Best Swordsman in Camp. To be trusted by so many campers despite his newfound, distanced demeanour. But damn. 

You blew out a long puff of air, hoping your reddened cheeks could be excused as some light sunburn. You weren’t as soaked as he was, but you still wafted your damp shirt from your body in hopes that it would dry — and also to give yourself something to do that wasn’t ogling at Luke’s lean figure. 

He spread his shirt out on a rock, ensuring the sun was hitting it right before lowering himself to the ground on the dry grass a few feet away. He leant back on his hands, face to the sky, and revelled in the warmth. You stayed standing, fiddling with the button on your shorts, staring at him. At the scar on his face, at the rest of them along his chest. 

He cracked one eye open, glancing at you, “What?”

“I, uh.” You licked your lips, “Nothing. Nothing.” You muttered, taking a seat beside him and crossing your legs. Your gaze stuck firmly to your lap and you waited for his to return to the sky. It didn’t. 

“You can ask me.” He said then, shrugging. 

“What happened on your quest?” You let slip, and when he stayed silent for a second too long, you realised that maybe that wasn't the question he was giving you permission to ask. “I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business, it’s nobody’s really. But Chris told me before that you’re in a funk and that seemed like a gross understatement but then again I’ve known you for, what, three days? He’s known you for years, so surely he’s right. But you just seem like it’s more than a funk, and I don’t know what to believe because I don’t know what happened but I also don’t want to ask because it’s none of my business and it’s also very clearly a sore subject because of what happened with Dean. Not that I think you’re gonna fly off the handle or anything, but it’s definitely a touchy subject and I can’t just go demanding all the details just because I wanna be your friend and— ”

A hand over your mouth stopped you from continuing what Luke was sure to be a very long tangent. He looked at you, half in shock, half in amusement, and huffed out a laugh, “Sunny, you need to calm down.”

You couldn’t respond, but you did nod. He removed his hand slowly and you swallowed your embarrassment. Luke sat up fully, straightening his back and clearing his throat, “Uh, okay. Have you heard of that Hercules story? With the golden apples?” 

You nodded, afraid to speak in case you went off on a rant again. He nodded with you, “Yeah, well, my father sent me on that. The exact same quest…except I failed.”

That explained the scar, and the dragon story he’d mentioned very briefly yesterday. He started to go into a little more detail about his quest — and suddenly you were overcome with this…angry sort of sadness. 

Hermes sent Luke on a quest that had already been done. After hearing Clarisse yap your ear off about Kleos, you understood why he’d been a little bummed. Honestly, if it were you, you wouldn’t have even gone. What’s the point in doing a quest that’s already been done? But you didn’t say that to Luke, who seemed a little deep into his story. You just simmered in your irritation while he continued to explain his battle with Ladon, and his ultimate failure. 

“I refused to leave the infirmary for a week.” He chuckled, but it was a little sad. “I mean, I’m supposed to be a leader here, and I fail my first quest? Some demigod I turned out to be.” 

Without even thinking, you shook your head, “You didn’t fail.” Luke looked at you, confused, “You battled a dragon with a hundred heads and lived. That doesn’t sound like failure to me.”

“But I didn’t get the apples.” He explained. “I disappointed my father.”

“Your father…” You said slowly, unsure of how your next words would land, “Who I’m going to assume had never spoken to you until the day he gave you your quest?” Luke nodded after a brief pause and you took that as permission to continue, “So who cares if he’s disappointed? He clearly doesn’t care if you’re mauled by a dragon.” 

“Exactly.” Luke replied, brows pulled together in the way they had been when you’d first met. Angry, irritated. Disappointed. “Everyone keeps telling me to get over it. That demigods have failed quests before and it just means I need to try harder next time but…why should there be a next time? Really, if you sit and think about it for a second, why are we even here? To train, so we don’t die whenever monsters come and attack us? And who’s fault is that? Maybe if our parents were good people, there wouldn’t be any monsters trying to murder their kids. If they cared, even a little bit, they’d do more than just claim us and leave us to die!” 

He scoffed, looking in the direction where you knew the rest of the campers resided — playing games, building weapons, dedicating every waking hour to becoming the best of the best. And for what? For glory? For a pat on the back from a parent who can’t even be bothered to raise them? 

“They don’t get it.” He said then, turning back to you, “They think this is all okay. They’re too invested to realise that they’re just being used. They’re so focused on getting a shred of recognition from the gods that they don’t understand that it’s never gonna come.”

“So…” You finally spoke, your first words in a minute, “What do we do?”

Luke shrugged then, “I don’t know yet.” 

It was silent for a long time after that. Luke stayed staring at the floor and you led back to stare at the sky. He was right, wasn’t he? Sure, you’d only been in this for a little while, but you weren’t stupid. You knew the gods didn’t care — you’d figured out that much when you got to camp. A dumping ground for demigods. Demigod daycare, except mommy isn’t coming to pick you up at three o’clock. Luke deserved to be angry, he deserved to mope — they all did. 

But they wouldn’t. You could sit there and curse the gods for hours on end, but that was still half of you. And that, you thought, was probably the worst part of it all.  

You were so caught up in your feelings that when the tree that had been shading you phased into a nymph and walked away, you jumped halfway out of your skin, “Jeezum crow.”

You looked at Luke, expecting him to either share the same dumbfounded look on his face or be laughing at you — something he seemed to be doing a lot of today — but instead he was staring at you, slack-jawed and wide eyed. You blinked, “What?”

“You’re from Vermont.” 

Your mouth snapped shut, and his expanded into the grin you’d been hassling him for since you’d set your sights on him. You sighed, “Fuck.” 

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “You’re from Vermont! Holy shit. I should’ve known it when you called me a flatlander.” He threw his head back, and you shook yours at his dramatics. But he didn’t care, he just pointed at you, “You’re a fuckin’ woodchuck!” 

“Oh my gods.” You groaned into your hands, pulling yourself to your feet in hopes of escaping his sudden glee. “Is that so bad?” 

“No.” He laughed, following you, “I’m just amazed that I figured it out. I’m a genius!”

“Okay.” You sent him a blank look, but it only lasted a few seconds before your tiny smile was fighting through, “It’s not like you’ve discovered the meaning of life. Calm down.” 

“Never.” He shook his head, “This is my greatest achievement.”

“You fought a dragon.” 

“Screw the dragon!” He gripped your biceps, grinning at you, “You’re from Vermont!”

“You’re not funny.”

“And yet you’re laughing.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” 

“I’m not!” 

____________

“What’d you do to him?” 

You threw a piece of salmon into the fire, glancing at Chris, “I’m getting deja vu. Haven’t you asked me this already?” 

“Yeah, but…” The boy looked behind him, back at the Hermes table, where Luke was perched on the end and waiting patiently for you to come back from the hearth before digging into his food, “This time I mean it. I mean, he still isn’t talking to us, but he’s sitting on our side of the table again. You can be honest with me…” He sent you a grave look, “Did you give him a BJ?” 

“What? No!” You threw a pea at him. “I just listened to him.” You tried to be a little serious, but clearly Chris wasn’t getting the hint, so you relented, “And doused him in pond water.”

He laughed at that, nodding proudly. You turned back to the fire, asking Aphrodite to get rid of your split ends. You’d given up on praying to your father, deciding to go through every Olympian until one of them answered. So far, only Hera had responded — you assumed so, anyway, when a cuckoo woke you up from your afternoon nap. That wasn’t very helpful, but at least it was an answer. You didn’t suspect campers prayed to her often, so she probably appreciated the sentiment. 

“So…” Travis smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at you once you sat down. He sent this look around the group, but even Connor gave him a weirded out look in response. He huffed, “It’s team day tomorrow.”

A collective ohhh seemed to hum around the group, but you were still confused. You sent a questioning look to Luke who said, “For Capture the Flag. Tomorrow is when all the cabin counsellors gang up and decide on the two teams.”

“Then we have five days to strategise.” Travis continued on very dramatically, hands splayed on the table, “And on Friday…we battle.”

That seemed to lift the energy up a bit, the people around you sharing mischievous looks. They started to discuss amongst them who would be the best cabin to ally with, Lana turning to Chris, “Who are you gonna pick?” 

Chris went to speak, but paused. He seemed to think about something, looking slightly scared but still turning to the boy across from him anyway, “I thought maybe…Luke would like to reinstate himself as team captain this month.”

Right, you’d completely forgotten. During your spear lessons with Clarisse, you’d asked her why it was so important that you be amazing at fighting quickly if monsters couldn’t get into camp. She’d then explained the whole situation that was Capture the Flag — how it was a bigger deal than the super bowl around here — before briefly mentioning that Luke had always been Hermes team captain, but stepped down for the last game because his scar was still healing from his quest. Chris had taken over for him, and based off of the looks the people around you were sporting, you assumed they weren’t expecting him to give up his title so quickly. 

You couldn’t blame them. Luke hadn’t exactly expressed much desire to captain this time — he hasn’t expressed much desire for anything these days apparently. You were all waiting for him to let Chris down easy, but instead he looked up from his plate with an indifferent nod and said, “Yeah, sure.” 

Nobody said anything. Except Chris who, when Luke stood to rack up his empty plate, looked at you gravely and asked, “Was it a handjob?”

🏷️ @katherines-imagines @lovingjasontoddmakemewanttocry @jennapancake @cobaltskiez @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @m00ng4z3r @mischiefmoons @woodlandwrites @theo-notts-doll @iammightsadyall @fennecswife @csifandom @tsireyasgf (just ask to be removed/added!)

[anywherebuthere]

lighting the fuse might result in a bang

pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: Silena thinks you need to start blowing off some steam. You think you just need a fresh victory and Luke Castellan is the perfect opponent. word count: 5.3k warnings: smoking, drinking, usual college party stuff.

author's note: brought to you by my personal deep dark history with boys in hats. also i haven't gotten drunk in like 4/5 years so i don't remember what it's like so this was interesting. also i don't know anything about frats OR smoking. have the most fun <3

When Silena mentions a party you could go to, you jump at the offer, brain fuzzing at the edges where you’ve been locked in on flashcards all afternoon. It’s something you’ve started to navigate better this year, remembering to have fun after a year of non-stop focus. Silena makes it easier - a social butterfly with no qualms about dragging you out of the library when she thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard - and there’s no harm in listening to her without protest sometimes. 

“Do you even know who’s throwing this one?” You ask as she’s leading you through campus, rubbing at your arms to fight the fall chill. “I do not want a repeat of March.” 

“Have some faith in me. I’ve started vetting my sources.” 

Both of you shiver, the memory of a night spent outside the Stolls’ cramped dorm still haunting you six months later. You’re not overly familiar with this side of campus, turning away from the usual halls and towards the sorority housing, but Silena walks the path with ease, arm looped through yours.

The walk seems to have cleared your head, the music as you approach shaking off the last of the static. You’ve been here before, borrowing notes from a teammate, but it’s different like this, all pumping bass and cheers from the kitchen. Clarisse waves at you from across the room, beer in hand, and you mutter to Silena that you’re going to grab a drink. She nods, making a beeline for Drew Tanaka. You assume that’s who the invitation came from originally.

There’s a different energy to the kitchen, not quieter by any means but less noisy. Less concentrated, maybe, with twenty different conversations happening at once and nothing you have to pay attention to. Most people you don’t recognise, a group from your first year stats class huddled together near the sink, and the Stolls off to the side pointing at every new person they see. 

Mixing your drink is an easy fix, the kitchen island covered in more choices than you’ve seen in a while, and you savor the first few sips. Between class and swimming, you’ve barely drank since the semester began and the burn of vodka isn’t as numbed as you wish it was. Still, a drink is a drink so you refill it before returning to the thick of the party. 

Clarisse takes it upon herself to drag you away from the conversation you end up trapped in with Lee Fletcher, quite literally taking hold of your elbow. You mutter an apology, however disingenuous, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation as he smiles grimly. 

“I have no idea how you talk to that lot,” she says when you’re far enough away. “They’re all boring.” 

“Lee’s great. He always lends me notes from the lectures I miss.”

She laughs, pushing you into another room. “He’s trying to swindle a date out of you and you’re using him for lecture notes.” 

You shrug. There’s nothing wrong with Lee, except that Clarisse is a little right when she says most of your classmates are boring. It’s probably not intentional, and they definitely don’t realize it, but there’s this way they carry themselves around campus - half-nervous and half-haughty. It’s not a great combination and it’s why you gravitate towards the people Silena meets. 

“We were wondering when we were going to see you next,” Chris says as he throws an arm over Clarisse’s shoulder. You still don’t quite know the story there, how Chris Rodriguez managed to sweet talk your stoic teammate. One day, you’ll find out - a drunken vow you made with Silena on your dorm room floor when Clarisse mentioned a boyfriend - but you’re content to let them enjoy their romance in peace for now. “Almost thought you’d succumbed to the dark side.”

“You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

“And thank god,” he knocks his cup against yours before gesturing to the far corner of the room. “Because we need someone to kick Castellan’s ass at beer pong.” 

“Whose?”

Turns out, Luke Castellan is the newest brother to ksig. There’s not much to know about Chris’ fraternity in your eyes, just the basics of all frats, and you know from last year that there’s always bound to be a hotshot that needs someone to pump the brakes on their ego. Usually, they’re on the younger side, with more money than sense and they don’t expect anything from your approach. Luke Castellan isn’t quite that, but he’s not far from it either.

While Chris talks to the boy who was about to play, you take the opportunity to size up your opponent. It comes naturally, a part of constantly competing, and it comes in handy in moments like this, when the element of surprise is a key factor to the situation going ahead. 

Fitted jeans, branded polo and a stupid snapback cap worn backwards to show how cool he is. Nothing you haven’t seen before, really, except there’s this focused glint in his eyes with each plastic ball he throws like he has to prove his worth here. It’s a simple practice, unnecessary for a silly party game, but there’s this serious set to strong shoulders that you’re curious about.

The same way you want to know about Clarisse’s relationship, you want to know what makes Luke Castellan, whoever he is, tick. 

“Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning, Rodriguez?” 

“I’m not playing you, Luke,” Chris says and you watch closely as the other boy tilts his head slightly to the left. “I just had to go and get the current undefeated champion on campus.”

There’s this moment that happens every time you play - those awkward seconds where everyone looks completely past you to anyone else, anyone more noticeable. You count on it, occasionally, so it takes you a moment to process the way Luke’s gaze slides to you, drinks you in before he nods towards the other end of the table. 

Chris mutters a quiet “you got this,” as you brush past him, handing him your drink. You’re not delusional enough to think you can get away with mixing your drinks this early in the game. 

It takes two of Luke’s shots for you to land your first, his last hour of playing an advantage you accounted for. He’s not getting sloppy, not in the slightest, but he’s at the point where he’s a little worse for wear - a tired arm and hazy mind - and you take the chance you have at a false sense of security, taking your losses on the chin before playing the game to win. 

Within seven shots between you, you can see Luke start to get restless. How he reevaluates the table in front of him, his three empty cups to your four. Part of you really wants to knock that hat off his head, as if it’ll give you more of an insight into his mind. Instead, you wait for what you know is coming, a slight miscalculation that has the plastic ball rolling off the table to land at someone’s feet. 

Chris hands you a fresh one and you take in the way Luke swallows, jaw clenching as you line up your next shot. Whether he knows it or not, you’ve just been handed your win.

Clarisse cheers, handing you one of the cups from in front of you as everyone yells. You both chug what’s left of them, the bitter taste of cheap beer drowned out by victory, and as soon as that’s done, she throws herself back into Chris’ arms. Laughing, you turn around to find another drink, only to be met by Luke standing beside you.

“Are you about to be a sore loser?” 

He chuckles and it’s different like this. His eyes are brown, which you didn’t know five minutes ago, and his hair is dark from the little wisps of it you can see peeking out underneath his hat. You consider telling him that the hat makes him look lame, but then he’s leaning down to whisper anyway. “I expect a rematch.” 

It’s quiet and heavy and you wonder if anyone can tell that your blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s nothing, really, and it takes more effort than you want to respond. 

“Then expect to lose.”

The only saving grace to the exchange is that Luke looks a whole lot more affected by it, a blush crawling up his neck as you take the drink nearest to you and leave to find your roommate once more. 

*

Losing never used to get to you. Not like this, at least, where everything sort of feels like a precipice and you’re waiting for the next loss to fall on your shoulders alone. It was meant to be an easy game, a warm-up, for when the season started in earnest and you couldn’t afford to be incohesive. There’s always a learning curve, new starters and new competition, but in no world should it have caused this. 

Silena tells you to let it go, throwing yet another outfit on her bed as she gets ready. When you saw her at lunch, Clarisse told you to just push harder during practice. Sometimes you’re not even sure how you can be friends with both of them, how they can be friends with each other either. Unfortunately, it becomes very clear when Clarisse knocks on the door that night. 

“Why aren’t you ready?” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

She tuts at you, digging through the pile of clothing on Silena’s bed before throwing a dress at you. “Get dressed.” 

“You can’t make me,” you protest, the black fabric scrunching in your fist. You’ve borrowed it before, for a party last year you don’t remember very well, and you don’t even want to consider why it’s the one Clarisse selected. You turn to your roommate, looking for backup, only to find her with a pair of your shoes in her hands. “Are you seriously going to make me?” 

In unison, they raise a singular eyebrow each and it’s unsettling enough that you let go of all will to fight them. Today may as well just be full of losses that you can mourn tomorrow.

It’s only when you arrive at the party that you realize you have no idea who’s throwing it. Or who’s going to be there. Distantly, you really hope it’s a stranger Silena met on her way around campus - full of people you’ve ever met and will never see again. You could find someone nice enough to blow off some steam with before going on your merry way. 

When Clarisse yells at her boyfriend, you let out a huff as both he and Luke Castellan turn around. 

Since your first meeting, you’ve learned a few more things about Luke. He’s from Connecticut. He was responsible for half of Drew’s sorority coming down with the flu during freshers week. He’s in pre-med. He’s the reason Professor Chase introduced a ban on energy drinks in his lectures (one hundred students simultaneously opening a can of Redbull each was, apparently, mildly disconcerting). Most importantly, he’s always wearing that stupid cap. 

You try to equate the things you know with the Luke standing in front of you. Some of it makes perfect sense - Professor Chase and Connecticut - and some of it unsettles you, but it’s all true. Freshers and pre-med and track meets. Focusing on the distracted way he taps on his beer bottle instead of Clarisse greeting Chris, you kind of want to find out a whole lot more. 

“Fancy a rematch?” 

It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night, twisting the cap off a fresh beer before handing it to you. Then doing the same with his own. You pretend not to notice the movement of it, the few short seconds where you can get away with staring at the shine of silver rings in low light. Taking a sip, you crinkle your nose. 

“I’m not really in the mood,” you mutter and, at the very least, the beer is cold and you chug half of it before you even notice you’ve done it. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother?” 

There’s seconds before you notice it, how his eyes shift from slightly curious to intense. They don’t change much but standing in front of him, you can tell when they go from relaxed to focused. How his back straightens and shoulders roll back just so. You should go and find something stronger to drink. Maybe even see if Lee Fletcher is nearby.

You stay put.

“It’s just a bit of friendly competition,” Luke shrugs, unknowing of how it echoes in your skull. How that’s all today was ever meant to be. Leave it to him to dig the knife in again just as the tightness in your chest was starting to ease. “But I guess you just can’t handle it.” 

“I’d kick your ass in a rematch. I’m doing you a favor.” 

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, Luke’s eyes brightening as the words push past your lips. The beer you drank way too fast is forming words before you even know what they are.

“You can always choose something else for me to beat you in,” he says, like it’s an offer, something gracious that you should be grateful for. “I’m easy.” 

“How many beers have you had?” 

“Three, I think?” 

Silena would tell you it’s a stupid idea - you have a coaching session at 9am and you haven’t gotten drunk since the party where you met Luke - and she would be right. But you need a win tonight, something guaranteed, and there’s this itch that crawls under your skin the longer you stare at the boy in front of you. 

So you say it anyway. 

“I bet I could outdrink you.” 

“I’d like to see you try.”

He waits as you down two more beers in quick succession, nursing his own as you do. A clink of your bottles against one another, followed by the final sip you each take and it’s finally a competition. 

The night continues, you and Luke almost joined at the hip. It’s to keep track, you tell yourself, talking to a kid that might be in your organic chem class. If the kid looks at you weird for pouring two drinks, only to hand one to Luke in silence, that’s probably just the alcohol misreading things. Only once, when you’re deep in conversation with Lee does Luke pass you a beer, eyebrow raised when Lee gives him a glare. You think that might’ve been drink eight. 

By the time Chris finds you both again, you’ve thrown yourselves onto the couch on the outskirts of the room. Someone’s abandoned coat is thrown over your legs in a mediocre attempt to preserve some dignity in the dress you’re wearing and Luke’s hat has twisted to the side. You’re sure neither of you has drunk a sip in ten minutes.

“You guys doing okay?” 

“We’re drunk,” you say and you can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a shout. “I’m winning.” 

“You’re not winning,” Luke turns his head to glare and you blame the alcohol on the attention you pay to the slope of his nose. “Neither of us have finished these drinks.” 

“Are you going to?” 

He glances down at the cup in his hand, half empty. You can see it, the hesitation, before he places it on the floor by his feet, shaking his head. “Are you?” 

The nice thing to do would be to give up, call it a draw and appreciate that you managed to have fun despite the bad day that had preceded it. However, you like to win. So you grit your teeth before drinking the final three sips, tilting the empty cup towards him so he can see the proof. It takes you a second to remember you have to actually swallow in order to drink, but you do and Luke scrunches his nose. You kind of want to kiss it as a way to smooth the skin back out.

“That’s two wins to me, Castellan.” 

Chris shakes his head at you both. “I’m not calling either of you to make sure you’re alive in the morning.” 

*

It’s an almost unconscious action when you walk into Drew’s sorority house, how you wave Silena off in favor of scanning the crowd, searching for the one reason you agreed to show up in the first place. It takes a moment, pinks and blues and silvers all merging together in your eyeline until you spot him near the staircase, familiar black cap resting on his head. 

You’re already a little buzzed, the thrill of your final project this semester finally being handed in just hours ago, and it’s why you let yourself actually look at Luke for once. 

By this point, you’ve seen him in a polo and a flannel, always with jeans. Laidback. That’s what party Luke was. Tonight, though, it’s like he’s trying harder - baggy pants, like they’re resting a little too low on his hips, a white t-shirt, white trainers that you know are going to stain before the night ends and a slightly oversized leather jacket that doesn’t quite go with the hat you used to identify him. Maybe it’s something he does on purpose, ruining a good thing over comforting familiarity. Maybe you’ll ask him.

Luke looks up then, as if he has a sixth sense, and you kind of don’t know what to do with the slight wave he sends in your direction. You wouldn’t call him a friend, that’s for sure, but you nod in response before weaving through your classmates to the kitchen.

It takes two vodka cranberries for Silena to find you. And it takes four shots with people you’ve never met for Chris to ask if you’ve seen Luke anywhere. You tell him where you last saw him, maybe an hour ago, and he shakes his head like he’s already checked the entire house.

“Do you think you can let him know I’m heading out?” Chris asks, one arm looped around Clarisse’s waist, more for support than anything else. She was already unsteady when you arrived and you know by the flush in her cheeks that it’ll only take a couple more drinks for her to start throwing up. You nod at Chris, cradling your drink to your chest, and he mumbles a thanks while steering his girlfriend towards the door.

With both of them gone, it leaves you with little to do except go hunting for Luke. So that’s what you do, waving Lee off as he attempts to grab your attention from the couch. 

Focusing is a lot harder now, squinting over everyone’s heads in search of that damn hat. Nothing. You know he’s not in the kitchen, that’s definite, and you learn that he’s not in the garden either, Katie from your anatomy class staring at you bewildered as you explain your quest. 

There’s only one place left to check for Luke and you consider if it’ll be a worthwhile risk. It’s entirely possible that he’s already left, whoever he was locked in conversation with earlier with him maybe, and you’re searching an entire sorority house on the off-chance he’s still in the building. 

But you promised Chris. More than that, you refuse to let Luke Castellan beat you.

So you commit to the staircase, pushing past the line for the restroom upstairs. It’s quieter up here, not by much, but you can hear yourself think clearer. There’s three doors on your left, all closed, and you drain the remnants of your drink so it warms your blood and erases the small part of your brain still protesting. 

There’s two yells when you knock on the first door, both hurried and pitching higher as the words fade so you move on quickly. No one answers to the second door, so you crack it open enough to see inside. It’s dark and neat and completely untouched by whatever is happening below, so you let it click shut again. 

Luke is in the third room, you learn, pressing it open when there’s no response to your knock. The room itself is still orderly, but you find the boy you’ve been searching for sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, hat turned to the side and the sleeves of his jacket bunching carelessly where they’ve been pushed higher on his forearms. 

“Chris wanted me to tell you he took Clarisse home,” you blurt when it feels like you need to say something. “He couldn’t find you so…”

Luke waits. When it becomes clear that’s all you’re here for, he says, “Well, thanks for letting me know.” 

You’ve done your job. You can go back and enjoy the party downstairs, maybe make use of the empty room next door instead of remaining awkwardly in the doorway. 

You think about how Chris mentioned that Luke can recite pi to seventeen places while drunk. How you’re still beating him by two points. How there’s an ashtray on the floor beside Luke’s knee and it’s sort of considerate of him to use one when no one else would.

“Mind if I join you?” 

Being in an empty bedroom with a guy at a party isn’t unusual. You’ve had your fair share of them, rushed and quiet and mostly on a bed. Sitting on the floor with Luke is different, you find, a gravity to it than you can’t quite wrap your head around after so many drinks. It’s slow and languid and you don’t really say much of anything as your knee bumps against his thigh in an effort to get comfortable in the space.

No one told you Luke smokes. 

You tell him as much.

“It’s a bad habit,” he shakes his head, twisting a cigarette between his fingers and you both act like you’re not paying rapt attention to it. “I try to avoid making it one.” 

“I used to. Back in high school. Gave it up when I got accepted here.” 

He turns to face you then, head tilted so the visor of his slanted hat brushes his shoulder. “I would never have guessed you were a smoker.” 

It’s not said with judgment, just as an observation from the limited interactions you’ve had since the semester began. The focus in Luke’s gaze crawls up your spine and mingles with the alcohol you’ve yet to flush from your system. 

“You ever blown a smoke ring?” 

If you’re not challenging him, you don’t quite know what to make of Luke. It’s the thing you know most about him, the way his face shifts from victory into loss. The way it matches yours, stretches from his eyes to his jaw and into clenched hands. If you’re not challenging him, you can’t read him - you want to be able to read him in the low light of right now. 

“I bet I’m better at it than you,” you say after he answers. A short laugh escapes him, almost a huff, and it raises the skin on your arms when it meets the top of your ear. “Wanna see?” 

“I’ve only got one.” He waves the cigarette he’s been holding in front of your eyes. 

“We can share.” 

It’s a bad, terrible, absolutely stupid idea. 

“You’re on, Castellan.” 

As he lights the end of it, you wonder if he knows what the brief flame does for his cheekbones, for his jawline. Paints them in small, defined shadows that you might still see if you close your eyes. You almost want to mention it to him. You settle for watching his lips settle around it, the sinking of his cheeks on the inhale and the noise as he exhales. There’s an almost complete ring of smoke in the air.

Luke hands you the cigarette and you repeat his motions, a little quicker. A little smoother. The ring that leaves your lips is full, but less circular. 

Both of you pretend not to notice the other one staring.

You agree to best of three. You agree and you win by the tiniest margin and you hand Luke the little that remains as a consolation prize. He indulges in the last few drags and you watch him do it, looking nothing like the pre-med student you know he is. You think he could be dangerous like this, based on the way your stomach twists as he puts the cigarette out, how his head tilts back and the final wisps of smoke escape his mouth.

You aren’t as drunk anymore. 

You really wish you were.

It takes Luke a second to notice that you’ve moved at all, eyes still closed but he does, and the run of his gaze across your face is enough for you to seize the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream, pushing forward so you’re actually face to face with him, knees digging into the rough carpet beneath you. 

“Can I help you?” It’s low and a little ragged and this is the first time you’ve really noticed the thin, pale scar that stretches down the skin of his right cheek. It’s actually a little insane how pretty he is up close. 

“I think I want a little more than the glory of winning this time,” and half of your whisper is lost to Luke Castellan’s lips but it’s not that important anyway.

What is important is the warmth of his hand through your shirt, pressed into the skin that exposes itself as you shift even closer. It’s the slightly rough texture of his jaw underneath your palm, the way his breath hitches in tandem with yours and you both push through it anyway. It’s the unexpected catch of your finger on his cap and the way you give up on it entirely, finally snatching it off his head so it lands somewhere nearby. 

You’re not sure what you expected Luke’s hair to look like. Horrible, probably, with odd patches that lie weirdly flat and should be covered from view. It’s not this, wild dark curls that deserve to be seen. 

“You have curly hair?” You say it before you can think not to, so caught up in the discovery you’ve just made, and Luke squints at you, unsure. “I can’t believe you have curly hair.” 

He’s preparing a smart-ass comment, you know it by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and that’s really just not going to work this time - not when he’s been lying for months behind a hat. So you do what any sane person would, twist your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and trail your lips across his jaw like you’ll die if you don’t.

His hand hooks underneath your thigh and, when you bracket his waist between your legs, cool leather brushing against your knees, you think this might be the best victory you’ve experienced yet.

*

Silena knows something is up when you refuse to speak to her about the party. There’s few secrets you’ve kept from each other since meeting, and even less since Clarisse got involved. It’s pointless to try, mostly, since they all spill out of you when the lights go out and you’re left with each other's company. You almost forgot how annoying she could be when she’s pushing for information.

“Don’t think I’m going to tell you either,” you say when Clarisse joins you in the library a week after the party. “I am a fortress of secrets.” 

“I know you hooked up with Luke.” 

“Seriously?” 

She rolls her eyes, passing you the book you’d asked her for during practice last night. “Calm down. Chris told me. I’m down ten bucks now.” 

“You bet on it?”

“Of course we did, it’s our brand.” 

“I’m not telling Silena,” you whisper again, frowning at your notes. You wonder if Clarisse is aware you haven’t actually spoken to Luke since that night. “She’ll make it a big deal for nothing.” 

“I won’t tell but you should probably figure out what happens next. There’s a party at ksig tomorrow night before everyone goes home for the holidays.” You tap your pen against the textbook. Clarisse pushes a slip of paper towards you. Someone’s phone buzzes to your left. “Think about it.”

When she’s long gone, you grab the paper she left from the table. It’s wrinkled and you smooth it as best you can beneath your fingertips. Blue ink, messily scrawled, and you commit it to memory. Closing your textbook, you leave it pressed between chapters seven and eight. 

The party is loud, louder than you’re prepared for after flaking out on so many since your first one last year. Silena brushes past you once you arrive, shoving your shoulder just enough that it twinges and you frown. You didn’t speak a word on the way here and the silent treatment is starting to drive a little crazy. 

It feels silly now, in a place so crowded, and you breathe deeply. Someone points you in the direction of the kitchen after multiple attempts at asking and you miss the light chaos of throwing up outside the Stolls’ dorm with your best friend. 

You grab a beer, using the table edge to pop the cap off, and it helps to ease the tightness in your chest at how unfamiliar this all is. You’re not sure you could even find the restroom, let alone a singular person.

Pushing back into the bulk of the party, you vow to leave if you don’t find him before you finish your beer. There’s a project you have to start looking into for next semester that could be a good use of time tonight. 

If anyone tried to convince you that most of campus was here, you’d be willing to believe them. A drink raised in Lee’s direction, a nod to Ethan from last years’ stats class, a half-hearted smile at Rachel, who raises an eyebrow at you like she knows something no one else does. 

And maybe she does, because you turn away from her to find Luke just feet away, gesturing animatedly to the guy next to him. There’s a beer in his hand and a hat on his head and his phone number so deeply etched in your mind since last night that you hardly think about it until you’re standing next to him again, drink placed on a table somewhere along the way.

“Hi,” he smiles and his scar shifts with it. He turns to the guy from before. “We’ll catch up later, man.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate that fucking hat?” 

“I sort of got that when you threw it across the room.” His lips wrap around the rim of his bottle and you think you can be normal about it, go back to the way things were, until he smirks just slightly and you know you can’t. 

“You’re such a sore loser, Castellan,” you mutter as you push yourself up to snatch it from his head. He doesn’t comment, lets your fingers brush through his curls until they’re a complete mess instead of compacted. He glances down at the cap in your hand and mutters, “And what is your genius plan for my hat?”

It’s a really fucking good question. Short of getting it off his head, you didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s one thing to throw it across an empty room in the dark, another thing entirely to abandon it to a frat party. So you choose the next best thing - placing it on your own head and daring him to question it. 

“I guess that can work,” Luke says and it sounds like a promise soaked in laughter. 

Neither of you find it as funny when he has to tip the visor upwards to kiss you.

[anywherebuthere]

poisoned mercury | now you got me

ix. now you got me by inhaler

series masterlist | previous | next

the happy little bubble you and luke made for yourselves inevitably bursted a few days after you made it official– though if you asked luke, you rejected his advances, which always earned an eye roll from you followed by a long kiss to his lips that had him silent for the next five minutes. you knew he was milking the hell out of you saying no to his question until he let you listen to the song, but you were his and he was yours regardless of the title. 

you stared at yourself in the mirror, blushing as you ran your fingers down the marks on your neck. you added a turtleneck under your chb shirt, not having enough energy to cover up the marks on your neck with makeup, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to explain to people how you got them. thankfully, the weather cooperated with you today. it was unusually cold for the summer, a slight breeze entering your room from your opened window. as you continued to get ready for the day, your phone buzzed with a text from your dad. 

‘hey kid, can you come to my office real quick?’

you hadn’t spoken to your dad in weeks, not since he stormed out of the cabin after finding out what started the fight with your teammate. this was the longest you’d gone without speaking to him. you texted a thumbs up and made your way out of your room. 

luke was sitting on the coffee table in the middle of everyone, looking at you with wondering eyes, “where are you going?” 

“my dad wants to talk.” 

“do you want me to come with you?” luke got up from where he sat. you told him last night that you’d been avoiding your dad as much as possible, and he did the same with you. as much as you guys butted heads, luke knew that it was taking a toll on you. you shared that you were scared about what would become of your relationship with your dad. luke, being as close to his mom as you were with your dad, understood. he knew what it was like to feel like your biggest supporter was giving up on you. it wasn’t a feeling he’d wish on his worst enemy, and definitely not a feeling he’d ever wish on you. 

“no, it’s fine,” you clenched your jaw, shaking your head. 

luke’s shoulders slumped over as he stuttered in his actions to sit back down, “oh, okay–uh, let me know if you need anything.” 

you nodded and waved a small goodbye before exiting the cabin. your heart was pounding the entire time you made your way to your dad’s office. a lot of things had been weighing on you this summer– your probation, a possible dent on your record, your estrangement from your parents, luke– and it was a lot to handle. camp half blood was supposed to keep you away from the problems that existed in your day-to-day life, but it seemed to follow you. 

you entered your dad’s office to see him typing away on his laptop. his eyebrows raised when you walked in, motioning for you to shut the door. he closed his laptop and placed it in one of the drawers of his desk. he took a deep breath, “hey, kid.” 

“hi, dad,” you replied, suddenly feeling like a little kid again. you sat on the usual chair in front of his desk and leaned back, “what’s up?” 

“i, uh,” he cleared his throat, “i just wanted to say i’m sorry for how we left things. i shouldn’t have stormed out like that. i was just angry. but not at you, at myself for making you feel like you had to fight these battles for me.” 

he leaned across his desk to hold your hands, “you’re my kid, y’know. my job is to protect you, not the other way around. so i apologize if i ever made you feel like you had to come to my defense.” 

“and i’m sorry for being mia the last few weeks,” he chuckled, squeezing your hands, “i’ve been in contact with my lawyers and they’re working on making sure the charges against you don’t stick so i’ve been pretty busy with that.” 

“you think it’ll get sorted out?” you asked. 

“yeah, don’t worry about it. it’s finishing up and i think you might even be able to play this season,” your dad smiled. “but i have to deal with a pr crisis right now that sprung up on me this morning.” 

your shoulders relaxed at your dad’s words. at least your probation was getting sorted out. that was one less thing to worry about. you tugged on the sleeves of your turtleneck as you got comfortable on your chair, “what’s the pr crisis?” 

he sighed, pulling out his laptop, “something with the band.” 

you hoped your dad didn’t notice the slight widening of your eyes. because you hadn’t been talking to your dad, he didn’t know about the recent developments between you and luke. you two didn’t show much pda outside of the cabin, scared that one of the campers would break their nda and post a picture of the two of you. neither of you were ready to tell the world about you two yet. it’s too soon. you didn’t even have the “what’s going to happen to us after summer?” conversation yet. 

“what happened?” 

“some pap pictures leaked. it’s of this new actress in hollywood and a guy leaving her hotel room. the press is reporting that the guy is luke. it looks a lot like him and you know the media– they run any story that’ll get them clicks even if it’s not fully fact-checked as long as they add the word ‘allegedly’ to the article,” he rolled his eyes, turning his computer to face you. “nobody knows where the pictures came from, so we don’t know if it’s actually luke or not, but i’ve been on the phone with may and their team all morning trying to do damage control. she’s telling the guys about the pictures right now.” 

at first glance, your heart dropped to your stomach. the guy did look an awful lot like luke. the rational part of you knew that this was probably taken before the two of you met because you’ve seen him every day since and he was practically imprisoned at chb all summer, but then you thought of your impromptu trip to achilles’ arcade and it made you want to throw up. if luke could sneak away with you like that, it would’ve been easy for him to do the same when he was alone. 

were the nights he didn’t spend in your bed because he was “writing” just an excuse to sneak off to meet up with the girl in the picture? she was gorgeous, after all. blonde, tall, the perfect new hollywood star. they’d make such a great power couple. the two rising stars in their respective industries, the perfect pair. 

the boy’s face, who may or may not be luke, was covered by his hood, but you can clearly see that he was kissing the girl deeply, with his hand placed on the curve of her back. the next picture was them with their fingers laced together as she led him into the hotel, giggling at something he said. the guy had a similar build as luke and dressed the same way as he did when he was having a lazy day– sweatpants, hoodie, and converses. 

bile made its way up your throat as you continued to scroll through the pictures. you looked at the time stamp of the photos and closed your eyes, wincing, when you saw that they were taken two days ago. luke didn’t sleep in your room two days ago, nor was he in the cabin. he showed up the next day saying that he was in the studio, trying to finish up the song so you would officially accept being his girlfriend. 

you squinted at a close-up picture of the pair, zoning in on the guy's hand. you breathed out a sigh of relief, fingers immediately clutching the ring that rested on your index finger. you turned the laptop back to your dad, “that’s not luke.” 

his eyebrows shot up, looking between you and his laptop screen, “how do you know?” 

“look at his rings,” you pointed at the bands around the guy’s fingers, “luke doesn’t wear a ring on his ring finger anymore. and look, the guy has a ring there and it’s gold.” 

“how are you so sure? what if he just decided to wear it that day?” 

“trust me,” you waved off, “he’s particular about his jewelry. he stopped wearing one on his ring finger a while ago. and luke doesn’t wear gold jewelry.” 

your dad narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, shutting his laptop, “i didn’t realize you were that close to luke that you had his accessories memorized.” 

“ah– well,” you cleared your throat, looking down at your feet. you felt caught. “s’your fault, really. you made us live together.” 

“is there something you need to tell me, kid?” 

you got up from your seat, quickly making your way to the door, “geez, dad, i didn’t realize the time! i promised clar that i’d help her with camp duties, so i gotta go. thanks for all your help on the probation and permanent record thing. you’re the best!” 

you didn’t bother to turn around to see your dad’s reaction to your excuse. you knew that he could see right through you. 

you dad called from behind you, his joking tone camouflaged by his “dad” voice, “tell castellan that if he does anything wrong, i’ll kill him and his career!” 

“love you!” 

your dad shook his head, biting back the smile on his face, “love you too, kid.” 

as you were rushing back to your cabin, you ran smack dab into luke who was frantic, worry evident on his features. his eyes widened when he saw you and he placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you so you didn’t fall at the impact. 

“five star,” he sighed out, out of breath, “i don’t know if mr. d told you but those pictures aren’t me, i swear!” 

you had two options– you could one, tell him that you knew it wasn’t him and put him out of his misery or two, you could pretend to not believe him and make him sweat. luke looked like he was about to get on his knees and beg you to believe him. you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a powerpoint presentation listing the reasons why it wasn’t him in those pictures. 

you pursed your lips, “i saw the pictures luke.” 

“and they weren’t me!” he said, exasperated. his eyebrows knitted in anxiety, as he chewed on the nail of his thumb, “you gotta believe me, babe. i don’t know who that guy is but i can promise you it’s not me.” 

you tried not to swoon at the pet name that left his lips. “how do i know that? you weren’t home the night those pictures were taken.” 

“i know it looks bad, but look,” he ran a hand through his curls. “i finished the song the boys wrote and you can go listen to it right now, but then that night, i got caught up with a song idea about you and i stayed up all night to write it. you can listen to the demo right now if you want. you can listen to all the demos you want if that gets you to believe me. i think the recordings have timestamps too, so you’ll see i was in there all nigh–”

“down, pretty boy,” you couldn’t keep it up any longer. luke looked like he was two seconds away from bursting into tears and as much as you wanted to hear him yap, you didn’t have it in your heart to drag it on. you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. you pressed a soft kiss to his lips and he instantly relaxed at the feeling. 

your lips moved in sync as his hands found your waist, pressing you closer to him. his tongue licked your bottom lip, asking for permission, which you gladly granted. it was the sound of clarisse and chris inside the cabin, tapping against the windows that pulled you and luke apart. you both turned to look at your friends who all had shit-eating grins on their faces. 

travis and connor were behind the couple, shaking their heads, “get a fucking room, you heathens.” 

luke flipped them off and pressed a softer, more innocent kiss on your lips before you spoke. “i knew it wasn’t you. just wanted to see you sweat a little bit.” 

“that was mean,” he pouted, but he couldn’t fight off the smile on his face. he always seemed to smile after he kissed you. it made you want to kiss him again, starting a never-ending chain of kisses that would surely lead the two of you to be unproductive for the rest of the day. “i was so scared, five star, you have no idea. the fucker looked so much like me.” 

you laughed, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck, “trust me, i know. my heart dropped to my ass when i first saw them, but i knew it wasn’t you.” 

“how’d you know?” 

“the rings,” you flushed, thinking about how crazy you must sound knowing these small details about him.

“shit, five star,” he whistled, surprised. there was a warmth in his chest that spread throughout the rest of his body at the idea of you paying attention to these things about him. “nothing can get past you, huh? i didn’t even notice that.”

“yeah, at least you know not to sneak around behind me because i’ll find out,” you teased, lacing your fingers together as you slowly made your way up the steps of the cabin. luke stood in his spot, pulling on your hand to get you to to turn around. you walked over to him, confused, “what’s up?” 

“y’know i wouldn’t think of doing that, right?” he asked, voice suddenly serious. “i would never do that to you.” 

your eyes softened as a wistful look appeared on your face. you kissed his cheeks, relishing in the feeling of luke wrapping his arms around your torso in a tight hug. you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, placing a feather-light kiss on his jugular, “yeah, yeah.” 

“‘m serious,” he pulled away, holding your face in his hands. he was staring at you intently, making sure that you were hearing his words. you never gave him an indication that you didn’t trust him, but luke knew that it was better to tell you these things straight up if he wanted to have a real relationship with you. he knew it takes a toll on the people he dates (not that he’s had any relationships like what he has with you) to see these bullshit stories online. if he was in your position, he knew the reassurance would help. luke placed a kiss on your forehead, “i wouldn’t do anything to mess this up if i can help it, five star.”

you let out a forced laugh, awkwardly shifting in his grasp, “yeah, given that my dad controls your contract, i know you wouldn’t.” 

luke frowned, “not because of that.” 

“uh huh,” you said, feeling too vulnerable right now. you didn’t know how to handle this situation, so you coped with humor, “he likes you so don’t worry, your contract extension is practically in the bag.” 

“y/n.” 

you tensed at luke’s use of your real name. he never called you by your name. he always called you by the nickname he gave you when he first met you. five star. you knew luke wasn’t in the mood to joke around. “luke, it’s fine.” 

“i don’t want to pick a fight,” he sighed, playing with the hem of your shirt, “but i just need to hear you say that you believe me when i say that. i wouldn’t cheat on you or do anything to make you feel like i ever would.” 

your voice shook as you spoke, “what if you’re just saying that because it’s still summer and we see each other every day? what’s gonna happen when i’m back in school and you’re out in the world traveling and living your rockstar life?” 

luke’s heart broke at your words. did you really think that he would forget about all of this once september rolled around? as if you didn’t consume his thoughts every day since he met you, as if he didn’t count down the minutes until he got to see you again when he was forced to be away from you because he had things to do, as if he didn’t have a sinking feeling in his stomach when you weren’t next to him. he was starting to think you didn’t understand just how deeply he felt about you even when you assured him that you did understand. 

“i’m not gonna lie, long distance is gonna be hard,” he said, “but we can figure it out. i know it.” 

“i never knew you were such an optimist, castellan.” 

luke laughed at that. if only you knew how many times he psyched himself out of making a move on you because of his own pessimism. it only changed recently, when he finally decided to say fuck it and go for it. “for you? always. i’d be stupid not to be. you’re a good thing, five star.” 

luke fucking castellan. you pressed your head into his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your face. he gave you a tight squeeze, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. he loved having you like this, all soft and cuddly with him like you didn’t want to let him go. he should be scared at how quickly he was falling for you, how attached he already felt. 

you kissed his lips again, pulling away with a smile, “so babe huh?” 

“babe, baby, sweetheart,” he mumbled, leaning over to kiss you again. “anythin’ you want.”

[anywherebuthere]

carve your name

part seven — the killerverse masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of ares reader

summary: it’s the fourth of july. you try and come to terms with your weird feelings toward your best friend while he chases another girl

content: something something creator chose not to use warnings. its getting real

notes: set after the trio’s return from their quest. this is divergent from the show! after the trio comes back from their quest, luke and percy do Not go out into the woods

You’re beating Luke in an arm wrestling contest when Chris brings it up.

“You guys know that girl that just got claimed by Athena?”

Neither of you answer, too busy putting all of your energy into slamming the other’s hand into the table.

You’re winning by the slightest margin. His hand’s about a quarter of the way from the upright position, which doesn’t sound like much, but is a lot when you’ve been at a stalemate for the past five minutes.

“Someone told me she was talking about Luke.”

You begin to lose your grip on his hand, sweaty and sore. But you’re both tied with two wins in this best of five, and you refuse to even let up for a second. The muscles in your arm protest and threaten to give out for a second before you readjust your grasp.

Chris claps a hand on Luke’s back, and when he doesn’t say anything, you can tell he’s just as focused as you are.

“She wants to make a move on you, dude,” Chris says.

Luke’s hand hits the wood, a swift and decisive victory.

“Fucking finally,” you grit out, rolling your shoulder. You pick up your water just so you don’t have to look at either of them, something sick and familiar pulling in your chest. “I thought you’d never give up.”

Luke’s rubbing at his forearm when he laughs, and your stupid mind imagines the feeling of stupid butterflies stirring in your stupid chest.

“It felt like my arm was gonna pop out of its socket. How’d you do that thing at the end?”

You take a long sip of water, fanning at your face. You wonder if your thirty minutes of arm wrestling combined with the July sun would be enough to convince them that that’s why you feel so flushed.

“You mean that thing called winning?”

He kicks your ankles from under the table. “Fuck you. I win plenty. But it was like you got your dad’s blessing just to beat me at arm wrestling.”

Your face pulls up into something that you hope looks amused. “I think you’re just losing your touch, Luke. I bet even Percy would be able to beat you and those weak noodle arms.”

It’s not meant as a dig, but Luke takes a half beat too long to respond.

He stands up abruptly, shifting the bench backward with Chris still on it. He protests at the sudden movement, catching your glass that teeters off the table.

You meet Luke’s eyes again, and his grin lets you know he’s not gonna let your joking slide. He rounds the table, his hands outstretched for you, and you nearly throw yourself in the opposite direction.

“Luke,” you say, the single word sounding like a plea. You walk backwards all the way to the edge of the pavilion, trying not to trip over your own feet. “I was kidding.”

“I know,” he says. His smile is growing wider by a second. “But you’ll say sorry, right?”

“I’m sorry!” You squeal when he lunges for you, trying not to dissolve into laughter. “And I’ll never make fun of you and your weak arms ever again.”

You know there’s really no use running. Luke’s fast, and even though you are too, you won’t outrun him. You let him rush forward and throw you over his shoulder.

Luke gets an apology from you eventually, when you’re dizzy from being over his shoulder and floating with laughter. He holds onto your shoulders during the walk back to your table even though you’re not that dizzy.

When you sit down on the bench opposite of Chris, the first words out of his mouth are, “You guys are fucking weird. Did either of you hear what I said?”

Luke takes his seat across from you, and you try not to let your gaze linger for too long.

You sound breathless. “Sorry, Chris. We take arm wrestling very seriously.”

Luke cracks his knuckles before turning to his friend next to him. “Were you talking about Callea?”

Oh. So he was listening.

Chris snaps his fingers before pointing at him. “Yep. Her. She’s pretty into you.” His eyes slide over to you before he gives his attention back to Luke. “You gonna do something about that?”

“Nah.” Luke smiles, a little embarrassed like he always is whenever he finds out someone new likes him.

It happens a lot to him. A lot more often than you think you’re comfortable with.

…If it were happening to you, of course. Not Luke. You are perfectly okay with the amount of people who fall at his feet. Because he’s his own person. His own person who’s not yours.

“You scared?” Chris jokes. You stare pointedly at the ground. How weird would it be if you just up and left? “She’s pretty.”

Luke’s amused. He slides your glass across the table between both of his hands. “Yeah, so? A ton of girls are pretty.”

Chris is about to say something, you can tell. But he laughs instead. “I’m saying you should go for it.”

He doesn’t look like he cares much, and some sick and twisted part of you feels relieved.

“I’m good, man. I don’t need a girlfriend, especially if it’s some random girl.”

You can tell Chris knows that Luke isn’t giving up anytime soon. So he turns his attention to you.

“C’mon, dude. Help me out—I know he’ll listen to you. Luke should go for it, right?”

You feel frozen on the spot. Both of the boys are looking at you expectantly, believing wholeheartedly that you’ll take their side. You swallow despite the dryness in your throat.

You want to say no.

Not a single part of you wants Luke to make a move on this girl because… The idea makes you want to vomit. It makes you want to take Luke and drag him far, far away where no one can even look at him. Just you and him on top of a mountain, far away from the rest of society.

The endless stream of girls that would constantly make eyes at him from across camp had always made you defensive, but to a perfectly normal extent.

But you’re scared now. Those protective feelings are starting to look like something different, something you don’t even want to think about.

You feel sick, and it’s all because Chris is suggesting Luke should get a girlfriend.

What’s happening to your chest right now isn’t normal. You need to cut whatever it is that’s growing inside of you at the root and shove everything into the very back of your mind. You aren’t supposed to be feeling like this. It isn’t right.

You lean onto the palm of your hand while you turn to look at Chris. You refuse to let your voice waver.

“Yeah. He should.”

The smile on his face tapers off into one of shock. His eyebrows go high for a second, and he huffs a surprised laugh. “Wait, really?”

“Really.” You refuse to look at Luke. You’re beyond scared of what he’ll say. “I mean, half of camp has been pining after him for years. What could it hurt, you know?”

There’s a beat of silence before Chris turns back to him. “Uh, well, you heard her. Two against one.”

You rub at the skin by your wrist.

At the root. At the root.

“I’m kinda jealous. If I had half as many people in love me…” You laugh, and you’re glad to hear that it doesn’t sound half as forced as it really is. “I probably would have a boyfriend by now.”

The lie feels like acid in your throat. You force your eyes back to Luke. His are just as deceptively blank as yours, the look on his face unreadable.

He looks indifferent at the idea, and it stings more than you thought it would. You’d felt physically sick at the idea of Luke having a girlfriend, and he couldn’t care less about you getting involved with anyone else.

The nausea worsens the pressure on your chest.

“And it’s the Fourth of July bonfire tonight,” you add, the hole you’ve dug for yourself growing deeper and deeper with every single word. “So it’d be a great time to do it.”

“Real romantic,” Chris tacks on.

Luke still hasn’t said a word, and the anticipation of what he’ll say might just kill you. You aren’t sure what you’ll do if he actually agrees. Probably something incredibly stupid. You’ve never wanted someone to tell you no this badly.

After a painfully long few seconds, Luke shrugs. “We’ll see, then.”

You feel like the floor has fallen out from under you.

Chris covers up his choke with a laugh. “Are you being serious?”

You’ve never felt so far apart from Luke in your entire life. For the first time ever, you can’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking.

“Well,” he laughs, a smile you’ve never seen him wear before get plastered on his face. “What could it hurt?”

The sound of your own words coming from his mouth are enough for the sick feeling wearing away at you to grow violent. You get up slowly from the table, trying to push down everything in you that’s threatening to make itself painfully known.

“I’ll see you guys tonight, then?”

Chris scratches his head. “Where are you going?”

“I told one of the Hephaestus kids I’d help set up for the firework show.” You’re blatantly lying. A good amount of them have been weary of you ever since that fight between Luke and Max at the start of the summer. “They’re loading up the barge right now.”

Luke looks confused, but you don’t have anything to say to him. You throw a halfhearted wave over your shoulder and make sure not to look at either of them as you turn away.

(You don’t head down to the beach. You dry heave in the bathroom for thirty minutes before feeling fine enough to walk back out.)

—

You’d been beyond excited to see Annabeth, Percy, and Grover come back to camp a few weeks ago. Returning safe from a quest was no easy feat, and preventing a literal war even more so. You’d been sure to hold all three of them in a group hug so tight they’d gotten annoyed with you.

When you see the former two laid out on a picnic blanket by the sand, waiting for the show to start, you drop in right behind them.

“Hey, guys.” You smile at the way Percy jumps. “You ready for the show?”

“Oh, hey. Is Annabeth right about how cool it all is?” he asks.

It’s nice to see they’re both friends now. During Capture the Flag, he’d seemed scared of how prickly she was.

“Annabeth’s always right.” You wink at her before turning back to Percy. “And absolutely. I saw the fireworks a bit ago—they’re even bigger than last year. I think they’re doing something special.”

Percy looks impressed. He pops a grape into his mouth from the Ziploc bag in his lap.

“Hey.” Annabeth smiles at you before her eyes dart to the space behind you. “Are you okay?”

You squeeze her shoulder. “Yeah, why? Do I not look okay?”

“Oh, no. You look fine, I was just confused.”

“About?”

“About where Luke was. I have something to ask him, and he’s usually around wherever you are.”

Your face warms.

“He said he’d catch up with me soon,” you explain, trying not to read into her words too much. “But, uh… He’s back at his cabin getting ready to romance one of your sisters, I think.”

Percy freezes, a grape halfway to his mouth. You’re reminded of how he’d assumed you had liked Luke, all the way back when he’d first gotten to camp.

The little shit.

“What?” Annabeth’s brows are knit together in disbelief. “Are you messing with me?”

“Nope.” You steal a grape from Percy and listen to the crunch it makes between your teeth. “Chris suggested it. And I think I kind of encouraged him.”

The two of them share some sort of look right in front of your face.

“Hello?” You snap your fingers in between them. “Share with the class?”

“It’s nothing,” she insists, turning away from the ocean to face you. “I’m just surprised.”

You bite back your remark that probably would’ve been, That makes two of us! and let some sand fall through the gaps in your fingers. “Chris seemed surprised too. But Luke can do whatever he wants.”

Percy and Annabeth share another side glance, and you groan. You take back whatever you’d just said about being happy they’re friends.

“Okay, seriously. Spit it out or stop conspiring in front of my face, please. It’s rude.”

“Sorry,” Percy says quickly. “I mean, you already know, but I thought you guys liked each other. I didn’t take him for a guy who’d go for another one of Annabeth’s sisters.”

You can’t help but smile at that.

“Do you know who it is?” Annabeth presses. “I can’t believe so much has changed since we’ve been away,” she says, genuinely considering the thought of this. “Luke used to flat out ignore girls that liked him.”

“It’s Callea, the one who just got claimed.”

Be nice, you remind yourself. It’s not her fault you told Luke to go after her.

“She’s nice,” you add. “I remember her from the times I’d stay over at the Hermes cabin.”

Annabeth frowns. “Oh. Are they like… friends?”

It’s going to make you sound like a crazy psycho, but you know the answer to that question is no. No, they are not friends.

But you just shrug. “I don’t know.”

The kids are quiet, and it puts you on edge. Everyone seems to be especially close-mouthed around you today. There’s clearly more they want to say, especially Annabeth, but she leaves it off with an eyebrow raise and moving over on the blanket.

“Want to watch the fireworks with us?”

You love Annabeth. You’re grateful that she’s dropped it.

“Of course.”

The three of you watch the work of the Hephaestus kids in awe. The red, white, and blue fireworks (projectiles would be a more accurate term) illuminate the sky, showcasing little stories in the lights. So far, the highlights have been the Minotaur (which you make sure to nudge Percy to look at), a scene of your father in battle, and planes made out of lights swerving and shooting at other firework planes.

Sometime between the scene of the warships braving the storm and something from the American Revolution, you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You turn, searching for who you know is standing somewhere amongst the other campers on the beach.

You find him embarrassingly fast. He’s at the edge of the tree line, leaning against an oak and watching George Washington do whatever it is he does.

Percy doesn’t say anything when you get up from your spot, but Annabeth catches you with a hand on your ankle before you move off the blanket.

“Can you ask him where he left my book?” she asks. “He’ll know which one.”

“Oh.” You have no idea how she’s so all-knowing all the time. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see you later, Annabeth.”

“Later.” She turns back to watch the show, grabbing Percy’s shoulder to make him look at some sort of special spiral the fireworks make in the sky.

Luke’s face is painted in the red lights from a burst shaped like the American flag when you approach.

He’s dressed nicely. Not too overly fancy that it looks like he put effort in, but you can tell he definitely sat over his stuff an hour ago wondering what to wear.

He nudges your shoulder when you settle next to him against the tree. “Where’s your jacket?”

You tug at his sleeve. “Right here.”

He always overheats when he drinks and ends the night with ten less layers than he started with, which all end up going to you. Luke smiles at you because he knows you’re right.

“You ready for tonight?” You draw a circle with the point of your shoe in the dirt, looking away from him and the light of the fireworks.

“Absolutely,” he says, his eyes probably crinkling. “Can’t wait for you to sneak shots behind my back and get so drunk I gotta carry you back to the cabin.”

You think you might hate yourself, because the next words out of your mouth are, “I was talking about Callea.”

The light hearted air around you sours almost immediately. You can picture the furrow of his brows with weird accuracy.

“Oh,” he says, in that tone that tells you that you just caught him off guard. “Sure. Whatever happens, happens.”

The campers on the beach ahead of you burst into boisterous applause at the firework show finale: the warriors battling it out in the sky are as tall as skyscrapers.

Luke pushes off of the wall of wood behind you, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

“Go slow tonight.” He waves to one of the younger kids passing by you as you make your way towards the other half of the beach. “Can’t have you getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Don’t worry,” you say. “I’ll be fine.”

The two of you wander over the sand dunes, the little tufts of beachgrass tickling your ankles. While you walk, he talks to you about what he was doing before he showed up to the beach, and you listen half heartedly.

You can’t wait to drink the memory of this night and Luke and Callea out of your mind.

—

The number of people that have already made their way to the site by the time you get there surprises you.

There aren’t many campers old enough to go to these things. But there’s still a decent amount of people here, most crowded around the bonfire glowing bright red in the center of the clearing. It’s about twenty feet high and the pieces of wood keeping it alive are about the size of entire tree trunks.

There’s a few people standing around a foldable table that’s dirty from age and long stained with various drinks. A group of girls you know are talking around the cooler, and you find yourself moving in their direction before you can stop yourself.

The first conversation about Callea happened a few hours ago, but you’ve been feeling irritated and sick and on edge and annoyed ever since. So it really isn’t your fault that the second someone hands you a can of hard lemonade, you’re cracking open the tab and tipping it down your throat.

It burns on the way down and really isn’t that good. Most of the cheap stuff people get for these things aren’t, but you still find yourself hoping every single time. You let the sting in your throat replace the sting of the mean mix of emotions in your head.

“Hey.” The can pressed against your mouth is lifted clear over your head, spilling a few drops of sticky lemonade onto your shirt. “What’d I say? Slow down.”

“You’re no fun sometimes,” you complain, but you feel an out of place sense of relief.

Luke’s still here. With you, not someone else.

“It’s been forever since I’ve had one of these.”

“Is that why you downed half the can in fifteen seconds?” Luke asks, squinting into the opening at the top. His eyes find the flavor printed on the side of the can, and you stare as he puts his mouth over the spot yours had just been and takes a long swig.

He makes a face at the taste. You swallow around the dryness in your throat.

“I still don’t get why you like this stuff. Pure sugar.”

He uses the edge of the table to pop off the cap of the cheap beer that his brothers always buy, and you wince just imagining the bitterness of it. He tosses the cap into the trash bag tied to the end of the table.

(You all take trash disposal very seriously at these bonfires. You’re all still a little scared from the time a nymph threatened to snitch on you all when she found a discarded can by the edge of the woods.)

“You know the drill though. I’m not cleaning up your vomit again.”

“You’re going to have to stop bringing that up one day.”

Luke gives you a lopsided smile. “But you get so embarrassed when I do.”

“Gods, who wouldn’t?” you shiver. “I couldn’t look your brother in the face for weeks after that.”

He mimes himself tumbling out of bed and then vomiting onto what you know is supposed to be the foot of his brother’s bed.

You hit his shoulder, tugging your drink out of his hand. “Asshole. We get it, all your siblings were there—”

“Luke!”

The two of you spin in the direction of the voice, off in the direction of the beach.

It’s Callea. The sight of her is enough to send burning hot jealousy through your bloodstream.

She’s so effortlessly pretty that it has you tugging uncomfortably at your own clothes. Her hair has been curled to perfection, and it's pinned back, putting every part of her insane bone structure on display.

There’s a group of people behind her, a mix of kids from every cabin. You see Chris amongst them, all of them waving you in their direction.

Callea’s smiling, and Luke looks stunned.

You take a step back without meaning to. When he turns to you, he’s smiling in a way that almost looks nervous.

You try for a smile too, feeling out of your mind. “Good luck, hero.”

The look flickers off his face for a second. He’s confused. “You’re not coming?”

You know you won’t be able to handle the sight of him and Callea together without tears pricking at your eyes. The hurt is making itself known already, and you know it’ll only get worse from here.

“I’m gonna find my friends.” You gesture vaguely behind you because you have no idea where any of them actually are. “I’ll catch up later.”

He’s not convinced, his hand settling on your shoulder. “C’mon, please? Don’t make me go alone. I feel like I’m being left to the sharks.”

You pull yourself away too fast, and it’s clear that he picks up on that too.

“Sorry.” You look away because you know you’ll give in and go with him. “An hour at most, and I’ll come looking for you.”

“An hour?” His tone is off.

You take another long sip from your drink. It’s about one-fourth of the way full now.

“Go get your girl, Luke.” The words are forced out through gritted teeth and the envy clouding your mind.

You can feel him watch you as you walk away.

—

It takes another few cans of fruity drinks and two Dirty Shirleys until you feel your face getting hot and your tongue get heavy in your mouth.

One of your sisters did something with your hair, but you’re much too preoccupied to care much about it. You’ve lost track of how long it’s been since you first got here, but the drinks have been flowing and have started tasting really good, though you think that’s just because of how tipsy you are.

It’s kinda hard to think about other things when you’re standing amongst twenty other kids cheering on a son of Aphrodite who’s doing a keg stand.

You feel someone tug at your arm. It’s Ruby, trying to drag your attention away from the boy doing a handstand on top of the barrel. She has to shout over the sound of everyone egging him on.

“I’m go— to give —s to V—t!”

The guy in the middle of the crowd lets out a roar of triumph, and everyone around you joins in.

“Huh?”

Someone jostles you around while they rush for the middle and you lose her for a second. But then she’s seizing your wrist and dragging you out of the layers of people.

“I’ll be back! I’m gonna give this to Violet.” you think she says. Your ears are ringing from the change of volume.

She shakes a can of something in front of your face, and the melted ice water from the cooler splatters onto your shirt.

“Can I come with?” you yell over the sound of someone turning up the music.

She intertwines her hand with yours as she starts singing along with whatever song they’ve put on. She seems to know exactly where she’s going, dragging you behind her as she heads in the direction of the ocean.

“There she is,” you say, pointing to someone wading in the water.

“Uhh,” Ruby squints in the direction you’re pointing in. “I think that’s Jace.”

The boy’s face catches the light when he splashes the person standing next to him, and you wonder how you’d mistaken him for her in the first place.

“Oh, whoops.”

“There,” she says suddenly, pointing in the direction of a smaller group a little bit away. “Violet!”

You nearly get whiplash from the way she changes course so fast, snapping your head to the left.

“There you are,” Violet groans, trying to squeeze her way through her dense crowd of friends. “I was starting to think you’d never show up!”

“But I’m here now,” she defends, giving the girl her lukewarm drink. She gives her a big hug in thanks, and it makes you smile. You give Ruby a hug after Violet lets go of her just because you can.

Ruby falls into easy conversation with the people standing around, but you stare out at the water, something unsettling setting in. You think you’re supposed to be doing something right now, but can’t really remember what it is.

You already gave up your bet money to the girl you’d lost to. You hadn’t forgotten to put on sunscreen earlier. You’re getting rum and Coke spilled down the front of your white shirt.

Wait.

“Oh, fuck. My bad.”

You’re getting rum and Coke spilled down the front of your white shirt.

“Oh, fuck,” the guy repeats. His hands flutter around your shirt but he clearly knows he shouldn’t try dabbing it out. “Sorry, dude. That was on me.”

“No shit,” you say, but you’re not too upset about it. It wasn’t your favorite shirt or anything.

His face is growing bright red, and he stares very solemnly up at the sky.

You frown. “Oh, um. You’re good, dude. It’s not that serious.”

“Mikey!” someone hisses as he shoves his jacket at you. “Great going, jackass.”

You look down, and see that your shirt is starting to look a little transparent.

Ha. No wonder he’d gone tomato red.

“It’s fine,” you insist, letting Ruby shove your arms through the jacket. “No harm, dude.”

He gives you a fist bump before disappearing back inside his group of friends.

“Oh, hey! Where’ve you been?” someone asks.

You think back to what you’re definitely forgetting while you wait for Ruby to respond to them. It’s on the tip of your tongue, too.

After a few seconds of your friend’s silence, you realize that person’s talking to you.

“Chris!” you greet, smiling. You throw your arms around his shoulders with so much force he nearly tips over. “What’re you doing here?”

His curly hair is looking super windswept, and you point it out to him with a smile.

He flattens the wayward strands before returning your grin. “Bradley was breakdancing over here earlier.”

A laugh finds its way out of your mouth. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“It’s been a bunch of fun over there,” you tell him, and you think you can still hear them yelling about something.

“I can tell,” he says, laughing. Then, he gets a curious look on his face. “By the way, did you go see Luke? He was looking for you earlier.”

The mention of him hits you like a truck, slamming the memories straight to the forefront of your mind.

“Oh. No. I didn’t.”

“Do you want me to take you to him? He’s sitting with Callea.”

You lift Chris’ cup straight out of his hands and finish whatever’s in it. It’s not as bad as that beer Luke likes, but it’s definitely not good, either.

It takes Chris a second to find his voice. “Are you good?”

You want to be honest. No, you aren’t good. You’re jealous and bitter and feel like you’re about to lose the only person you care about.

But you just give Chris a thumbs up while wiping away the bits that are dripping down your chin. “Well. Yep.”

That was what you were forgetting.

You really have to thank the drinks you had earlier for helping you push him to the back of your mind.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Your eyes scan the shoreline, and you find them a little too quickly.

They’re sitting on a log by a few other people at the big fire. One of the Apollo kids is singing something on a guitar, but neither Luke or Callea are paying attention. They’re talking quietly, the two of them engrossed in whatever stupid shit they’re talking about. When Callea laughs, she leans her head back and puts her hand on Luke’s arm, and—

You look away so the bile doesn’t make its way up your throat. You sit down on the sand. Hard.

Chris settles down slowly next to you. You let your head hit his shoulder, defeated.

You’re supposed to be cutting everything off. Every single out of place feeling you have towards Luke is supposed to be gone. Gone from your mind and gone from your heart, because none of it is normal.

You shouldn’t feel possessive at the thought of Luke being with another girl. It’s not right. He deserves to be happy— so happy that he doesn’t stop smiling. So happy that he’s head over heels for a girl.

What kind of sick person are you?

You don’t want Luke to be happy with Callea. You don’t want him to kiss her, and you don’t want him to hold her hand and let her sleep on your side of his bed.

And that’s not normal. You’d encourage any one of your other friends to go after a cute girl, but the thought of Luke doing the same made you drink your weight in vodka cran and hard strawberry lemonade.

Your chest burns. Feeling this way hurts, but you can’t stop it. Your feelings for Luke are so innate, they’re a part of you.

It’s not possible to get rid of this. You know it for a fact.

Chris nudges you with his elbow. “I… Shit. I have something to tell you.”

You brush sand from the edge of your jeans. You’re not in a big talking mood.

“I only told Luke to go after Callea because I thought you’d tell him not to.”

You spin around so fast to look at him that Chris has to catch you when you fall forward.

“You did what?” you spit out after a second, trying to fight back the nausea.

This entire thing started… Because Chris Rodriguez wanted to test you?

“You’ve stopped him every other time!” He looks guilty and frantic all at once as he settles you back onto the ground. “I was so convinced you would do it again, and I just... I’m sorry.”

“Gods, Chris,” you complain. Your head is spinning. “Why?”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “You gotta promise not to be mad.”

You know he can tell how angry you are when he seems to shrink into the sand.

“Uh… I was convinced you two got together recently without telling me. And I mean, I ask Luke about girls all the time, so—”

“You thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to ask him about some girl again?” your stare is flat. “To see how we’d react?”

He shrugs, running his hands through the sand. “Yeah.”

“And you didn’t expect me to tell him to go for it?”

He shrugs for a second time, too guilty to really look at you. “I mean, obviously. But I was even more surprised when he actually agreed to it.”

You think about Luke and Callea by the bonfire, too busy staring into each other's eyes to notice anything else. The regret feels like a physical weight on your chest.

“Wasn’t really your fault,” you admit, leaning your chin against your knees. “I um… Fuck, Chris. I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud.”

You smile, and he smiles with you, but you think it’s because he’s scared you’re going to cry.

“I think I like Luke.”

It’s weird to admit that to someone other than yourself. But the words are a lot less scary now that you’ve said them out loud.

You like Luke. You have for a while.

It’s hard to trace the start of your feelings for him. There’s so much between you two, and the thought of trying to comb through nineteen years of friendship to find the exact moment where your world shifted is impossible.

You think about the way you feel around him — the way only he makes you feel. You don’t think you could explain it to Chris even if you wanted to. You don’t even know if you could explain it fully to yourself.

“And I got scared. I was trying to pretend like if I ignored it, it would go away.” You laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds. “But nothing could erase the way I feel for him. He’s just… He’s been everything.”

You know you like Luke. You think it might even be more than that.

The words sit heavy between you and Chris. He exhales as he lays back, trying to make sense of the drunk slew of words you’ve spit up at him.

It’s a lot.

But he lets you wallow for less than thirty seconds.

“Get up,” he says, conviction coloring his words. He’s staring out at the ocean, and you give him a funny look.

“What?”

He pushes himself to his feet before grabbing your hands and tugging you up. You stumble forward, still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but Chris has you stable before you even realize you’d almost fallen over.

“Stand up and get over there,” he demands, brushing sand off your shirt.

“Over there?” you repeat weakly, glancing between Chris and where you know his best friend is sitting.

He drags you even further away from Ruby’s friends. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” you hiss, tugging hard on his hand and stumbling in the sand a bit. “I’m not going to interrupt that, Chris. I told him to go after her.”

He must get annoyed with the way you’re dragging your feet, because he stops the weird tug-of-war you’re having. Chris turns to face you, fire in his eyes.

“Then, congrats. We all make stupid decisions, so welcome to the club.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve never seen him this worked up about something in your life.

“But you’re going to regret this,” he insists. He grabs onto your shoulders with so much force it scares you a little. His stare is serious. “You’re important to him. I can’t think of something he cares about more.”

With his grip on your shoulders, he spins you around to face the boy in question. Luke’s face is lit up by the fire. He’s smiling at someone else.

“You’re a daughter of Ares for a reason, dude. You’d never sit back and let this happen.” He nudges you forward. “Get it done.”

You think of Luke. Your best friend, the only person you know you want in your future. The boy who holds you in your sleep and knows exactly what you need based on the way you reach for his hand. The boy who is a part of you just as much as you are.

When you turn around, you’re met with the sight of Chris’ back as he walks away.

He’s insane.

But he’s right.

You have to stop whatever it is that’s happening between Luke and Callea, even though it’s basically your fault. You know that the hurt you feel will only get worse if something really does happen between them, and the thought of that scares you more than anything else.

You’ve been less afraid of demigod-eating monsters than you are of this teenage girl.

Luke’s talking about something, and Callea’s looking at him with stars in her eyes. It makes you stumble over the sand a little faster.

From so far away, the sight of them had been manageable. But you find unease settling in your stomach the closer you get.

The wind tousles his hair and you’re taken aback by just how nice he looks. He’s a little flushed from the alcohol, but you like how it makes his smiles just a little bit wider and his hands a little more touchy.

You’re so busy staring you don’t notice when his eyes find yours. He sits up straight.

You call his name what must be a little too loudly, because the Apollo kid playing the guitar stops strumming.

“Hi,” you say, out of breath from the hike over. He’s grinning at you, finding something a little funny. You bend down so you can wrap him in a hug, and his hand slides up your back.

You inhale his cologne and sigh against him. “Missed you.”

“There you are,” Luke says, and you almost sigh with relief. “I missed you too. You disappeared.”

“Sorry. Ruby’s sister broke up with her boyfriend. I wanted to figure out what happened, and then he did a keg stand.”

“Ruby’s sister’s ex-boyfriend?”

“No. Matt did.”

“What does Matt have to do with Ruby’s sister’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Nothing.”

He’s grinning when he says, “My bad.”

You stand up to your full height, but you let your hand linger on his shoulder. His hand slides down your leg.

“I made you a Shirley Temple with vodka a while ago,” he says, handing you a red solo cup. “Extra cherries.”

You try not to smile too wide.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“There’s only cherries in here,” you say, confused when he hands you the cup.

He squeezes the bare skin at your calf. “Yeah, sorry. They ran out of beer, and I got thirsty.”

“Luke, who is this?”

It’s Callea. She’s smiling at you, her head tilted to the side. Her hair is still perfect despite the light breeze.

You decidedly do not like the way his name sounds in her mouth.

You introduce yourself, trying to make your smile look as not strained as possible. “I’m Luke’s best friend. Who are you?”

“Callea.” She’s still smiling at you with her perfect teeth.

“Cool,” you say, because you don’t know what else there is to say. You’ve already met her. You aren’t sure why she’s pretending not to know you.

After a second of you staring at him, Luke makes room for you on the log. You get a sick sense of satisfaction when he moves further away from her.

He’s tapping on your leg. “You wanna sit?”

You nod automatically, leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Of course.”

Luke has to steady you by your waist when you sit sideways on his lap.

He’s warm like he always is, even more so because of his proximity to the fire and the drinks he’s had. One of your arms goes around his neck as you lean against him.

“Annabeth wanted me to ask you where you left her book,” you say, your thumb rubbing over a part of his jaw. There's a tiny nick there you think he got from shaving, and you tell him that too.

It takes a second for the surprise to wear off. But he wraps an arm around your waist like he always does, and gives you a wobbly kind of smile.

“I’ll make sure to give it back to her,” he promises.

You miss the look he’s giving you, too busy curling your fingers in his hair. Callea had done this earlier. She didn’t deserve to.

“Wanna go back now?” you ask, yawning. “My head’s pounding.”

He squeezes your hip, and you forget what you were supposed to be mad about. “Thought you wouldn’t want to for a while. It’s not that late.”

“I think I drank too fast. I kinda just want to go and sleep at yours.”

You think if Chris were here, he’d probably tell you you’re laying it on thick. But you really do want to go to bed. Preferably after you take Luke far away from the girl next to you.

He tugs at the fabric of your jacket. “Where’d you get this?”

“Get what?”

“This.”

You look down at your chest, and see the logo of some sports team on it. You aren’t quite sure where it’s from, but Luke probably does.

“Some guy.”

“Some guy,” he echoes.

“Ruby’s friend,” you explain. You shove your face into his shoulder, which is stiff and so unlike him you pause.

“Are you friends with him?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t really see his face. We didn’t do much talking.”

You realize just how tense he is only when he shifts you off of his lap and stands up abruptly. You sway on your feet.

“She’s drunk. ‘M gonna take her back,” he says to Callea.

It sounds like she protests, and you hear him apologize before saying goodbye.

(You choose to be nice and don’t wave at her while you walk away.)

Luke’s walking pretty fast, and you struggle to keep up with his long strides over the soft sand. Usually, you’d link your hands together at this point of a walk, but there’s too much distance between you two for it to work.

He’s weirdly prickly right now, so you keep your mouth shut the entire way back to his cabin. He can’t see you, but you frown at his back.

About halfway there, you hear him mumble expletives under his breath when a branch gets in his way, and the piece of wood, as thick as a dictionary, gets snapped in half from the pressure he uses to step on it.

You’re surprised he doesn’t blast the cabin door off its hinges with the way he shoves it open.

You follow him into the empty room. It’s just the two of you here because all of the younger kids are gathered in the pavilion to watch an old movie on a projector someone had brought back to life.

Luke’s already at his bed by the time you shut the door.

“You’re mad,” you point out, slinking over slowly. Luke could never scare you, but his silent anger is making you wary. “Why’re you mad?”

Luke doesn’t respond as he rummages around in his drawer, fishing out one of his t-shirts and a pair of pajama pants you’ve forgotten here.

“I’m not mad. C’mon, get dressed.” He says it quietly, but the clear signs of his anger give him away.

There’s the crease in between his eyebrows, for one. And the way he won’t look you in the eye. And when his fingers uncurl from the shirt to drop it into your hands, there’s wrinkles from how tightly he was gripping it.

“Aw,” you say, more amused than you should be. “You know, I thought you’d ditch me at my cabin tonight. But I think you’re a little too scared of me vomiting in my sleep and like, dying. So thanks. You’re pretty sweet for letting me still stay here. Even though you’re mad.”

“Killer.” Luke sighs when he looks away from you again, clenching and unclenching his fists. Definitely mad. “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not mad.”

“You won’t let me touch you,” you say absentmindedly, taking a step closer to him. He doesn’t react, staring blankly over your shoulder. “It’s making me sad. You always let me ‘cause I can’t go a second without you.”

Luke inhales sharply, and you itch to have him under your hands again.

He scoffs a little meanly. “You have to stop saying shit like that.”

“What’s wrong with what I said?” you push, pressing closer to him. Just before you can get too close, he stops you with his hands around your biceps.

Luke’s lips are pressed into a firm line. His hands feel foreign against you, and it makes you feel weird. Everything is natural with him. Whatever is happening right now is not.

“You need to stop saying shit you don’t mean.”

“But I meant it. I can’t go a second without you.”

He doesn’t say a word. He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels down to untie your laces.

“Luke,” you practically whine, refraining from shifting yourself forward to hug him. “Why do you think I’m lying?”

“You’re drunk,” he states, matter of factly. He wrestles with your left shoe a little bit when it refuses to slip off. He flips it upside down and taps the sole to get rid of the gritty bits of sand that snuck into it.

“You’re drunk, too,” you point out. “So does that mean you’re lying to me?”

You put your left hand on the side of his face and make him look at you. He’s annoyed, and his face is warm and red like it gets whenever he drinks.

He sighs. Then he turns his face into your hand and lets his lips brush over your palm. “I’m not lying to you.”

Your skin tingles where his lips were. You rush your next words, giddy and a little embarrassed.

“Sometimes I wish you’d kiss me for real.”

Luke snaps. He backs away, running a hand through his hair. Your vision is blurry.

“Sorry,” you say, really frowning. You know you shouldn’t have said that. “Did that freak you out?”

“You can be so fucking mean,” Luke scoffs. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“What? Luke—”

“You tell me to go after some random girl neither of us really know, and then disappear for the rest of the night,” he grits out, angry at you in a way you’ve never seen.

His words aren’t making sense. He’d seemed so happy tonight, but speaks of it like it’d been torture. Your head is spinning.

“And then you come back with—” Luke cuts himself off before he can say what he really wants to. It seems to be a trend today. “Fuck, killer. You can be so mean.”

Your eyes sting with hurt. Luke never gets upset with you, and the immediate need to fix it makes your chest constrict.

You think you feel too much for him. Too much, too fast.

“What did I do?” you ask, and the frightening feeling of your eyes pricking with tears has the words rushing out. “I don’t know what you mean, I don’t get why you’re mad, Luke. Please talk to me.”

He tugs at the curls on his head, and it makes you frown. You wish he wasn’t so harsh on himself.

He kneels in front of you again, and you meet his eyes. They’re vulnerable.

You squeeze his shoulders.

Very slowly, he puts his hands on your sides again, and you soften into a puddle.

When he speaks next, it looks hard for him.

“Where’d you get this?”

The jacket.

You frown again. You’d already gone over this.

“Ruby’s friend, I told you.”

“You could’ve come to me if you were cold.” He forces the words out so quickly you almost don’t catch them. “I was looking for you.”

You rub his cheek sweetly. “Thanks, hero. You’re always looking out for me. But I had to put it on because he spilled his drink on me. Everyone would’ve seen through it if I waited to find you.”

It takes you a second before your hand finds the zipper, but when you do, you tug it down and show him your stained shirt underneath.

“Oh,” he says. He’s looking at your shirt and not at you. “You should get changed.”

“Why do you care?” you push.

“Your shirt’s sticky.”

“I meant about the jacket.”

Luke ignores you, tugging at the ends of your sleeves. “It’s nothing. C’mon, let’s get you outta this.”

You zip the jacket back up before he can stop you. “No. Tell me the truth.”

He gives you a look, stunned at your refusal. “I was being stupid, killer. It’s nothing.”

You get up, leaving him in his spot on the floor. “Tell me so it can be over.”

“It is over. I’m tired. You said you were too. Let’s go to bed.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“No.”

“Please, Luke?” you ask, knowing it’s only a matter of time before he gives in. “Please, please, please, please, pl—”

“If I tell you, will you finally go the fuck to sleep?”

“Yep. I swear.” You nod so fast you get dizzy. “I’ll shut up and we’ll go to sleep.”

He looks exasperated when he pushes himself to his feet. It looks like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation with you.

Luke sighs one final time.

“Earlier, you’d said you and this guy didn’t do much talking.”

You nod. “Yeah. He gave me his jacket and I walked away.”

“Well, I thought you ditched me ‘cause you wanted to go suck some guy’s face.” He gestures at your chest. “And it was worse ‘cause the jackass likes Arizona.”

He’d thought you’d been off with some random guy. And he’d been… jealous?

You don’t feel like joking with him anymore.

“That’s not fair,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

“What?”

“You were the one who was actually off making out with some random girl,” you point out.

His eyes widen. “You’re angry with me about that? I didn’t kiss Callea. And even if I did, you were the one who told me to go after her. Why are you upset about it now?”

“I don’t know!” You feel like you’re curling in on yourself. “I don’t like Callea. She annoys me.”

“I only said yes to talking to her because you wanted me to,” he says, bitterness creeping into his tone. “I’m so fucking confused. Did you want me to go for her or not?”

You think about Callea and Luke. The way she would kiss him. The way they would hold hands. The way she would be his future, not you.

You already know the answer to his question.

You shake your head vehemently. “I don’t want you to have a girlfriend, Luke.” You feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and shame curls around you. “I never wanted you to in the first place.”

“Then why did you agree with Chris?” he asks, and you’re shocked to hear that he sounds hurt.

You don’t want to talk to Luke about this right now. Not while you’re both drunk and willing to say something stupid.

But you look at him and the hurt in his eyes and feel the urge to spill every single thought you’ve ever had.

Your voice is quiet when you press your palms into your eyes. “I was scared.”

“Why?” he presses. His hands go around your wrists so you can’t hide from him. “Why were you scared?”

Luke makes you look at him then, his face inches from yours. You wonder if he already knows.

You know that you should wait and talk about this tomorrow. The both of you are drunk, no matter how much you want to deny it.

But it’s the alcohol.

The alcohol is why you do it.

It’s why you say, “I don’t want anyone else to have you, Luke.”

In the span of five seconds, you’ve uprooted nineteen years of love. Nineteen years of feelings that have been growing under the surface and into every part of who you are.

“I’m scared of the way I feel. I feel like throwing up whenever Callea looks at you,” you admit, eyes sliding to his shoulder. You can’t handle the weight of his stare. “So I ran from everything. I told you to go after her.”

Luke is still quiet, and the words finish pouring out.

“But I don’t want anyone else to kiss you. No one else but me.”

Luke still hasn’t let go of your wrists.

He hasn’t moved either, but you don’t blame him. You’d nearly been crushed under the weight of your feelings when you’d found out, and now, you’ve cracked open your heart and dumped it all at his feet.

Luke still hasn’t let go of your wrists.

But for good reason, you decide. He uses his hold on you to drag you forward and give you everything.

He tastes sweet. Like the grenadine from the Dirty Shirley he’d made for you, and you can't help the sigh that escapes you, a shaky exhale against his lips.

Luke lets go of you to cradle your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs under your eyes like he’s trying to commit the slopes of your face to memory.

His eyes are so brown. You’ve always known, but it feels different when you’re looking at the blackness of his pupils after he’s just kissed you.

“Was— Did you…” Where he’s looking is constantly changing, fluttering from meeting your gaze to down to your lips and then back up again. “Was that okay?”

You feel like you’re glowing. You can’t even imagine a world where you wouldn’t want this.

You say yes when you tilt your head up and slot your lips together.

He kisses you nice and slow, his hands sliding down to your back. He goes nice and slow because he’s not going anywhere, and you know it.

Your hands are shaking. You’re so jittery that you have to throw your arms around his shoulders and lock your hands together behind his neck. For the millionth time in your life, you thread your fingers through the dark sea of curls on his head. You’d never ever imagined you’d ever get to hold him like this, and it makes warmth spread to every part of your body.

Luke pulls away after a bit to rest his forehead against yours. When his eyes slide open, you lock eyes, and he breaks out into a grin. You find yourself mirroring it without meaning to.

His voice is so, so soft when he says, “Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Were your eyes open?”

Oh. You’d forgotten you weren’t supposed to do that.

You’d been so wrapped up in the thought that he was kissing you, you hadn’t even thought about looking away from him.

(Luke Castellan was kissing you. You, you, you.)

The tip of your nose brushes against his, your eyes finally fluttering shut. You inhale the barely there hints of his cologne and grow dizzy with it. “I just wanted to look at you.”

You expect him to laugh. It sounds stupid even to you, but you’d said it because it was true.

Luke is pretty. You could stare at him until the end of time, when you’re old and gray and your legs don’t work and you need him to carry you around with him forever.

You realize his hands have migrated over to your waist, and the feeling of him at your sides and at your back is making your stomach spin with butterflies.

You lean back to meet his gaze, and the look there catches you off guard. He’s breathing hard, his eyes completely glazed over.

You think that’s why you only half expect it when he pulls you against him and kisses you stupid.

Luke slides the jacket straight off of your shoulders, letting it hit the floor. He mumbles something, but you don’t think anything of it because then he’s doing something that nearly makes your eyes roll back and it’s forgotten in a second. You trip over the discarded fabric when he walks you backward to crowd you against the foot of his bed.

It wrings something embarrassing from your vocal cords, and he smiles against your lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, even though there’s no question there.

You feel dizzy at the feeling of him. Your hands untangle from behind his neck to slide down the solid planes of his chest, and he hums against your mouth. If he wasn’t propping you up against the bed frame, you know you’d have melted into a puddle on the floor by now.

You mumble something agreeable against him, your chest on fire. It’s not physically possible to be any closer to him, but you ache for it. You ache for him.

One of his broad hands slips up the back of your shirt and you gasp into his mouth, your fingers seizing the fabric of his jacket.

Luke is kind. So, so kind, and he licks into your mouth and you feel hot all over.

The warmth you’d been feeling earlier sets your chest on fire. You’re so frighteningly aware of the fact that you feel him everywhere. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he groans when you bite at his lower lip.

“Fuck,” he sighs out, the single word so desperate you nearly go cross eyed. “Fuck.”

You think you’re going to relive him every single time you need to take ambrosia.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Luke breathes out, his eyes shining. The look he’s giving you is making saliva pool under your tongue. “You’re perfect, did you know that?”

You don’t let him get far before you’re chasing after him again, missing the taste of him. His grip tightens around you, and you think you get black spots in your vision.

“Thought I was gonna fucking die when you came back with that dumbass jacket,” he admits. “My girl. I’m sorry I was being stupid.”

You think it’d be embarrassing if he knew just how much you’d be willing to forgive him for.

“‘s okay,” you say, your voice thick. “I was sad it wasn’t yours, too.”

You’re pleased to find that Luke Castellan treats kissing just as seriously as he treats everything else, because the way he holds you is so desperate it surprises the both of you. You can’t even feel where the bed frame is digging into your hip because you’re too focused on the way he’s pressing you against it.

You try stabilizing yourself and find that your hands land directly on his biceps. When he flexes, you feel him smile against your lips.

“Wow, hero,” you tease, voice pitching up at the end when one of his arms snakes around your waist.

You’re very lucky he’s serious about this. But it means he doesn’t hear the sound of campers rushing past the door.

Something like greed possesses him when you snap your head to your left.

He tries following you, tipping his head down to capture your lips again, but you put your hands on his chest to stop him.

“Luke,” you warn. He settles for kissing at your neck instead, and your knees almost buckle when you feel his teeth drag against your skin.

“I think— I think there’s people walking outside,” you say. Every word that comes out of your mouth is labored and takes more effort than you thought was ever possible.

“Then fucking let them come in,” he grumbles, revelling in the sound you make when he kisses you again. “I’m their counselor. They’ll have stable duty until they die.”

You’re breathing hard against him, overwhelmed and dizzy, and you feel it when the pressure of his kisses starts shifting lower. You feel him at your collarbones and nearly pass out.

“We have to— Holy shit,” you sigh out.

The struggle to form thoughts is palpable. Every single one of your working synapses is focused on the feeling of your shirt rucking up your stomach when his hand slides up the back even further.

You say his name, and he hums.

“We’re drunk. We should be… We shouldn’t—”

You know you’re right. But you want to be wrong so, so badly.

“Five seconds,” he says, and the desire there is so real he sighs into your next kiss. “And then we’ll be done.”

Your breath stutters when you inhale. “Five seconds. Yeah. Okay,” you rationalize. “I’ll count.”

It’s just five more seconds, and you honestly think you need it more than him.

You’re breathing too hard for him to kiss you properly, so he tilts your head back and you nearly see stars.

You jolt at the feeling of his mouth against your jaw, a trail of wet kisses following from your mouth to the curved bone. Your fingers curl into his hair.

A shiver wracks your body at the feeling of the first two numbers being mumbled against the swell of your throat. It’s been five seconds already. Neither of you care.

Luke is smiling against your skin.

“Your heart is racing. I can feel it.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your carotid, and it feels like your heart is going to come out of your neck. “Right there.”

“Don’t be mean,” you complain, but it sounds more like a whine than an actual sentence.

Luke’s hand goes to the junction of your neck and the back of your head, keeping you steady so he can kiss you until you lose feeling in your fingers.

You can’t believe that this is seriously happening. This feels like something you’ve thought up in a dream, the feeling of his hands on you so perfect it seems too good to be true.

You aren’t proud of the sound you make when he pulls away.

“Five,” he whispers.

You’d completely forgotten you were the one supposed to be counting.

He presses his forehead against yours while you catch your breath. Your chests rise in tandem, and you wish your lungs were a thousand times bigger just so you didn’t have to pull away.

He wipes something wet away from the corner of your mouth, and you know you’re looking up at him with a stupid look in your eye.

“Luke,” you manage to say. You tilt your head up and your nose knocks against his. “Do you like me too?”

He’s smug. “Was the way I stuck my tongue down your throat too friendly for you?”

The laugh that escapes you must sound funny because he’s joining you the next second, matching smiles on both of your faces.

“Tomorrow,” he promises. You think he’s about to kiss you again but stops an inch away, evil and mean. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You peck his cheek because it technically doesn’t count and watch red bloom there. You think it’s funny he’s blushing at such an innocent kiss, as if he hadn’t been marking up your neck thirty seconds ago. “Tomorrow.”

You feel your heart beating through your chest as both of you get changed. You’re wearing your matching pajama pants, like promised, and you have to keep reminding yourself to stop smiling.

Your heart is still racing even after both of you are settled onto your sides under his blankets. You’re using one of his arms as a pillow and your back is pressed against his chest, and you feel better about the throbbing in your chest when he mumbles something about how dizzy he feels.

You’d slept over here just last night, but it feels like this is the first time you’ve ever been this close to him. You have to stop yourself from shivering when his hand finds its way up your shirt again. And when he rubs those circles between your shoulder blades, you have to remind yourself he does this all the time.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” you say, thinking out loud.

He kisses your hair, because that also technically doesn’t count. “Me neither.”

You’re sick and tired of how you can’t see his face, so you flip around to look at him. He lets you roll on top of his chest, and you just stare, unashamed. His curls look funny because of the way you’d been pulling on them. His lips are perfectly swollen.

You’re content. “The Demeter kids are going to make us so many more cakes, Luke.”

He shifts you higher against him so your face is pressed into his neck instead of his chest. “What do you mean?”

You feel him shudder when the point of your nose runs up the expanse of his throat. “We’re gonna need two cakes to celebrate the first time we kissed. And then even more for that stuff after.”

Luke tilts his head down and captures your lips in another kiss, this one much deeper than the peck he’d smothered into your hair earlier.

You pinch him, your eyes wide when you realize what he’d just done. “Cheater.”

“Couldn’t help it, I’m sorry.”

He has to flip the both of you over because you aim to kiss his face again. You groan, flattened underneath him.

“You’re not being fair, Luke,” you complain, but you rub his back because you’re greedy.

“Tomorrow.” His mouth has made its way to your collarbones again because he likes to torture you. “After we talk.”

“After,” you echo.

The lingering effects of the alcohol are making it a little hard to think straight. But you can’t even believe you’d doubted this for a second. It was always going to be you and Luke. You think it’s been etched into the very beginnings of your souls.

Luke kisses a sore mark he left on the column of your throat, and your eyes grow heavy when he leaves another right next to it.

“After,” he confirms.

You think this must be what going to Elysium is like.

series masterlist

notes: title from dress by taylor swift. final word count at 11k which means that like twenty percent of this was just them being crazy about the other…….. goodbye LOL.

ill probably be making another post just to yell and scream about the events of this chapter. can you tell i blacked out writing it

[anywherebuthere]

secrets i have held in my heart

part six — the killerverse masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of ares reader

summary: snapshots of you and luke throughout your lives, from elementary school to camp half-blood

content: childhood best friends in love. fluff. this is a 3 + 1 fic except you don’t find out what it is until you read/get to the end of the fic LOL

notes: title from i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys. this is a pretty important chapter i’d say lol but i dont think you have to read the rest of the killerverse to understand

SIX

Your hand is sticky with Elmer’s glue, but it’s only ‘cause the craft in class is super duper boring.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, so you’re all decorating your shoe boxes that you’re going to fill with your Valentines tomorrow.

Your teacher wanted you guys to make your boxes nice and pretty, but you’re really, really bored. You drew a cat’s face on the top of your box and added googly eyes and pipe cleaner whiskers. There are a bunch of heart stickers all over it, too, the scratch and sniff ones that smell like strawberries. You and the girl next to you take turns picking up your box and smelling it.

But you kinda don’t really want to look at your box anymore. You didn’t like the way the crayon looked on the side so you went over it in marker, but it made it look even uglier. So you decide instead to put a bunch of glue on your hand and wait for it to dry so you can peel it all off. But you have to do it under the table, because your teacher got mad the last time you did.

You wait for Luke to look at you from across the room. When he finally looks back, you wave at him with your glue stained hand, smiling in a funny way.

He waves at you too. His box is bright red and has a nice drawing of a heart on the side. Luke is really good at drawing, and you’re only a little jealous.

Last night, your mom took you and Luke to the store to buy your Valentine’s exchange candy for tomorrow. And then you spent a few hours writing your classmates’ names on each piece, eating entire packets when your mom wasn’t looking. She ended up finding out because your teeth were stained green from the Fun-Dip, but she just smiled and said not to have anymore.

You miss Luke. He’s talking to the boy who sits next to him on the other side of the room, and you wish you were over there too. You and Luke got separated because you would talk to him too much, so now you sit at the table in the very front of the room.

Ally must get bored of your fun strawberry stickers, because she turns around in her chair and giggles next to you a little loudly.

You turn to her. “What’s so funny?”

Her box has a butterfly on it, but it’s missing a wing. She’s busy looking at the table next to you guys.

“I have a crush on Nick. Do you think he’ll be my Valentine?”

You almost gag.

You don’t really like Nick. He pulled your hair during recess once, and you got in big trouble for throwing dirt at him in return.

You try to be nice, but it’s hard. He annoys you. A little hotly, you ask, “Why do you like Nick?”

“He has nice hair. And he ran even faster than you in the relay race, so that means he’s really fast.”

You’re the fastest girl in the grade by a mile, even beating out almost all of the boys, which people were weirdly surprised at. But Nick is a super slow runner, and his team only beat yours because your sneakers came undone during it.

“I mean, I guess.”

Ally’s high ponytail nearly whacks you in the face when she turns to face you again.

“Do you like anyone?” she asks. She finally picks up her colored pencil to finish the wing of her butterfly.

You pause. You don’t really know.

What even would make you like someone? Ally likes Nick because he can run fast. Maybe you’re supposed to like someone if they’re super strong.

Joey helps your teacher put the chairs up at the end of the day. And he runs fast, too. He’s the boy that Cate and Brielle have a crush on. And Tia. And Farah.

Basically everyone, actually.

He wears so much gel in his hair that it sticks up like a porcupine. But he runs fast, and is one of the only people who can tag you when you guys play Tag during recess.

“I like Joey,” you decide. You aren’t really sure what that means.

“No!” Sofia protests from across the table. You’d forgotten she was sitting there. “I like Joey. You have to have a different crush.”

“Oh, okay.” You look around the classroom. “Who should I like?”

“What about your boyfriend?” Taylor asks from next to Sofia.

“Boyfriend? Ew, what?” you nearly yell.

Someone shushes you from the table Nick’s sitting at. You don’t want to get in trouble again, so you don’t stick your tongue out at them.

“Who?” Ally asks, putting down her colored pencil. Her blue-purple butterfly is finally done, and she’s looking pretty curious.

Taylor points a painted finger toward the back of the class. “Luke.”

You turn back to look at him.

Luke runs fast, too. He’s the fastest boy in the grade. And he doesn’t wear any stupid gel in his hair like Joey does. He has a lot of soft curly hair that you like to twist around your fingers. You decide he has much better hair than Joey and Nick.

Ally gets a big smile on her face. “You and Luke, sitting in a tree.”

Sofia laughs, joining Ally and her teasing.

“K-i-s-s-i-n-g!” they spell, your face growing hotter with each letter.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you say, angry and embarrassed. You hope Luke can’t hear them. “Stop lying.”

The two of them don’t listen, going on and on about how you and Luke must kiss all the time. You think your head is going to explode.

“Stop!” you repeat, but the two of them go on and on and on.

On a piece of scrap paper, Ally draws a big heart. Inside, she starts to draw two stick figures, and you nearly shriek in embarrassment. You tug her colored pencil out of her hand, and she slips out of her chair.

The girls around the table look at you, wide eyed. Even Nick’s table hears the thump and turns around.

Ally bursts into tears immediately, massive waterfalls running down her face.

She still manages to scowl through the tears. “I’m telling!”

You stand awkwardly with the red colored pencil in your hand.

Great.

Ms. Annin ends up moving you again, even further from Luke. You get placed at a lonely table all by yourself right next to her desk.

You never speak to Ally again.

TWELVE

It’s still weird getting used to having another person traveling with you.

You’re really thankful for it, because your turns to keep watch at night have gotten a lot shorter. Now that Thalia’s with you, you’re more well rested than you’ve been in years. Plus, she’s a great fighter. There really is strength in numbers, because the three of you rarely struggle against the monsters that you happen to come across.

Of all the demigods you could’ve found, you’re glad you found Thalia. She’s funny and can keep up with you and Luke even though she’s slightly younger.

But even though you have absolutely no problems with her being here, it’s still a little weird.

It kind of feels like when you’d get a new kid in class in grade school. You have to consciously remind yourself that there’s three of you now, not just two. Your duo has been upped to a party of three, something you haven’t experienced ever. It’s always been you and Luke against the world, and you’ve never really experienced anything else.

But it’s not a bad weird. Thalia’s had your life in her hands multiple times since last week, and you’ve trusted her to do her part wholeheartedly. She’s strong, and can pull her weight and more.

You think the two of you are bound to be close friends eventually. Luke will always be your best friend, but you’ve never had a close friend that’s a girl before, and the thought of it makes you smile. It’s new.

Now that there’s three of you, you’ve had to make a few changes as well. You’d all known that three demigods were bound to attract more monsters than two, and decided that sleeping out in the open wouldn’t cut it anymore.

So, you’d all started construction on a little shelter made of old plants and vines and whatever other things the woods would offer you. It’s still a work in progress, and does absolutely nothing against the rain, but it’s pretty wind resistant, which has seemed to deter any monsters from finding your little group so far.

You offer to accompany Luke to go find sticks for tonight’s fire, but he gives you a very pointed look before turning around and leaving.

Safe to say, he’s still a little wary of you doing anything ‘too difficult’ since your brief stint in the hospital last month.

You scoff at the idea of him deeming the act of picking up literal sticks from the floor as ‘too difficult.’

It had taken weeks before Luke even let you carry your bag again, and you’re honestly just lucky he’s not hovering like he had before.

You grumble to yourself all the way back to the shelter, a little peeved but too tired to chase after him to argue about it.

When you push aside the shrub that works as a makeshift door, you see Thalia, poking a little at the fire you had started a bit ago.

“Hi,” you greet, looking around for where you’d left your sleeping bag.

“Hey.”

None of your stuff is in the pile by the door where you’d left it, and when you scan the room again, your eyes bulge out of your head.

Thalia’s been kind enough to roll out your sleeping bags for you, which you’re about to thank her for, but your jaw falls open at the formation of them.

Thalia’s sitting on her black sleeping bag, staring peacefully into the fire. But it’s smack dab in the middle between you and Luke.

You shut down the shocked oh that threatens to leave your mouth.

It’s not a big deal. It’s only a distance of eight feet or so, and it’s not like you’re never speaking to Luke ever again. You just can’t remember the last time you’ve slept so far away from him.

But it’s not even a big deal! It really isn’t. It’s just that before Thalia joined, not sleeping next to Luke wasn’t even an option you had. You’re just surprised at how new everything is now.

That’s all.

…

Really. That’s all.

Thalia’s turned away from the fire and is looking pointedly at you. “You okay?”

“Hmm?”

“You zoned out for a second there.”

“Oh, oops, sorry.” You scratch your head, trying your best to chill out. “Just thinking.”

You sit on your sleeping bag, wrapping your arms around your shins. You’re a little humiliated at how badly this is irritating you.

Should you bring it up? Surely she won’t care.

No. It’s one singular night. You’ll survive.

You give the younger girl a side glance. She’s already looking at you.

Her laugh crackles throughout the shelter, and she actually clutches her chest, amused out of her mind.

“Sorry, I forgot you’re like, boyfriend-girlfriend or whatever.”

You choke. “Uh—”

She yawns, getting up to stretch and drag her sleeping back closer to you so there’s a significant gap between her and Luke. “Kissing really grosses me out, so don’t do it in front of me. But if you guys are dating, I’d rather third wheel than cut between you two.”

“We’re not dating.”

The look she gives you with her piercing blue eyes makes you feel scrutinized. “You don’t have to pretend. You make crazy eyes at him.”

“Crazy eyes?” It feels like your real eyes (that definitely don’t look in any particular way towards Luke) are going to bulge out of your head.

“I think he likes you, too, though. So don’t worry.”

“Oh my gods,” you groan, placing your face into your hands. “Not you, too.”

She snickers again, her laughter filling the room. “Do you get that a lot?”

The fire makes the air feel too sticky and hot. You fight the urge to fan your face. “People tell us that all the time. Like, even one of our teachers at school did. It’s so embarrassing ‘cause we don’t even like each other like that.”

“Oh, dang, really?”

“Really.”

She thinks about it for a moment, running a hand through her hair. It’s wet from the sink water from the gas station bathroom.

“Are you sure, though?”

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s Luke. I think I’d know if I liked him.”

“So you don’t want to switch spots?”

You go quiet, and Thalia laughs again.

“Yes or no?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

She seems awfully smug, and you jump to defend yourself.

“It’s not because of that! I’ve just gotten used to it—”

“Sure,” Thalia hums, giving you a wicked grin. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, though. He’s good looking enough, I think. And he’s tall.”

You huff at her refusal to believe. But you can’t help but ask, “You think he’s good looking?”

It reminds you of when the girls in the year below you would always volunteer to partner with Luke whenever the classes did gym together. It’s funny.

Thalia tilts her head. “Don’t you?”

Of course you think so. You’ve never really had a crush on anyone, but you have enough sense to think Luke’s face is nice.

“I guess,” you say, trying not to give her anything to use against you.

She cracks another smile. “Okay. Well, you should move over before he comes back. I’m tired.”

You shift over in a daze, making sure to leave a normal amount of space between you and Luke’s sleeping bags. If Thalia notices, she doesn’t say anything.

He comes back a little bit later, a comically large pile of sticks in his hands. He carries them right over to the fire by your heads, dusting his hands off after he sets them down.

“That should be enough,” he whispers, wary of Thalia’s sleeping form.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Should be? I’ll be surprised if you even left any trees alive out there.”

Luke snorts before turning around to look at you. Whatever snarky thing he wanted to say dies on his tongue, though.

“Are you good?” he asks.

You wonder if you could just zip yourself into your sleeping bag and never speak to anyone again.

“Yeah. Why?”

He looks to Thalia and then back to you. “You’re so close to Thalia you’ll probably roll on top of her in your sleep.”

The extra foot of space between you and Luke goes unmentioned.

“There’s like, a draft,” you decide to say. “It’s cold right there.”

Luke stands over the spot where your sleeping bag would usually lay, holding out his hands like he’s trying to feel for the wind. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. Much warmer over here.”

He gives you a funny look. “Okay. I feel fine though, so…”

Luke drags his red sleeping bag over to yours so the edges are nearly touching. You don’t want to look in Thalia’s direction on the chance she’s still awake.

“Goodnight, killer,” he mumbles. “I’ll take first watch.”

Your elbows brush his when he lays down, and he tugs your blanket over him as well, grumbling something about you being a blanket hog.

When you turn onto your side, you’re startled by the sight of Thalia’s electric blue eyes. They shine with barely contained laughter.

You turn right back around.

SIXTEEN

You’re happy and full from the good food you had while you walk towards the exit of the diner.

“I still can’t believe we’re both old now.”

“I’ve been sixteen for less than a day, Luke. We’re not that old.”

“Well we’re old enough to drive. I think that makes us pretty old.”

You picture Luke behind the wheel — he’d be a great driver, you can tell.

“If you got your license, I’d make sure to stay off the roads,” you say anyway.

“Gee, thanks. So much confidence in me.”

“I’d warn everyone, too. I’d hold a sign out the window that’d say: Keep a safe distance from this vehicle.”

“Woah, who said anything about me letting you in the car? I hope you have fun on public transport.”

“I was kidding! All jokes, I swear—”

You cut yourself off with a gasp, which he tenses at.

You seize his wrist before he can even ask what the issue is. “Luke, we need two dollars.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”

You point to the small box by the front door. “It’s a photobooth! Do you have two bucks?”

You slip ahead to inspect it while he checks his wallet. You can’t even tell if the machine is still functional, but the light outside flickers, so you assume it does.

When you turn back to look at him, he shakes his head. “I got a five, but I doubt this thing gives change.”

“Ya need a spot?”

You and Luke spin, immediately on the defensive. Your hand closes around the dagger tucked into the front of your jacket.

There’s an old man leaning against the wall a couple feet away, a well loved coat clutched against his front. You almost roll your eyes at the way Luke steps in front of you.

He’s sweet, but kinda stupid.

Your hand loosens around your weapon when you see the man. He looks normal enough.

“Do you have change for a five?” you pipe up from behind Luke.

He says your name in a low tone, trying to remind you of the very real danger this sweet old man could bring. Monsters aren’t afraid to take any form — even if it means they look like a kind man who feeds ducks at parks.

The man pats his pockets, and you sidestep Luke to walk up to him. Luke knows there’s no stopping you, so he follows closeby.

“Yes, ma’am,” the man says, pulling out his wallet.

“Thank you so much,” you say, urging Luke to hand over the five dollar bill you have.

He doesn’t look very happy, but you’re too busy smiling at the man to care. He opens his wallet to pull out his cash and you catch a glimpse of a little black and white picture in the photo sleeve.

He smiles when he catches you looking. “Ya like it? That’s me ‘n my girl.”

“She’s gorgeous,” you say honestly. “You two are so cute.”

He pulls out the photo to show you it close up. It unfolds into a photobooth strip, the edges worn and clearly aged with time.

It’s definitely the man in front of you right now, but a few decades younger. He and his lover look to be in college, maybe in their late teens. You can see the love they have for each other even through the picture.

“It’s from our first date,” he explains, his eyes proud while he reminisces. “That was fifty years ago last month, in this very diner, at that photo booth over there. We come back here every year for our anniversary.”

You clutch the space over your heart, gushing. “That’s so cute!”

“She sent me to pick up food today, but I know she’d share the same sentiment as me if she was here—you two remind me a lot of us.”

You’ve grown to not be too embarrassed when someone mistakes you and Luke for a couple. You’d get embarrassed and angry when you were younger, but it’s kinda whatever now.

“We’re actually—”

“Thank you,” Luke cuts in. He drops a hand on your shoulder while he urges you back in the direction of the booth. “For the compliment and the change.”

“It’s no problem, son,” he assures, giving you both a toothy grin.

You say your goodbyes over Luke’s shoulder while he ushers you under the curtain of the booth.

“Isn’t that so cute, Luke?” you gush quietly. “This is the same place they were fifty years ago! They’ve been together longer than we’ve even been alive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, feeding the cash into the receiver. “But we gotta go if we still wanna catch our tour.”

“Oh, right,” you say. Luke had bought tickets to a sightseeing trip after. “We’ll be fast.”

The pictures come out so cute and a lot like the black and white strip the old man had. There was a lot less space inside the booth than you’d thought there’d be, so you’d been forced to sit on Luke’s left leg to fit in.

It’s a strip of four pictures. There’s one of you and Luke’s faces pressed together and one of you smiling while you threw an arm around him.

The bottom two are your favorites though. There’s one of you kissing his cheek, and then one of you laughing at him after his face went bright red.

“Maybe we can come back here in fifty years, too,” you suggest, still looking at the pictures even after you’re a few blocks away from the diner.

It sounds stupid. You aren’t even sure if demigods survive that long, but you’d like to think you and Luke would be the exception.

He squeezes your shoulder as the pier comes into view. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”

NINETEEN

Luke rarely sleeps in the Ares cabin with you, a fact you’ve had plenty of arguments about.

(“Your siblings still hate me,” he had claimed. “I have to sleep on my stomach there ‘cause I swear I’ll wake up with a dick drawn on my forehead one of these days.”

You’d just glared at him. “You and your siblings literally have prank wars while I’m over.”

Once, someone had tried to get back at one of Luke’s stupid stunts by dressing up like that girl from The Ring and standing over his bed in the middle of the night.

You’d woken up from all of their whispering, and acted on instinct. You decked the poor kid standing over you in the face.

They’d all learned their lesson, and Luke was granted immunity from pranks whenever you’re over.

“That was one time,” he always defends. “At least they like you. Lance rolled his eyes when he opened the door for me last week.”

“That’s ‘cause you tripped him and made him faceplant during Capture the Flag.”

He’d paused, trying his best to remember.

“He’s still mad about that?”)

Nevertheless, Luke only comes over for super special occasions. But it’s times like these when you wish your siblings hated him a little bit less, cause you can see the hesitation on his face when you ask him to sleep over.

You’re probably pouting. “Please? I haven’t slept over at yours in so long, and you haven’t been here in forever. And it’s our day off tomorrow, so you really have no good excuse.”

He frowns. “Tomorrow’s the eighth?”

You nod, grabbing onto his wrist like it’ll keep him with you, but you already know you won’t like his answer when his frown deepens.

“‘m sorry. I gotta help Alice with something early tomorrow morning. I can’t tonight.”

You groan, a little disappointed. Luke links your hands together and squeezes it in apology before he drags your dead weight to the Ares cabin.

He cracks open the door for you and lets you go, but not without you throwing your arms around his shoulders and drawing him as close to you as you can.

“I’ll see you early tomorrow morning. I’ll make it up to you after I’m done with my sister’s thing.” he promises, rocking you back so far it feels like you’re gonna fall. You clutch onto his shoulders a little tighter.

“Early?” you groan. “It’s our day off, Luke. Have mercy.”

“We got a long day of nothing tomorrow. Ever heard about seizing the day?”

“No. Ever heard about sleeping in?”

“What kinda counselor would I be if I let you wake up at noon?”

“A sweet and kind and perfect one who cares about the campers?”

He releases you, smiling. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“Ten,” you argue.

He laughs. “I’ll see you at eight.”

“Nine thirty?”

“Don’t push it. Nine, and that’s the latest.” He pats your cheek soothingly when you pout.

“I should’ve started my first offer at eleven,” you lament.

“Goodnight,” he practically sings, stepping off the porch.

You pretend to glare at him, but can’t help but wave. “Night.”

He winks at you, and you turn back inside when he disappears from view.

You nearly topple over a child when you try to enter the cabin.

You’re able to catch yourself at the last second, but it still startles you. You look down to see a little girl standing right in front of you, so short she comes up to around your ribcage. She’s new to the Ares cabin, just claimed last week, but not new to camp.

“Hi, Faith,” you greet. “Are you okay?”

“Who was that?” she asks curiously.

You crouch down so she doesn’t have to break her neck to talk to you. “That was Luke, remember? He’s the counselor of the Hermes cabin.”

“Oh.”

“Did you forget about him?” you tease. “He told me such sweet things about you.”

She clasps her hands together behind her back. “No. I didn’t forget, but…”

She hesitates, so you nod at her to go on.

“He looked nicer right now.”

You fight the urge to smile. “Was Luke scary back at the Hermes cabin?”

It would make sense. Luke’s not actually scary, but the way he rough houses with his siblings when he’s with them would probably be intimidating to a little kid.

She shrugs. “Yeah. A little.”

“Well…” You smile. “Luke isn’t scary at all, I promise. I know you’ve already met, but I can reintroduce you to him tomorrow, if you want.”

“No, thanks.”

You have to crack a smile at that. She’s not trying to be mean, but she clearly does not care about Luke at all.

The kids at camp are so funny sometimes that you have to physically stifle your laughter at the random stuff they say.

“Alright, then. You headed to bed?”

She nods and scampers off into her bunk by the back.

You can’t wait to tell Luke about how he’s scaring off the little kids.

—

You get more hours of sleep that night than you have in months, but all good things come to an unfortunate end.

Someone’s calling your name, and you groan as you sit up. You blink through the haze in your eyes that threaten to make them shut again.

It’s Faith. She’s standing by the door, looking up at the visitor outside.

“Yeah?” you groan, stretching out your limbs, unused from sleep.

“Your boyfriend’s here.”

Luke.

True to his word, he’s here bright and early. You wonder if you’ll be able to convince him to lay down with you.

“Can you let him in, please?” you call, slumping back into your sheets. It’s so much warmer under your blankets.

The wooden floors creak as he gets closer, and you hold your hands out for him.

“Hey—”

“Please lie down.”

That gets a laugh from Luke, but it doesn’t work. He pushes you over so he can sit in the empty space he makes on your bed.

“I let you sleep in. It’s ten.”

“Mhm. My hero.”

You think he’s smiling. “I have a surprise.”

“Yeah?”

You wonder if the surprise is staying here with you until noon. You really hope it is.

There’s a box in your lap, and you move your hands over it like you’ll be able to guess what it is through touch alone.

Luke rubs the sleep from your eyes. “You’re gonna have to open your eyes for this one.”

You open your eyes very reluctantly.

It’s a cake.

It’s frosted white and has the cool swirls going around the top edge and bottom edge, and you don’t have to ask to know what flavor it is.

Written on the top in slightly lopsided frosting, it says: Happy Half-Anniversary.

Luke only comes into the Ares cabin for special occasions, you remember.

Like today, your half friendship anniversary.

When Luke had first started proposing that you celebrate, you’d laughed. Right in his face.

You’d asked him if he was making things up to mess with you. But he’d argued that camp was lame with nothing to look forward to, so he was making any chance to celebrate whenever he could.

You’d both chosen a random day to celebrate, since there was no way of knowing when you’d actually become friends. You’d suggested a couple months after your birthday, since your moms had probably taken you to meet each other the moment your little baby immune system was strong enough.

Luke had shot that down immediately, saying it’d be too close to his half birthday or something, and you two needed to spread out your celebrations as much as possible. So you’d found a calendar and chose the most strategic day that allowed for maximum celebrations.

…In hindsight, it sounds ridiculous.

But you were fourteen and bored, and now you have about ten different excuses to have one of the Demeter kids bake you a cake.

“It’s the eighth,” you realize. Something like guilt presses heavy into your chest. You know he won’t think it’s a big deal — it’s a made up anniversary, after all — but you can’t help but look up at him, frowning. “I’m so sorry, Luke, I can’t believe I forgot.”

One of his hands moves to cover one of yours where it sits on the box. “It’s okay, killer. I know you’ve had a long week.”

You have. You really have to thank fourteen-year-old Luke who insisted on all these celebrations. This anniversary couldn’t have come at a better time, cause now you have some really good cake and a day off with your best friend.

You’re admiring the details along the side of the cake when Luke speaks up, drawing your gaze back to his face. He leans back onto his hand that’s right by your upper leg.

“So. Your boyfriend, huh?”

The sound you make is caught between a choke and a gasp. “What?”

“Faith called me your boyfriend, and you just let me in,” he muses thoughtfully. He turns back to look at the cake, suddenly absorbed in the frosting details as well.

You get warm all over. You hadn’t even realized. The idea had seemed so natural, you didn’t even think about correcting her.

What the fuck, you realize. That’s not normal.

“You got something you wanna tell me?” Luke teases, his voice trying for joking but landing somewhere between strained and awkward.

Your throat is dry, and you have to cough for sound to come out. “Oh. I just got so used to it, I didn’t even…”

Luke looks back up at you, something flickering in his eyes. “Oh. So there’s no secret boyfriend you’ve been bringing here without telling me?”

That’s what he was worried about?

You can’t help but laugh.

“Is there even anyone else?”

Luke’s eyes dart over your face, and you can tell he wants to say something. His hands are warm where they’re cupped around yours, and you begin to grow frighteningly hyperaware of every spot that you’re pressed together — at your knees, at the back of your hand, at the slightest part of your thigh.

Whatever tension that crackles over your skin and between the inches between the two of you is broken the second Luke grins, the sight sending your heart slamming against your ribcage.

“Huh. Guess not.”

He puts the box onto your bedside table and moves you over even more so he can lay back against the headboard.

“I knew you’d fold,” you joke, trying to keep your voice even and failing miserably.

Luke doesn’t notice. He hooks his hands under your arms so he can drag you upright next to him, but your bed is so small that you have to lay half on top of him to fit.

It’s not the first time you’ve laid like this. Luke does this whenever he’s trying to keep you from falling asleep, so you have no idea why it feels so different right now.

Gods, you think you feel ill. You wonder if you need an AED to shock your heart back into a normal rhythm.

“I’ll give you five minutes, okay?” Luke says. “Then we can start our long day of nothing.”

Five minutes turns into fifteen when he starts talking to you about what he’d helped his sister with earlier. Then twenty minutes bleeds into forty-five while you listen to him talk about the latest joke his brother pulled on him since you haven’t been around to give him prank-immunity.

It feels like you’ve been doused with cold water when you realize it’s not Luke’s stories that’s keeping you awake. It’s not him forcing you to sit up with him that’s doing it, either.

You’re being kept wide awake by the butterflies taking flight inside your chest.

Holy fucking shit.

notes: alternatively, three times someone called luke your boyfriend and the one time you realized you actually really liked it

lol! 5.4k words whew whew whew please scream with me about them

series masterlist

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— 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘂𝗽 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗶𝘅𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗻

⤷ you'll meet again, some sunny day / luke castellan x (gn + child of aristaeus) reader

⤷ wc; 2.1k | battle of manhattan, final in-betweens fic we go!!, tlo spoilers, luke lives we go!! + tracklist: posing in bondage - japanese breakfast

⤷ the jubilee recollection ( masterlist )

♫ — waiting for you (proximity, i needed—)

“Will,” you whisper to the boy, a grit-gravel rasp carried slow by the still air of the sickbay. “He’ll be there, won’t he?”

The son of Apollo looks up from the restock of first aid, eyes dulling like an rough, uncut crystal under the shadow of his brow. “Obviously.”

Your hand finds the seam of your—no, Luke’s—shirt, fingers curling and twisting at the fabric.

“I hope he—” You can’t find it in you to say the word. Will crosses over to you, kneeling down on the creaky hardwood—the pattern of the flooring is ringed, populated clusters of dark lines that shine like obsidian at noon—splaying a cool palm on your forehead.

“The scar’s fading.”

You bite your cheek, smile softly and pull him close, fingers digging into his soft blond curls and arms wrapping tight around his awkward frame. The boy relaxes in your hold, palms resting against your shoulder blades as you rock side to side.

“You’re like my little bro, William, y’know that?”

He groans exasperated into your shoulder, a fake show of avoiding your affection—typical for a teenager. “Unwillingly adopted.”

“Okay, you brat. Go back to restock, we’ll need it on the field.” You pinch the soft, spongy skin at the bend of his elbow; Will yelps, scuttling away on his palms and feet like a crab, falling back and accidentally somersaulting when he reaches the mouth of the stairs.

“I’m fine, thank you so much for asking!”

♫ — when the world is divided into two people

Percy plots the field hospital in the lobby of the Empire State Building and assigns aid routes for combat medics throughout Lower Manhattan, where most of the land defenses are placed.

Will—when he isn’t fighting—helps you run a sled full of stretchers with the assistance of a few centaurs, weaving between the concrete trees of the urban jungle to bring the wounded back to base, where a team of Apollo’s children are ready to treat them.

Hermes’ kids make up for a majority of the injured, which isn’t surprising for the cabin lobbing pyrotechnics made of Greek Fire and running barbed wire made from Celestial Bronze around the legs of monsters to trip them up—a move, says Connor, that he learned from seeing Luke Skywalker take down an AT-AT.

( He thinks his father would be proud of his antics, to which you grin bitterly. )

It’s you who pulls Will’s face away into your neck when the Williamsburg Bridge collapses. He’s treating his siblings who’d been hurt in the retreat when Percy summons a two-ton wave to flood the crossing. The Apollo cabin’s counselor, Michael, is lost under the rubble and never found.

( It’s now that Will becomes the head of Cabin 7, and his first act as counselor is to move the field hospital from Plaza Hotel to Olympus. You let him wet your shoulder with his tears when the fighting calms, saying little as he trembles beneath your fingers.

“I miss him already. I keep thinking he’ll turn the corner and need a band-aid ‘cause he was shooting too hard.”

“Oh, Will.” He burrows deeper in your hold.

“He trained me. I learned everything from him”

“I know, I know.” )

Later, you find out that Luke had been on the other side of the bridge—the proximity rocks an uneasy boat in your mind that tries to resist the all-consuming pull of his tide. You think you should have killed him in that field, stabbing your dagger into his arm when you had the chance.

The thought withers away as quickly as it had come and you’re left with a vacuum of guilt that bubbles in your stomach, ties your intestines into knots. How could you, a healer, ever think about hurting someone—hurting Luke?

You’ve gotten Miranda Gardiner’s arm around your shoulders when you catch his eye amidst the battle. The Titan’s forces encircle the campers and their allies; demigods in orange steady their form and the Hunters fire quicksilver shots at the monsters, holding the line but never pushing forward.

He’s leading the second wave, the long, tempered sheen of Backbiter gleaming in the rubbled gloom. Luke looks better, almost otherworldly, than he should be, healthier than he was at camp—last you saw him, he had grey laced in his curls from the strain of carrying a Titan. Now, most of it is gone, and his skin is nearly unnatural with the way it shines like a thousand scales. Styx’s curse.

Luke—no, Kronos, because his eyes aren’t the familiar earthy brown you know. They’re gold, the color of ichor but sickly like a disease. His face stretches in a too-wide grin when he sees you in the rabble. You find that you can’t look away.

“Child of Aristaeus.”

You shouldn’t be able to hear him with the clamor raging around you, Miranda pressed heavy and bleeding into your side, heartbeat filling your ears in a rush.

“Come here,” it rasps. His lips don’t move. “I want to make a deal.”

( You think of the field, dappled gold and all, tall grass Midas-touched in the dawn. He had laid there sleeping, dirt smeared over the familiar swell of his cheek, eyes fluttering dreamless and a welt rising on the side of his neck. You’d left him then. )

“I hate you,” you murmur, low as the monster’s dust that settles on the ground, carried slow by the stilling air. The clamor enters a trough, a dip in the wavelength of the battle—Miranda mumbles Mom? as vines begin to splinter the concrete, darkness bleeding into the near horizon. From the edges of your perception, you can hear a Hunter shouting that Hades, Demeter, and Persephone are descending.

Kronos—no, Luke, because the iridescent light in his irises have dimmed to a familiar brown—frowns. You can see how his body twitches as he struggles to regain control, a tic in the wrist, a tilt of the head, the tremor in his blade.

You do the only thing you can remember to do—pivot on your toes and dash madly to the elevator with Miranda’s slack weight on your back. She’s still delirious, asking whether her mother had finally come to help her.

You aren’t there for the final confrontation between Luke and Percy.

Chiron has the medics evacuate the field hospital, carrying the wounded out to the strawberry trucks and rushing back to camp so that if Kronos won, you’d at least be able to die at home.

You aren’t there, but you can feel it, the heat rolling over New York, the gust of power radiating from Olympus. You find his camp necklace in your pocket and wrap your palm around it, clay beads digging into your flesh.

♫ — i hope you come home soon

You’re back in the cottage, the dawn rolling over the horizon lazily like the world hadn’t just almost ended.

The sink’s basin is stained, watering with pink at the drain as the cool stream runs over your fingers, washes the dust and the blood and the war off your skin. You still need to smear antibacterial honey on a crate of bandages so that Will and the rest of the Apollo kids can wrap the wounded.

There’s a knock at the door, assuring, steady. You hear the uneasy and unaligned clop of hooves on dirt and know that Chiron waits outside. The dawn filters in from the crack you open between the wood and the frame, a strip of gold gleaming bright, a band of wakefulness in the still-sleepy world.

You think you might be dreaming. Maybe you did die, and this is just a glimpse into the afterlife. Luke is slung over Chiron like he’s being piggybacked, arms slack around the centaur’s neck and head resting against his back. He’s bloodied and beaten, dusty with debris and eyes bruised with fatigue.

( It’s like nothing had happened, like he’d just fallen asleep at dinner after a long day of training, too muscle-laden and lanky for any of the other campers to carry to him to bed. )

“May I come in?”

You nod, the words stolen from your tongue. Chiron walks in, kneels down by the bedframe and manages to maneuver Luke under the blankets. You stop yourself from cringing at the dirt marring the sheets when his body settles—it’s alright, you can wash them later. What matters now is that he’s here sleeping peaceful in your sheets after four long, excruciating years—oh god, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

“How?” you rasp, grit-gravel with a grief welling so uncontrollably that you barely manage the words. “I thought they’d smite him even if he survived.”

Chiron’s lips curl at the corners grimly. “You can thank Percy Jackson for that.”

You pull out a stool, the blunt wooden feet of it scraping harsh against the paneled flooring, cracking open a jar of sharp-scented honey and unrolling the bandages. The silence speaks for itself, filled only with the viscous push and pull of your fingers dipping in the amber substance.

“Child—” the centaur starts, petering off when your shoulders dip under an invisible weight. You can hear the hiss of air that streams through his nostrils, ears picking up the scratch of the sleeves of his tweed blazer when he crosses his arms. He’s nearly too tall for the cottage’s ceiling, greying hairs brushing the wooden beams—you track his movements without your eyes like a true fighter, a demigod trained and battle-ready.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” you whisper with a finality. You think, now, that you were never meant to be a fighter, you never wanted to be one and surely didn’t ask to have this, the danger and the injuries and the dead friends. “I stopped being a kid a while ago.”

“Luke—”

“Chiron.” And it’s loud, the syllables slipping off your tongue, the sound hissing acid-like.

Then softer, “Sometimes I think it’d be easier if he died.”

“Oh child,” the centaur puts a familiar hand on your shoulder, “you needn’t feel guilt for fleeting ideas.”

“How am I supposed to look after him now? I almost killed him—I wish I did.”

Chiron makes a mournful sound. “Percy asked to spare him, at the cost of his memories. He won’t remember himself, or you, or what he did until the gods deem him worthy enough to regain them.”

He won’t know who you are. Won’t laugh at the inside joke you used to have, won’t poke fun at how you waited for him like he was a soldier at war and kissed him right after he’d come back like he’d been ripped from you for a lifetime. In some way, it’s a—albeit cold—comfort.

Luke writhes in the sheets, neck craning, gaze darting around beneath his shut eyelids—you can see how the delicate skin of them warps and bulges with movement. He falls still, fingers drawing taunt and pressing against the sheets.

You think he must be having a dream about falling, chasing a light as his body settles in rest. He jolts, hinging upward at the waist, chest straining with his breaths and meeting your gaze.

He’s alive, he’s Luke. His eyes are still the same shade of rich, turned earth, the brown of them melting to amber in the bands of gold shining Midas-touched through the small windows. Hair dusty—like he’d just finished pinning Travis to the dirt in the sparring ring—and still dark, a sneer of ink laid across his forehead, eraser smudges in the grey strands weaved through his curls.

His mouth flutters, eyes flickering with a dim recognition. They flit across your face, taking in the set of your eyes and the curve of your mouth and the angle of your nose, memorizing. Chiron’s head brushes the ceiling beams again, moving away.

“You,” he trails off, voice low and cracking at the edges. It’s a song you’ll always know, lyrics and all, a familiar call to answer that you’ll forever be helpless against.

“You’re awake,” you finish for him, and it feels like a circle completed, honey on a wound, a rib reset. You smile, rueful, brows drawing in and mouth set into a gentle line, fingers finding his forehead, touch reverent in the way you know that he’s truly come back to you. “It’s too early. Go back to sleep.”

And he does.

p.s.; last in-betweens, jittering in my seat...two more jubi reprise and then we're done omg.

feedback (comments & reblogs) greatly appreciated!!

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poisoned mercury | pink skies

a/n: bf!luke, who else cheered?; suggests that five star and luke spent the night but nothing explicit! i decided not to let the angst monster touch them. they're my babies!!!! five star and luke get behind me!!!

viii. pink skies by lany

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there were many things about luke castellan that surprised you. one being that he wore glasses, or at least is supposed to wear glasses. he refused to wear them, against the sound medical advice of his optometrist and his mom’s insistence. his first adult responsibility was buying his own contacts because his mom refused to set up the appointments for him out of spite. he only wore his glasses when he was around the boys and poisoned mercury’s management team, but never out in public, and definitely never on stage. 

two, he loved jazz music. only a handful of people knew this about him and half of those who do, don’t believe him. he supposed it was hard for people to believe that a pop punk lead singer would have an appreciation for jazz music, but luke loved it. jazz always sounded romantic and sensual and there was something calming about it. he listened to jazz before each show. he’ll never admit this unless you twist his arm, but he wept like a goddamn baby when he first watched la la land. 

third, he was a polyglot, which he says is a little ironic because according to his mom, he spoke his first words in english significantly later than his peers, but he picked up on other languages quickly. he first found out about his talent in high school when he started hanging out at the rodriguez household and chris’ mom and sisters started saying phrases to him in spanish. he started taking spanish classes in high school and kept teaching himself when he dropped out. so far he can speak spanish, italian, and a bit of french. he attempted to learn greek, but it never clicked for him. he knew how to read it but his pronunciation was atrocious. he promised he’d try again sometime soon, but who knows if that’ll happen.

fourth, his idea of pillow talk was the two of you asking random questions to each other to get to know each other better, which is how you learned all these things about him. after one thing led to another last night, you fell asleep to the sound of luke’s voice against your ear. it wasn’t even that late; the group hadn’t come back from their trip to get food after they left the party, but you and luke were sleepy as you lay in the tangled sheets of your bed, at peace. 

you learned that he was ticklish on the side of his ribs and that he planned to get a tattoo there but when the artist tried to put the stencil on his skin, he giggled and moved around so much that the artist warned him about his placement. he didn’t end up getting the tattoo there, but instead got it a little lower on his torso. luke had six tattoos, making him the one in the band with the least amount. the stolls were tattoo fiends and made it their mission to get a small tattoo from each place they visited on tour. luke’s personal favorite was the single line on the side of their index finger. it was a messily done stick-n-poke after one too many drinks in new jersey. 

when he was younger, he used to climb on the roof of his house in connecticut. his parents warned him that he was going to hurt himself one day, but he, being the rascal that he was, never listened. until one day, after a light rain, he’d gone up there and slipped on the shingles and fell face-first against the roof. he scratched his face pretty badly, hence the scar on his face now. he told people that he got the scar from a bar fight because it sounded cooler. one day his childhood pictures will be posted on some website and his cover story won’t be as believable anymore, but that’s a bridge he’ll cross when he gets there. 

it was weird to fall asleep next to someone. you hadn’t found yourself in this position in a long time, longer than you’d care to admit. when you hooked up with people in college, you purposefully made up some excuse about why they had to leave before sun up. “my roommate will be back soon.” “i have a huge test tomorrow morning.” “my friend just called and said she needed my help so i gotta go.” but with luke, you didn’t feel the need to make up an excuse to kick him out. you didn’t want him to go. 

he asked the silent question as he was putting his clothes back on, hesitantly approaching your bedroom door to exit. he didn’t know if he was overstaying his welcome. he didn’t want to rush you when it came to things like this. so when he’d asked where his other shoe went, not caring about where it landed in the heat of the moment, you shrugged your shoulders and said, “dunno. we’ll figure it out in the morning, come back to bed.” 

you didn’t need to tell him twice. 

luke woke up before you did. you were lying on his chest, face pressed into the crook of his neck. your breaths made his skin tingle. he twirled the ends of your hair around his fingers, taking in the view of you next to him. he could get used to waking up like this every morning, he thought. he couldn’t imagine a better way to start his day. 

you stirred, craning your head to face him as your eyes fluttered open, a subdued smile on your face, “g’mornin.” 

“g’mornin’, five star,” he replied, lips immediately leaning over to press against yours. he frowned when you pulled back, shaking your head, “let me kiss you.” 

“i have morning breath,” you cringed, moving your arm from under you to caress the nape of his neck. you placed a kiss on the corner of his lips, making him groan. 

“i don’t care,” he pouted, nudging your nose with his own. you rolled your eyes but let him kiss you. the kiss was lazy and languid, lips moving gracefully against each other. it was sweet and slow like you were both trying to soak in this feeling with each other. you broke the kiss when you broke out into a smile, suddenly feeling shy. 

“it’s noon,” you said, glancing at your clock behind luke. “we need to get up soon.” 

“five more minutes,” he placed a string of kisses on your shoulder blade, grinning at the red marks he left on your skin from last night. “let’s stay here a little longer.” 

you had a feeling here meant something more than just the comfort of your bed. here was the bubble you both allowed yourself to stay in for the last twelve hours, a little universe that was just for the two of you. it was different kissing luke in the darkness of the night. you could blame it on the secrecy of it all, shadows hiding your feelings for him, no expectations or weight of the dreaded conversation, but in the morning light, you felt vulnerable. you knew the mature thing to do was to ask him about what last night meant. was it just a one-time thing? would things change between the two of you now that the chase was over? you didn’t know. 

little did you know, luke was thinking the same things as you. he would prolong this safe haven for as long as he could in case he would never get to experience it again. luke tightened his grip around your waist, breathing in the scent of your shampoo as he kissed your forehead. he couldn’t stop himself. he got a taste of what it was like to be with you and now, he couldn’t get enough. he’d find any excuse to have his lips on you. he grinned at you as he pulled away, “you snore, you know that?” 

you buried your face in your pillow, embarrassed, “stop it.” 

he laughed, “it’s cute, five star! i don’t mind it.” 

“are you sure?” you asked, scrunching your face up in disgust, “i can’t in good conscience let you sleep over again if you don’t even get any sleep because i snore.” 

“consider your conscience cleared because i really don’t mind,” luke pressed his lips against yours again. gods, he couldn’t get enough of you. “this makes up for it.” 

“ew,” you shoved him playfully, sitting up to start getting ready for the day. luke remained flat on his back on your bed, “you’re so fucking corny.”

he propped his head up on his extended elbow, a smirk on his face. the rays of sunlight that peeked through your blinds illuminated his toned chest. faint scratches and pink marks contrasted his tanned skin. “guilty.” 

you got up from bed, digging out a clean sweater from your closet. you wandered around your room, organizing things as you went on. luke watched you from your bed, eyes following your every move. his white shirt was peeking out from under the sweater. your sleep shorts showed off your toned legs perfectly. your hair was a mess, braids undone, but you still looked gorgeous. he blinked as your eyes darted to him, “you look beautiful.” 

you rolled your eyes, narrowing your eyes at him, “you can’t even see me properly. you don’t have your contacts in.” 

he’d taken them off before he fell asleep. he hated sleeping with contacts in. he’d snuck out in the middle of the night to grab his glasses from his nightstand before slipping back into bed with you. he was thankful you were a pretty heavy sleeper because he didn’t want you to think he was sneaking out to leave you by yourself after last night. when luke returned to his side of the bed, you rolled over and cuddled into him in your sleep, like you’d been waiting for him to return. 

luke reached over to retrieve his glasses from your bedside table and placed them on his face. he pushed them up on the bridge of his nose and shrugged, “still beautiful.” 

you walked over to him, sitting on his lap with your thighs caging him in. you held his face in your hands, admiring how he looked with the frames on his face. luke’s hands made their way to your waist, steadying you. you smiled, “i like how you look with your glasses.” 

a lopsided smile appeared on his face, boyish and charming. “yeah?” 

“mhm,” you hummed, “you look like a nerd. s’cute.” 

“pfft,” he scoffed, poking your side, “i’m not a nerd. i’m a rockstar.” 

“shut the fuck up,” there was no venom in your voice, despite your words. you couldn’t muster any resemblance of annoyance when he was looking at you all doe-eyed and pouty-lipped. you moved from on top of him, crawling over to your empty spot, “luke?” 

he turned to you, “five star?” 

“what are we doing?” 

“we’re spending the day in bed,” he replied, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. he knew that the conversation was coming in soon. he was scared of what you’d say next. 

your smile vanished as your shoulders hunched over, “you know what i mean.” 

luke rubbed his jaw, “you tell me.” 

luke didn’t know what he should say. he didn’t want to say that last night meant nothing to him because he’d be lying if he said that and he didn’t want to lie to you, but he also didn’t want to scare you off by telling you how he really felt. it felt like a situation he couldn’t win. his pessimism was hounding him. he didn’t want to mess this up before it had the chance to start. 

“are we just fucking around? is this casual because i–” 

at first he thought he could handle it. he’ll let you take the lead, he’ll follow you. whatever you wanted, he’s game for it, even if it meant that he got hurt along the way. but then the word casual left your lips and it felt like he was slapped across the face. he thought he could handle it if you wanted you guys to be casual or friends who kiss sometimes or friends who occasionally do more than kissing sometimes, but actually hearing you use those words made him tense.

“please don’t ever use those words about us again,” luke breathed out, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “i don’t know if you’ve noticed five star, but there’s nothing casual about how i feel about you.”

“i think we need to start talking to each other more,” you pondered. “because there’s nothing casual about how i feel about you either.” 

“throw a guy a bone sometimes. you’ve tormented me for two months. how was i supposed to know that?” he teased.

you cocked an eyebrow, “but yet you like me so really what does it say about you?” 

just like that, the indecision faded. it was back to just you and luke. the same way you’d always teased each other and pushed each other’s buttons. you’d both been stressed about what the other was thinking when you should’ve just talked to each other. perhaps all the poets and the writers in the world were onto something when they said that communication is key because you two wasted so much time running away from what this could be. it was funny really, how the two of you were both keeping these things to yourself, too scared of how you felt for each other to make a move. how much sooner could this have happened if you told him how you felt the minute you realized it? would he have kissed you a month ago? would you have been waking up with him beside you on your bed for weeks? who knows? 

“it says more about you, to be honest,” he said, “you’re irresistible. even when you’re mean to me, i adore you.” 

“you’re such a flirt, castellan.” 

“i need to up my game,” luke chuckled, “yeah, i got the girl but now i gotta work to keep you.” 

you placed a hand on your chin, pretending to think, “i don’t recall being asked to be anyone’s girl.” 

“you’re breaking my heart, five star,” he sighed dramatically, clutching his chest. he dropped his body weight on yours, making you squeal and attempt to push him off. he laughed at your efforts. “be my girl?” 

“on one condition.”

“anything.” 

“let me hear the song.” 

luke let out a full belly laugh, rolling over on the bed. he shook his head, biting his bottom lip. there was never a moment where he wasn’t on his toes when he was with you. he didn’t expect you to say that. you really were stubborn when it came to things you put your mind to. that fucking song. “no, i told you it’s not ready!” 

you stuck your tongue out at him, “then no.” 

luke’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as a goofy grin appeared on his face. he pulled you on his lap again, back pressed against his chest. he moved your hair to one side, kissing down the other side of your neck in soft, quick motions. he mumbled into your skin, “fine, but i’m following you around like a lost puppy. i’m yours.” 

you sighed dreamily, reaching over to place a hand on his arm. you couldn’t help but make fun of him despite the butterflies in your stomach, “simp.” 

you felt him nod against your body, “that’s me.” 

“we really need to get out of bed.” 

“five more minutes?” 

it had been at least fifteen since he last asked for more time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. you gave in and got back under your covers with him. you let him be the small spoon this time, your arms wrapped around his toned back, smiling at the soft sighs that left his lips when you ran your fingers down his spine. he kissed your collarbones, face relaxing as sleep overtook him again. 

you watched him fall asleep and reached for your phone, trying not to disturb his rest. you snapped a quick picture of him, smiling as you admired his features. you were falling for luke castellan.

[anywherebuthere]

jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist.

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

paring: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4k

content: luke is still a moody teenager, reader is still the fly he cant get rid of. does he really want to, though?

notes: these first two parts feel very introductory but it gets juicy as we dive a little further in the next parts hehe. also who do we think readers godly parent is?

PART II — and lord, she found me just in time 

For a hotshot lawyer, your mom couldn’t lie for the life of her. Every time you brought it up, she’d always quip that she didn’t need to be a good liar to be a good lawyer, since all new evidence is legally required to be disclosed to both parties before they are presented in court. Therefore, there is no lying, only brief twisting of the truth. She was good at that — clearly. 

“You said you didn’t want me to leave you!” 

The wooden floor of Chiron’s office wasn’t the most comfortable of lounging places, but you’d accidentally kicked the radiator after tripping over a horseshoe and Mr. D — who had escorted you there when you’d asked about speaking to your mom — had just sighed and told you to use the mist currently spraying from it as a form of communication. The whole Iris Message thing was still unusual to you, but at the same time, you’d tripped over a horseshoe because the owner of the office was half-horse. Does it get weirder than that? Probably not. 

You leaned back on your haunches, disbelief written all over your face at the scene you…walked in on? Called in on? Iris Messaged in on? Whatever — you were more worried about what you were looking at than the right terminology to describe it. 

“Oh — sweetie!” Your mom was quick to hop down from the kitchen counter, pushing the man who had been standing between her legs away from her so forcefully he fell back into the living room. 

“What was that?” You heard him ask from afar. Your mom chuckled, buttoning up her blouse. 

“The answering machine.” She excused, “I completely forgot I was supposed to call back my daughter. Would you give me a minute?”

The man agreed with a huff and your mom pushed the kitchen door closed with a click before looking at you, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms, “I didn’t. I sure do now!”

“I’ve been gone for, like, two days!” You exclaimed, “And you’re already inviting your boyfriend over? How old are you?”

“Oh, let it go.” The woman chastised, shaking her head and attempting to push down her amused smile. “I was bored.”

“Bored.” You chuckled, “Of course.”

“But I miss you.” She said then, smiling sweetly and leaning her hip on the island, “How’s camp?”

“It’s great.” You grinned, “The people are great, the food is great. Turns out, I am super with a spear.”

“A spear, huh?” Your mom nodded, “No surprise there, you’ve got a hell of an arm.”

You hummed excitedly, the previous event long forgotten as you filled her in on your first few days at camp, “One of my friends in cabin nine offered to make me a personal one.” Your mom furrowed her brows, “Children of Hephaestus. Blacksmith guy.”

“Right.” She nodded with a click of her tongue. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” You smirked cheekily, ignoring the scoff and evil look she sent you in response. 

“Alright. I best go.” She interrupted just as you went to make another comment about her guest, “I will see you at the end of summer. Okay?” 

“Okay. Love you.” 

Truthfully, you were happy to spend the rest of the day talking to your mom — it was so hot that morning that you’d thought about sacrificing your breakfast to Apollo in hopes that he’d ease up a little. You decided against it and just sent your prayers to each of them in general, hoping maybe your dad could fess up to actually being your dad. 

Clarisse had suspected you would soon join her in the Ares Cabin — something about your skills with a spear and the swift right hook you sent Chris when he made one too many comments on your form during your training session with her. You weren’t even sure why he’d been there, but you could probably fathom a guess if you judged by the looks he sent her whenever she wasn’t looking. 

After the exciting discovery that yes, you were good at something, Mr. D had come by to say you could either call your mom now or never. You chose the former option, obviously, and you only regretted it slightly as you heaved yourself up from the ground — already missing the sound of her voice. 

You didn’t let it linger, instead you pushed the creaky door of the Big House open as gently as you could, even though it still swung back against the wall, and nodded at the pair sitting on the porch, currently in a heated card game you couldn’t recognise. They didn’t look at you for long, Chiron muttering something about meeting the Demeter kids by the fields to test your gardening skills before putting down a card that made Mr. D grumble in his seat. 

You were trudging through the grass, huffing when the longer bits tickled your legs and made you go all itchy, when you spotted a body sat by the hearth in the horseshoe of cabins. You lit up, changing course and jogging over to them, “JoJo!”

Luke looked up at you, frowning, “What?”

His curls fell over his eyes and he shook them away, only to squint at the sun that shone into them. You sidestepped, your shadow proving ample shade so he could focus on you, and you stammered a bit when his face fell into focus. He was pretty. 

You let out a breathless chuckle, folding your arms, “From Horton Hears a Who.” He shows no signs of recognition, “You’ve never seen it?” Again, his face did little to answer you, so you shrugged, “Whatever. I’ll get an answer out of you one day, I’m sure. We’ve made steady progress.”

“Have we?” He hummed, picking at the worn sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Of course we have, ya’ nutmegger.” You quipped with a short chuckle, grinning when his eyes snapped back to yours. 

“You still haven’t told me where you’re from.” 

You tutted, “Where’s the fun in that? You gotta find out.”

He huffed, “Whatever.”

Since his outburst about New England the day before, Luke had done a considerable job at avoiding you. Well, you didn’t think he was doing it on purpose — he just wasn’t obligated to spend time with you anymore now that you were cleared to roam camp on your own. You’d seen him at breakfast, perched silently on the end of the bench and staring sadly at his soggy oatmeal, but then Clarisse had whisked you off to the training fields with Chris hot on her tail and you hadn’t seen him since. 

You weren’t completely sure why you were so determined to break his shell. Maybe it was because you knew he never used to be this way — that underneath the deep frowns and annoyed huffs, was a happy boy who would spend days in the sun with his teeth bared in a wide grin — and you yearned to get a peek of who Luke Castellan used to be. To bear your eyes on the side of him he kept away and to find out why he did so, to understand him on a level deeper than anyone around you did, or even deeper than you understood yourself. 

Or maybe because he’s hot. 

Either way, you weren’t letting him slide away that easily. No sir. You straightened your back, “Going to the gardens.” 

No reply, as usual. 

A huff, “Mind walking me? I don’t wanna get lost.”

He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and standing, “Fine.”

You grinned then, wide and sunny, “Great.”

You knew where the gardens were — hell, you could see them from where you stood, the two teenage sons of Dionysus chasing each other with sticks while the Demeter kids scowled at them. But you were new, and Luke was ‘the guy’ for all the new campers, so really he wasn’t allowed to say no. 

You were desperate to know more about him; his favourite sport, movie, colour. Anything irrelevant that you could see in public and think: Luke. You just didn’t know where to start — he could shut down at any given moment, so which question was more fitting to ask before he built up his walls and fucked off? 

You settled for something easy — something subtle that wouldn’t hint towards you asking about him. An easy question that any reasonable tour guide would have to answer. 

“So, do you guys host any…mortal activities?” Looking up at him in question, brows raised as he once again made no indication that he’d even heard you speak. 

But he had, “Not usually. Sometimes on weekends we’ll play volleyball on the beach, and I think Lee Fletcher has a soccer ball he kicks around but…” He shrugged, “No. Not really.”

You hummed, “You said we. Do you play volleyball?”

Nice one. 

Luke stiffened a little, sort of appalled that you’d swerved the question on him so easily, but he answered with a grumble, “Not anymore.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, “Grew out of it.”

“Huh.” You said then, facing forward with a nod and continuing your trek through the long grass, occasionally reaching down to scratch your calves, “I don’t think I’ll ever grow out of baseball.”

Come on, Castellan, take the bait. 

“Baseball?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, a little too excitedly for it to be a simple answer to a simple question. You lowered your volume and gave a more collected nod, “Yeah. Yes. I’ve played since I was old enough…little league.” You let out a weak chuckle, suddenly shy about the subject. 

Luke nodded at you, “First base?”

“Left field.” You corrected with a proud smile, “I got legs.”

“Oh.” He replied, a little caught off guard at that. Although, he was also caught off guard when you said you played baseball. 

You were debating whether or not to press when a gangly blonde boy with dark purple eyes jogged up to you and held out a wicker basket, “You’re the new kid right?” He didn’t wait for an answer before thrusting the basket to your chest, “I’m Pollux. We’re picking strawberries, c’mon, I’ll show you the best way to get ‘em.”

You weren’t sure there was a specific tactic to picking strawberries, but you stepped to follow him anyway. Turning your head to send a thankful smile to Luke for walking you down, you spotted him looking between you and Pollux with furrowed brows — then he noticed your stare and swallowed, nodding, “Uh, see you later.”

“Bye.” You replied, slightly starstruck. He walked off, but he did it slowly as if he was unsure of where to go next. You were positive he had somewhere to be — big shot counsellor and all — but as you stood, one foot in front of the other, face turned back to watch him go, he seemed to stutter in his steps at the top of the hill, deciding where to turn. His beaten converse led him west, and Pollux yelled you out of your stupor so you could help him and his brother pick strawberries. 

As suspected, your strawberry-picking skills were pretty much the same as everyone else’s — really, how can one person be any better at picking strawberries than another? It’s a very simple task. Either way, Castor and Pollux didn’t envision you as their long lost sister, and the Demeter kids apparently couldn’t smell it on you that you were one of them, whatever that meant, so you were back to your search for daddy dearest — at this point, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to find out anymore. All this hassle and for what? It’s not as if he was going to attend the daddy-daughter dance with you, no matter which god he might be. 

“So, do you, like, know Luke or something?” 

Henry Furstatt was a Demeter kid a couple of years younger than you, who had been set the task of walking you to the lake where you would rejoin the Hermes cabin on their canoe lesson. He wasn’t very talkative until you’d put some distance between yourselves and the strawberry fields, where he posed his question. 

You glanced at him with a thoughtful frown, “I mean, he’s been showing me around the past couple days, so…I guess —“

“I meant like,” He swallowed, waving his hands around, “from before. Did you know each other before you came to camp?”

“Oh.” You responded, tucking a loose hair that had fallen in front of your face away, “No. Why’d you think that?”

Henry shrugged, his loose-fitting camp shirt doing wonders to hide the movements, “Dunno. He just hasn’t talked to many people since he got back from his quest…but he’s talking to you.”

“Well.” You were suddenly a little sheepish — were you pushing Luke too much? Was your constant questioning making him uncomfortable? You were only on a mission to find out more about him because he interested you, but did you interest him, or was he ready to boot you as far as you’d fly? “He has to, doesn’t he? He’s still a counsellor, even if he does hate everyone here.” 

“True.” He settled with a nod, fiddling with a daisy he’d picked while you were walking. 

You breathed a content sigh when you finally stepped out of the grass — the summer blooming made it slightly unbearable to walk through, tickling at your legs the whole afternoon. The beating sun didn’t make you feel any nicer, but you just wafted your shirt a little as you walked past the Hermes cabin and towards the dock. 

Camp was always noisy; something you’d grown accustomed to the longer you stayed there. You never really noticed it until you were alone, but the chatter of the kids filled the air the whole day and only really faded out when they all went to sleep. It was slightly unnerving to sit in the silence, and the loud murmurs often comforted you — made you feel less suffocated as the new kid. Less eyes on you, the better. 

You were so used to the noise, in fact, that you almost completely brushed past the argument that was brewing outside the Ares cabin just a few metres away. Fortunately, Henry spotted the commotion, and pulled you to a halt in favour of staring at the ever-growing crowd. 

You followed his eyeline and spotted a burly looking boy with black hair — when he moved his head and the sun hit the right spots, you could see dark red highlights swimming in his locks. You thought that was a little bit much, but you forfeited commenting on it considering the giant machaira that hung on his back. 

The boy in question was sneering at someone in front of him, but the corners of his mouth were perked up in an amused smile that made you think he wasn’t angry yet, but he sure was getting there. You couldn’t see who he was talking to, but as Henry ventured closer, you were forced to follow and eventually his words reached your ears. 

“—big shot golden boy finally got himself a quest and doesn’t fancy sharing the details.” He laughed, deep and low in his throat. 

Henry patted someone on the shoulder, and they stepped aside to let him into the circle. You stayed behind him, watching over his head and finally checking out the opponent. Your eyes stopped on the familiar figure, and his familiar curls that hung over his eyes — eyes that were glaring daggers in the Ares kid’s direction, casting shadows over his cheekbones and making his scar look a little menacing. 

The boy continued after Luke showed no signs of replying, “We get it, Castellan. You failed, but that doesn’t mean you get to gatekeep the whole thing.”

“Dean, man.” You finally noticed Chris, standing off to the side of Luke and glancing at his brother in apprehension at the boy's words. “Back off.” 

Dean just snorted, “Don’t defend him, Rodriguez. We let him mope, now it’s time for him to spill the beans.” He took a step closer to Luke, “What happened on your quest?” 

You had only known Luke for two days. You weren’t sure if he was the type to fly off the handle, swing before reasoning, but you suddenly became aware that neither did anyone else. Sure, these people had known him for years — but you’d heard it from enough people to know that he was a different person these days. After his quest a couple of weeks ago, people had been walking on eggshells around the boy. Maybe a month ago, he would’ve calmly walked away and let Dean simmer in his anger. But now? Nobody could be sure, but judging by the look in his eyes, darkening by the second, you might be able to fathom a guess as to what he’s going to do with his hands now that they were rolled into fists. 

“I mean, is this about glory? Because you won’t exactly be sharing it — ya’ can’t share what you don’t have.”  Dean let out a chortle at his own joke, looking between his friends around him and grinning with them. 

Luke stepped forward. And — you couldn’t blame anyone, really. After that last comment, you were all expecting fists to be swung. It was only reasonable. Maybe the old Luke wouldn’t have done it, but this new Luke was looking increasingly more angry at the world as the days went by, so when he took one measly step forward, the crowd around him let out a collective woah! and put their hands out to stop him from lunging. Including yourself. 

Only he wasn’t about to punch Dean. His hand stayed dormant at his side, the only clear movement was the single step closer he’d taken to match the one the Ares boy had made earlier. He was only really stepping forward so his next words would hit harder — that’s all it was, words. They died on his lips when he realised the implications of his actions, looking between the outstretched arms and tense faces. 

He looked at Dean, “We can discuss quests when you get your own.” 

Then he walked off, past the crowd that didn’t bother stopping him. Looking around, you saw the looks on their faces — shame, from assuming Luke would evoke such violence off the sparring mat. You definitely felt it, but you didn’t stick around long enough to confirm that with anyone else. Instead, you left Chris to berate Dean in place of the head counsellor and followed the boy in question as he huffed up the hill towards the edge of the woods. 

“Hey!” You said, breathless (you were not an uphill climber). “Hey, Luke!”

He hesitated in his steps like he did earlier, but he didn’t turn around. His head twitched a little, like he wanted to look but was holding himself back, but you simply rounded him until you were face to face. The anger had long since dissolved from his expression, replaced with soft confusion. 

“Hi.” You huffed, still recovering from that incline, “Are you okay? That guy’s a dick.”

“I know.” He replied, short as usual. 

You licked your lips, still catching your breath, and nodded. He remained silent, looking around you like he was just waiting for you to leave. You decided to take the hint, muttering lowly, “Okay, sorry for bothering you.” 

But his hand reached out, circling your wrist just as you passed him. You looked at Luke, raising your eyebrows, watching as he stammered on his words, “I, uh, you aren’t bothering me. I just…”

He let go of you and you stepped back to your precious spot. Behind him, the crowd had dissipated, Dean long gone. Chris remained, staring up at the pair of you on top of the hill. You couldn’t pinpoint his expression, but he seemed to hesitate before turning his back. You looked up at Luke. 

“Why did you…come after me?” 

You scoffed a laugh, “What? Anyone would’ve, it’s like…common decency.”

He twisted his expression, looking amused and devastated all at the same time, “But they didn’t.” 

He was right; before you’d set off up the hill, everyone had just been watching him walk off. It seemed a little out of character, but then again, you didn’t know these people as well as you thought. Luke let out a sad chuckle, shaking his head, “Everyone’s sorta given up on me now that I’m…”

“Moody and depressed?” You finished, raising a single brow. You smiled at him, and it lifted into a grin when he smiled back, albeit only slightly. But you’d take it. “I just think that they’re a little unsure.”

“They’re scared, is what they are.” He said firmly, staring at the ground in mirth, “Their precious golden boy won’t clean up all of their messes anymore and they’re scared that they’ll have to start looking after themselves.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” You said, even if you didn’t believe it. How could you? You didn’t know these people, Luke did. “They’re just worried about you.” 

He scoffed, finally moving his head up and meeting your eyes. He went to say something, presumably another quip about the campers, but stopped himself. Backtracked. Instead he said, “Aren’t you angry that you haven’t been claimed yet?”

That was a deep question. You sat on it for a couple of seconds, reeling at the sudden shift of conversation, until you finally let out a low puff of air and shrugged, “I don’t really know how I feel. Why? Should I be?” 

“This camp, it’s —“ He huffed, “It helps you, sure. But it also forces you to…mould yourself into the perfect kid for — for a parent who doesn’t care enough to watch you grow up. Help you live, use their divine powers when a dragon is clawing your fucking face off!” 

He’d stepped closer to you, unknowingly, that final shout making you wince a little at the volume. He stopped then, evening his breaths and stepping back with an apologetic expression. You brushed it off. 

“A dragon clawed your face off?” 

“Yeah.” He chuckled weakly, “Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.” 

You smiled at him, shamefully admiring his face. Now that he wasn’t glaring in anger, and his face was more relaxed, you could see the whites of his eyes. His lashes, unreasonably long, and his lips that were so plush you were close to asking him if he took a trip to see Dr Miami while he was on his quest. 

“Gods.” You murmured under your breath, “You’re so pretty it sorta pisses me off.” 

Luke laughed then — a genuine chortle that shook his chest and made passers by glance in his direction. His grin was uncharacteristically wide and for a second, a brief moment, you saw it. Luke Castellan, the one everyone looks up to. The one they turn to in times of peril, the one they giggle and gossip about under the shade of the fir trees. 

Then you knew your answer to Luke’s question. No — you weren’t angry that you hadn’t been claimed. In fact, you didn’t think you’d care even if you were so long as he was smiling at you like that. 

He calmed down, catching his breath, his face relaxing back into that cool expression he’s always got on. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you were sure he looked a little less tense than before. He nodded, waving a hand, “Alright, Sunny. Let’s go canoeing.” 

“Sunny?” You asked, walking alongside him. 

He clicked his tongue, glancing down at you, “If Apollo won’t claim you as a child of the sun, then I will.” 

“Alright.” You smiled softly, looking forward so he wouldn’t see it and run off. You picked at your nails, “So long as I can call you JoJo.” 

“Let’s watch that silly movie it’s from and I’ll decide if you can call me that.”

“Deal.”

🏷️ @katherines-imagines @lovingjasontoddmakemewanttocry @jennapancake @cobaltskiez @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @m00ng4z3r @mischiefmoons (comment to be added/removed!)

[anywherebuthere]

jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist

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

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was cute. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly. 

“And that?” 

“The Amphitheatre.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.” 

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

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

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

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

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

But you really needed to pee. 

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

“That’s not your bathroom.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

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

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

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

“Be quick.” 

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

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

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

“And then what happened?”

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

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

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

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

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

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

“Archery.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?” 

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

“So, where are you from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A chuckle, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you do to him?”

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

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

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

[anywherebuthere]

to catch a thief

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.7k

summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: we’re so back trouble!verse ;) sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty

(posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)

—

When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind. This was your reality. 

You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred. 

This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet. 

Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship. 

Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.

Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.

Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to? Hilarious, really.

But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm. 

At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.

The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs. 

“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”

You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”

Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.

“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.

“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”

“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.

“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”

There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.

“Seriously dude?”

“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.

You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure. 

Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.

But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.

The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.

Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.

—

“Status report, soldier?”

Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.

“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”

“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.

“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”

Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.

“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.

“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”

He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely. 

It’s been a long year without you.

You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.

“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.

“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”

His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?

Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.

“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”

“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.

“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”

His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress. To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”

He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”

That was not the right thing to say.

“I’ll fucking kill yo—”

“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds. 

“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?”

“Girlfriend…”

The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.

“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”

You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”

“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”

“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, trouble…”

Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.

“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.

Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.

“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, trouble.”

“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.

“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same. 

“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.

“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”

A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.

—

Licking your lips as your…Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.

For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.

The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.

But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too. 

The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.

Luke was right, then.

You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.

You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.

“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”

The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.

You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his. 

“Get them.” 

The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.

Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.

Your fates have always been tied. 

You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart. 

It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it. You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.

Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away? 

It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda. 

But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.

The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin. 

For a moment, it feels like you. 

—

A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce. 

Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this. 

He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement. 

He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.

—

And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith

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