#this book series is my new hyperfixation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kamaluhkhan · 10 months ago

Text

TIME TO PRETEND

pairing: luke castellan x gn!poseidon!reader word count: 5k chapter summary: you're the eldest child of poseidon and the hero of the last great prophecy. you left your demigod life behind after defeating kronos. now, years later, you find yourself back at camp half blood for the summer.....which means dealing with luke castellan, and all that history (tension?) left unresolved between you. warnings: some nicknames for reader are based on female characters (mermista, sailor neptune) but they're still written as gender neutral. reader has tattoos. mention of alcohol + death (post-titan war). spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series, mostly references to the last olympian. timeline is all over the place but set in the early 2000s for vibes. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 author's note: welcome to another product of my pjo hyperfixation !!! i wanted to finish the nemesis!reader series first but it's summer and i felt like reworking my tsitp series in a camp half-blood setting with bb luke. so prepare for childhood friends to lovers drama! summertime vibes! nostalgia! angst! would love to know what y'all think about this and if you want a part 2 so feel free to scream at me in the comments. otherwise, enjoy and thanks 4 reading 💙

♪: time to pretend by mgmt

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

1 new message

from: LukeNotSkywalker

to: Mermista86

subject: you are GETTING that record deal

Hey,

Your demo CD just came in the mail — and, Connor as my witness, I’ve already listened to it five times!!!

It’s amazing. You’re amazing. The label would totally lose out if they didn’t sign you.

Things have been pretty chaotic around here, with the summer term happening soon. Speaking of which: are you coming back? Chiron gave me the list of returning campers and counsellors this morning and said he hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d ask. I know you’ll be busy with the band, but if you get the chance, it’d be really great to see you.

Anyways, I’m leading the next Shield & Sword session, so I’d better go. Talk soon ;)

- L

FOUR YEARS LATER

TURBULENT WATERS? ALT-ROCK BAND MIDNIGHT SIRENS HIT ROUGH PATCH AFTER LEAD GUITARIST GETS INTO VIOLENT ALTERCATION

the cover is the nail in the coffin: a blurry picture of you, an electric blue guitar forgotten at your feet, lunging forward into a crowd, with your bandmates on stage behind you in shock.

you’d gone all this time without any major incidents, and one stupid chimera managed to burn down everything you worked for in one fell swoop.

“that’d be $8.50,” the cashier informs.

you tear your attention away from the magazine, instead fishing through your pocket for some change. meanwhile, the cashier furrows their brow, leans down slightly to get a better look at you underneath your sunglasses and baseball cap.

“hey, do i know you?”

“nope,” you say instantly, slapping a $10 bill onto the counter. “keep the change.” you gather your pile of necessary roadtrip supplies (slushies, m&m’s, and goldfish) before rushing out the door, your half-brother trailing behind you.

you slide into the driver’s seat, set each slushie in a cup holder, and hand the rest to percy once he’s slipped into the passenger side.

“seatbelt,” you remind him. you shake your hair out after removing your baseball cap disguise. “i promised your mom i’d be responsible.”

percy does as he’s told, though not without mumbling about how he’s practically an adult and a demigod who’s been in much more dangerous situations than a car ride up to long island. you just tell him to put on some music, even though he has a point. he’ll be 18 in august and you’re only five years older, but the fact is that you gave sally jackson your word.

plus — you’re his older sibling, so gods forbid you let him get hurt. a seatbelt seems like a band-aid solution for one of the most powerful demigods out there, but still.

percy flips through a few radio stations while he sips his blue raspberry slushie. when he doesn’t find anything good, he opens the glove compartment and surveys your music collection before sliding a cd into the stereo.

instantly, the familiar sound of david bowie’s voice eases the tension in your shoulders.

“good choice?”

you nod and percy smiles triumphantly. you reach over to steal a few goldfish from the bag he just opened and ruffle his hair playfully, for good measure.

you’re perfectly happy, driving along a long island highway while getting lost in the glam rock world of ziggy stardust, but it isn’t long until percy interrupts:

“are you finally gonna tell me what happened, or do i have to read it from some trashy gossip magazine like everyone else?”

“well, your dyslexic ass can barely read so….”

you look over at him briefly, and laugh when you see him stick his slightly-blue tongue out to you.

“at least my dyslexic ass is actually decent at ancient greek. luke told me you failed the reading test, like, a million times.”

your heart twinges at the mention of your old friend.

friend.

if you could still call him that.

thankfully, percy doesn’t give you much room to dwell on the past, too focused on your drama-filled present.

“so, what is it? you got kicked out of the band? lost everything? have nowhere else to go?”

you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “i did not get kicked out.”

“then, what happened?”

“just the usual.” you shrug. “monster attack, mortals who can’t see through the mist. i tried to explain it away after — something about how i saw someone in the crowd attack another person and i stepped in to help. most people bought it, but the media loves drama and the label’s worried i’m a flight risk now. apparently, everything will blow over if i just keep a low profile for the next few months. so….no. i didn’t lose everything.” you take a deep, like when anyone other than children of poseidon are about to go underwater and they’re not quite sure when they can come up for air.

“i just don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you finish.

“damn.” percy offers you a blue shark gummy (or whale - you and percy had already debated the shape of the candy that sally packed for the trip, and the jury’s still out). you gratefully accept. “well, i know it’s not the best reason, but i’m excited to spend the summer together.”

despite everything, you find yourself smiling.

“me too, kid.”

“it’d give me a chance to kick your ass in sword-fighting.”

“you wish!” you nudge his shoulder, both of you giggling. once the laughter’s died down, you glance at percy once more. “hey – did you tell anyone i was coming?”

percy shakes his head. “why?”

you take a long swig of your drink until you’re on the brink of brain freeze.

“no reason.”

it’s just after lunch when you arrive at camp half-blood.

you weren’t sure what you were expecting — maybe not some futuristic technological developments that had been discovered within the years you were gone, but definitely not for camp to look pretty much exactly the same as when you left.

instantly, you find comfort in the familiar scenes: a dragon, peleus, guarding the magical borders; dryads and satyrs picking strawberries in the fields next to the forest; chiron standing near the central guidepost, greeting and guiding every camper in the right direction.

chiron smiles down at percy and practically does a double take when his eyes land on you.

“mx. l/n! it has been a while. are you here to drop off your brother, or do you plan on staying for the summer?”

before you can answer, someone appears behind him.

“perce! hey!”

“hey, luke.”

luke gives him a side hug, and percy shoves him away with a laugh when he ruffles his hair. it’s then that luke acknowledges you, though he looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“i thought i’d never see you again. what are you doing here? ”

chiron turns to you expectedly. “i believe you have yet to answer that question of mine as well.”

“staying for the summer…” you adjust the shoulder strap of your backpack, uneased by luke’s cold demeanor. “i hope that’s okay.”

“of course!” chiron’s smile grows wide, eyes crinkling. “you’ll resume your position as head counsellor of cabin 3.”

“so i’m dethroned? just like that?” percy guffaws.

you nudge percy’s shoulder. “fulfill the next great prophecy, and then we’ll talk.”

percy rolls his eyes playfully. luke, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to appreciate your tongue-in-cheek remark. his jaw tightens, and he suddenly finds a deep interest in the clipboard he’s holding.

chiron clears his throat, likely sensing the tension. “yes, well, i’m sure you remember how things work around here. if not, mr. castellan has been keeping this ship afloat. he's always here to help.”

“always.” luke smiles, but it’s elastic, threatening to snap at any moment. someone calls his name, and he walks away to deal with whatever chaos is waiting for him.

summer — age 15

you weren’t exactly conscious when you first arrived at camp half-blood.

apparently, coach hedge, a satyr and protector, found you just in time and had to practically drag you up half-blood hill after a particularly gruesome fury attack.

when you woke up and saw luke sleeping next to you in a chair, his curls overgrown and falling onto his eyes, you thought you had died and gone to elysium.

you took in your unfamiliar surroundings. some sort of infirmary, with only your best friend next to you, the one you hadn’t seen in almost a year since you’d parted ways.

then, you remembered what was happening before you passed out; it was more likely that you were being tricked into a false sense of security by that fury, who definitely planned on devouring you later.

with a newfound sense of urgency, you decided it was time to get out of there before it was too late. you were reaching for your knife when you felt a hand grab your shoulder. without losing a second, you twisted your body around, weapon at the ready.

whoever it was watching over you sure looked like luke. he was wearing a bright orange shirt and leather cord necklace with one clay bead. another point of difference was the jagged scar that cut across his left cheek.

“it’s just me,” he said, gently. “you’re fine here. you’re safe.”

you weren’t convinced, kept your knife in front of you to keep distance. “prove it.” you narrowed your eyes. “tell me something only luke would know.”

“you’re left-handed.”

“that’s a great observation,” you scoff.

“storm is your favourite x-men character.”

“that’s a very popular opinion.”

“your aunt would make us mango lassi after swim camp when she got home from work,” luke tries for the third time. “and, my mom - she used to call you ‘starfish.’”

your heart skipped a beat.

that was the confirmation you needed.

the knife dropped from your hand, clattered on the wooden floor, as you pulled luke in for a hug. you were greeted by a familiar scent, that pear shampoo luke loved because it made his hair so soft, mixed with the smell of fresh pine trees.

“it’s really you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

despite sleeping for gods know how long, you were exhausted. you rested your weight into luke, but he didn’t seem to care.

“it’s really you. i thought i’d never see you again.”

“where are we?” you asked, breaking away to face luke. you ignored the wooziness you felt throughout your body; luke seemed to sense it, his grip around you tightening. “are annabeth and thalia here, too? how’d you get here?” your thumb traced the unfamiliar scar on his face. “what happened? are you okay —”

“i-i’ll answer all your questions, but you lost a lot of blood.” luke guided you to lay back down in bed. “we’ll explain everything. just get some rest.”

a third scenario entered your mind: this was all a dream. you’d close your eyes and when you opened them again, luke would be gone. you’d be alone again.

you couldn’t let go of luke’s hand, even as he tucked you back into bed. you tugged his wrist, silently urging him to join you.

“will you stay with me?” you finally croaked when he continued standing.

luke looked at you, and you nodded once as final confirmation. then, he removed his shoes and slipped into the bed next to you. it was luke, all sweet pear and soft curls and strong heartbeat, and you held on to him in fear that he might slip away.

“always,” he whispered.

during the orientation video you were later shown, you learned that camp half-blood’s motto is keeping young heroes safe (mostly) for over three millennia!

luke had used that word, too. safe.

chiron told you this was to be your new home as he walked you to the poseidon cabin. he told you that you were safe now, though you noticed how the word almost got caught in his throat. he gave you a sad smile you didn’t quite understand.

you did wonder, at first, if those words were true: this place, a home for you and other children of gods. somewhere safe.

and, well.

you came to understand chiron’s general melancholy a few weeks later, and every week after that. he was used to training and sending heroes off to their potential death, and you would be no different. stolen lightning bolts, deadly quests, cryptic prophecies. a pending war between divine forces you had been entangled with long before you knew. heartache and betrayal and loss beyond measure.

but, there were other things, too.

annabeth, fitting in perfectly at the athena cabin, continued being her genius self, leading her team to victory every capture the flag game. she was extra patient in helping you with ancient greek, especially after chiron had given up.

chris rodriguez, luke’s half-brother, would tell you jokes from across the dining pavilion, knowing that you hated sitting alone at the poseidon table. michael yew, son of apollo, taught you how to play guitar at the bonfire one week; you’d ask for more and more lessons until you could start playing on your own. charles beckendorf made you a celestial bronze sword that shone like that burst of light when the sun hits the ocean at sunset. it transformed into a ring that you would never take off, unless in battle. you might not have gotten along with mr. d, but you spent free time picking fresh strawberries with his son, castor. you made matching friendship bracelets with silena beauregard, who was really the only person you confided in, about how you maybe possibly felt something other than friendship when it came to luke. she told you about her crush on clarisse larue, the daughter of ares whom you would always partner with during sparring practice. you taught ethan nakamura, who didn’t have his own cabin as the child of nemesis, how to properly hold a sword. thalia’s tree stood tall at the top of the hill where you almost bled to death, protecting you and everyone inside the magical borders. you, annabeth, and luke would share a picnic there every thursday.

you had been on the run for so long, always looking over your shoulder for monsters, sleeping with one eye open to be one step ahead of death, jumping from one place to the next so quickly to avoid danger.

so, yes.

it was nice to stay in one place, where you knew you were as safe as demigods could be. it was nice to spend your time learning and training and laughing instead of just surviving.

it was nice to have a place to call home. and people to call it home with.

now

the first week passes in the blink of an eye, and it’s like you never left.

tie-dye, volleyball, strawberry picking, kitchen duty, and cabin inspection.

luke has everyone on a tight schedule — one, you notice, conveniently places the two of you at opposite ends of camp at all times.

still, you catch up with clarisse and the stoll brothers, spend time with annabeth and percy, say hi to pollux and katie gardner and others you vaguely recognize as five years older than what you remember. there are also a lot of faces you don’t recognize at all.

of course, you try not to think about the faces you wished you could see: friends you grew up with and would never have a laugh with again, younger campers you had trained who would never grow up. all lost because of the gods and the titans and a prophecy you never asked to be a part of.

it’s a side effect of being back here; their ghosts are harder to ignore.

again — trying not to think about it.

anyways.

climbing wall, armory, sword-fighting practice, archery field, and free time on the beach.

to conclude: capture-the-flag, a friday night camp-half blood tradition.

you’re praising annabeth for her latest strategy that led to blue team victory when you notice luke. he was also on the blue team, but instead of celebrating with the rest of you, he’s speaking to someone who’s wearing a red helmet. they seem to be in a heated discussion, one that luke is not wanting to continue. his tells are the same, after all these years: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching for an out.

you give it to him.

“sorry, i need to borrow this guy.” you say, grabbing luke’s wrist. “camp emergency.”

if the person said anything, you didn’t hear it, because you were already dragging luke away from the crowd, towards the armory shed.

“what’s the emergency?” luke wonders, brows furrowed in concern. he has deep shadows under his eyes, too. keeping the ship that is camp half-blood afloat has clearly taken a toll on him.

“you wanting to get out of that conversation. you’re welcome.” you wink at him; luke flushes, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s annoyed, or if he's just flustered. “so, are you gonna keep ignoring me the whole summer?”

you put your helmet on one of the shelves and turn back to luke. you expected him to start removing his armor as well, but he doesn’t. he just glares at you, arms crossed over his chest.

so, he’s annoyed, then.

“what do you expect?” luke hisses. “you can’t come back here and pretend that everything can be like it was when we were kids. things are different now, especially between us.”

you decide to take him up on his challenge.

“oh? tell me, luke, what exactly is different between us?”

luke shakes his head in disbelief. you remove your chest plate, and that’s when the tattoo on your waist becomes visible. it’s a magnolia, like one of the flowers that bloomed on the tree outside may castellan’s house.

something in luke softens, then. he sighs.

“you could have at least given me a warning.”

he storms off, and you’re left half-armored, wondering what he meant by that.

you figure it out once a few of you settle down for a late-night, underground poker game, and you’re trying not to stare at luke’s hands.

it starts with you telling yourself that you’re just trying to predict what cards he’s holding, figure out if he’s bluffing, and if he’s about to lose everything he’d so confidently bet on.

but then you notice the silver thumb ring that thalia got him for his 17th birthday. you notice an array of hair ties and elastic bands he keeps just in case a camper needs them, and woven bracelets given to him by his admirers. you notice how the tattoo on his wrist is covered. (it’s hidden well, but you know it’s there — you’d gotten one of a wing, the kind that might be found on a pair of magical red converse, at the same time)

you also notice the forest green painted on luke’s nails, the same shade worn by the person beside him.

van, the new head counsellor of the hephaestus cabin. you’d seen them at staff meetings, but you somehow did not notice that they were dating luke.

he moved on — is that why luke needed a warning? is that what's changed between you?

it’s fine. whatever. so what if luke has a new partner? it’s not like the two of you were anything, officially.

luke has a new partner. they’re wearing matching nail polish. they’re one of those couples.

well, van is also wearing a nickleback shirt and luke hates nickleback, unless that fundamental part of his personality changed, too.

“yo, sailor neptune. you in or not?” travis brings you out of your daze, by using a nickname luke once called you.

back before becoming heroes, when you and luke were just kids, you’d watch cartoons in his living room on saturday mornings — x-men, she-ra: princess of power, teenage mutant ninja turtles, sailor moon. a lifetime ago.

you look around the table and see that everyone has been waiting for you to take your turn. even luke raises an eyebrow at you.

“yeah.” you clear your throat and throw some chips into the centre. “i’m in.”

you have decent enough cards to keep you in the game, and you’re comfortable that you can play the odds in your favor. the stoll brothers are good liars, you know that, and so is luke. malcolm pace is good at strategy, but thankfully not as good as his half-sister annabeth. pollux, who had invited you to the game, already folded along with butch, the son of iris who has a rainbow tattoo on his bicep to prove it. beside you, lou ellen, daughter of the hecate, contemplates her next move. clovis has fallen asleep, true to their title as head counsellor of the hypnos cabin. you can’t get a read on van, but they keep raising the stakes so confidently, and you’ve always liked a good challenge.

soon enough, it’s only you and van in the bet. when it comes time to reveal your cards, you curse yourself for overplaying your hand.

“good game,” van says to you as they collect their winnings. “you really had me going there.”

“yeah.” your smile is strained, but it’s there nonetheless. “tried my best.”

“guess the curse of achilles doesn’t help as much in poker as it does in capture the flag.”

“excuse me?” you raise an eyebrow.

luke, who had one arm casually draped around van’s chair the entire game, pulls away. “van, maybe don’t —”

“it’s not like it’s a secret, luke. they’re the prophecy kid, everyone knows they bathed in the river styx to be able to fight kronos. it’s camp legend.”

other than you, luke, and van, everyone else is occupied with something else. connor busies himself shuffling the cards, while lou ellen, malcolm, and pollux get up for more drinks. it seems like butch and travis have their own bet going to see who can balance the most chips on clovis’ forehead without waking him up.

van waits for an answer. you’re a little queasy, and it’s not from the wine pollux managed to snag from his dad’s office. you’re suddenly faced with the reality that your life is reduced to a legend. you try your best to swallow that feeling, of being made into a greek tragic hero while your heart is still beating, and your life is still a mess.

“that’s relevant, why?”

“just that some people might consider the invulnerability thing an unfair advantage in physical competitions like capture the flag,” van explains. “increased strength and all that.”

“that would mean nothing without a good strategy,” you counter.

“that’s what i said,” luke grumbles.

you recognize van now as the person luke was arguing with earlier. it must have been about this.

about you.

“okay, y’all were best friends, so luke is obviously going to take your side.”

you’re not sure what stings more: friends or were.

“although, he never really talks about you, which is weird because you’re, like, famous in and outside camp.”

ouch. that definitely stings the most. luke winces slightly, almost like he feels it, too.

“alright, alright,” connor interjects, shuffling the cards in his hands. “another round?”

you’re the only one who decides to call it a night. everyone says goodbye; even van, who’s blissfully unaware of the effect their words had on you. luke avoids your gaze. the game continues without you.

percy’s snoring provides enough cover as you sneak into your shared cabin. you try to sleep, but it doesn’t come easy.

you feel the spot underneath your rib, the one spot you’re truly vulnerable, ache.

summer — age 17

for the first time in your life, you couldn’t breathe underwater. you were swimming in acid, and your skin was melting away.

at least, that’s what it felt like to bathe in the river styx. achilles could have mentioned that, but all he gave was a cryptic warning about anchoring yourself to what makes you mortal.

you really tried at first. you thought about your friends at camp. you thought about percy, about your aunt back when she was still around. you even thought about may castellan, burnt cookies and saturday mornings.

the pain was too much, though.

you were forgetting where you were, who you were. with every passing second, you were dissolving into nothing.

“if you wanted to go for a swim, you should have told me. i would have worn my swimsuit.”

luke’s voice echoed across the waves. you tilted your head up to see him sitting on the dock above you, his feet dangling into the water. he had rolled up his jeans to just above his ankles so they didn’t get wet, but his shoes were still on, which was a bit strange. the sun made his eyes look like burnt amber, his teeth sparkling as he smiled at you.

okay. cool.

you were at camp. it was mid-afternoon, free period. the two of you had been at the edge of the lake, until you became impatient and jumped in, fully clothed. behind him, you could see that annabeth, thalia, and percy were waiting for you on the shore. they were each wearing orange camp shirts, which was also strange; you couldn’t remember a time when you were all there together, as campers.

“we better go, sailor,” luke said, amusement laced throughout his words. “come on. those cabins aren’t gonna inspect themselves.”

luke extended his hand to you. when you hesitated, he added:

“i can’t do this without you. will you stay with me?”

you reached up and grabbed luke’s hand.

always.

you emerged from the water, catching your breath as you collapsed on the sand.

“oh gods. are you okay?”

your cousin, nico diangelo, son of hades, knelt down next to you. he tried to check your pulse, but you waved him away. your eyes searched for luke, but he wasn’t there, despite feeling the ghost of his hand in your own.

oh.

you weren’t at camp; you were in the underworld. it was nico’s idea for you to take on the curse of achilles so that you’d be strong enough to face kronos.

“did it work?”

you got up, a bit uneasy on your feet at first. nico helped steady you, his hands cold on your skin.

you felt….stronger wasn’t the right word. you felt adrenaline coursing through your veins, like you could swim across the biggest ocean without pausing once. like you could defeat an entire army and not break a sweat. maybe even take down a titan or two while you're at it.

you needed to see luke again, to meet him and the others in manhattan before it was too late.

“let’s hope so.”

now

you always loved mornings at camp half-blood. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water peaceful.

the morning after that impromptu poker game, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. you’re awake after a rather sleepless night, deciding to go for a quick run before breakfast. you get dressed and grab your mp3 player, as quietly as you can to avoid waking up percy (who, truthfully, could probably sleep through a hurricane anyways).

you jog from one end of the beach to the other. you set a steady rhythm, somewhere between the beat of your music and the sound of waves gently washing over the shore. when you make your way back down to where you started, you notice someone sitting nearby.

luke doesn’t say anything when you first sit next to him. he’s wearing a dark blue hoodie over his usual orange shirt, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. you imagine that he confiscated it from a camper on the way here.

“morning,” he finally whispers, eyes fixed towards the ocean.

you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time luke spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.

“morning,” you finally reply.

as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, luke surprises you by taking a lighter out of his pocket. he lights the cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you.

it’s such an odd, though not unwelcomed, gesture. a peace offering, you figure, but it’s just so not luke that you can’t help yourself.

“is golden boy luke castellan, offering me contraband? what planet am i on?”

the hint of a smile creeps onto his face. “like i said: things are different now,” he echoes his words from the night before, but this time you don’t sense any hostility.

you take a drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.

you decide to offer a peace offering as well, and present to him one of your earbuds — he accepts. you have to slide across the sand to move closer to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

i’m feelin’ rough, i’m feeling raw / i’m in the prime of my life….

as the song plays, you glance to see luke nodding along, tapping a finger on his knee to the beat. he lets the cigarette smoulder in his other hand.

we’re fated to pretend / to pretend / yeah, yeah, yeah….

when the song is over, luke turns to you.

“new group?” he brings the cigarette to his lips, then gives it back to you.

“kinda.” you inhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs before explaining. “this is considered they’re breakthrough album. they’re from connecticut, actually.”

“oh, yeah? guess that’s where all the talent is from.”

luke bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, his witty sincerity.

this is familiar — you and luke, at the beach, sharing music. it’s familiar, and for a few moments, you can act like there isn’t a wall between you, of unresolved feelings and harsh words. you can pretend that nothing has changed.

“you know, nickleback are from connecticut, too. which means you just called them talented.”

luke coughs on some smoke as he exhales with a laugh. “what? no i didn’t!”

“in a roundabout way. i always knew you were an undercover fan,” you tease.

“i have better taste than that.”

“do you?”

“you’re fucking with me,” luke deadpans.

you crack a smile. “yeah, i’m fucking with you.”

“gods, you scared me for a second,” he laughs, and you can’t help but follow. luke glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his dark brown curls, the ever-changing color of his eyes. golden, radiant.

you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.

“i’m not sure van would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope luke doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, luke still knows you too well, whether he likes it or not.

“you don’t get to do that.”

“do what?”

luke scoffs. “be jealous.”

“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“so, you are jealous?”

you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.

“it’s too early, lu. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”

there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your cabin, the beach and luke further away with every step you take.

it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.

#feel free to comment + reblog <3 #saf writes #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo x reader #pjo fanfic #pjo series #luke castellan angst #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty

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zorange13 · 18 days ago

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—he’s such a loser, wtf? pjs (part 2)

pairing. geek! park jay x afab poc popular! reader

content. acquaintances to lovers, jay is lowkey a loser but not, ft. popular athletes! hyung line, jay’s an asshole like fr, allusions to The Duff by Kody Keplinger (little me loved that book, i’ve read it twice. i still love it idc. don’t talk to me abt the movie tho…sigh), photographer geek! jay, journalism major! psych minor! reader, arson jokes, playfully questioning friend’s sexuality, making out

word count: 30,974 (5,383 in this part) part 1 here! ao3 ver.

synopsis: jay’s been hiding behind his cool, distant demeanor, never letting anyone get too close. when he crosses paths with you, a popular cheerleader, your unlikely connection sparks a series of misunderstandings, awkward encounters, and him trying—and failing—to navigate feelings he’s not used to confronting. with a secret mission to keep his distance while helping her, jay finds himself caught between his own stubbornness and the surprising depth of his feelings.

after well into writing this i realized that a lot of jay’s behaviors display signs of autism spectrum disorder. this was not intentional but if this does offend or put anyone off in any way PLEASE let me know!! (symptoms/signs such as: must follow certain routines, seeming blunt or rude without intention, taking things literally—as in—does not understand figures of speech or sarcasm, prefers to be alone, hyperfixations,) again, not intentional but i didn’t want to put this out without making it clear that i’m not ignorant to what i’m producing. i literally didn’t put this together until my close friend (who is autistic) told me that these were signs. she said this did not offend her, but obviously she doesn't speak for all! this isn't to offend anyone, if this does then please tell me. my dm's are always open for any reason!

The next few days had been pretty lonely. The group chat you shared with the boys had been active but you never responded or interacted. But in the event that one of them needed to speak with you, you definitely replied. It wasn’t like they did anything to you.

Jay hadn’t stopped trying to get a hold of you, calling you a few times a day. Texting you. But he gave you space at the end of the day and that was really all you wanted.

Your mom had told you to check the mail as she had just sent a care package for you. With glee, you went right to the university post office and checked your godforsaken P.O. box. As you opened it, you saw two slips. Which made you furrow your brows in confusion but maybe mom just couldn’t fit everything into one box.

You mindlessly got your boxes and headed to your dorm. As you kicked off your shoes and placed the boxes on your desk, you grabbed a pair of scissors to open the boxes.

Your heart warmed as you saw your mom’s mail: soap, framed pictures from home wrapped in bubble wrap, perfumes, shirts that you mentioned you forgot at home and some new ones, then finally a brand new journal with floral prints on it.

You grabbed the pictures with a smile and set them on your desk with a smile. Missing your troublemaking siblings a lot more than you’d like to admit. You made a mental note to give them a call later.

But then your attention turned to what could’ve been more to the other box. You opened it with glee, only for that to be replaced with sadness and frustration.

As you pulled the second object from the box, your fingers tightened around it, but the excitement quickly turned to confusion and a simmering frustration. It wasn’t a journal, though it looked like something you might have appreciated if it were from anyone else.

It was a sleek, well-made leather portfolio with a silver clasp, the kind you’d expect a professional to carry. You turned it over in your hands, a sinking feeling in your chest. There was a small embossed emblem on the back—a symbol you didn’t recognize immediately.

Your stomach dropped as you read the letter that was tucked neatly inside, almost as if it were designed to hide the truth you didn't want to face.

The letter was from Jay, written in his familiar handwriting.

“Hey, I know this isn’t something you’d ever ask for, and I don’t expect anything from you. But I wanted to give you something that might be helpful. I used my dad’s connections, and I pulled a few strings. It’s an internship offer at Hybe Publishing, a place that handles journalism and creative writing, stuff I know you’ve mentioned wanting to do. They were looking for someone with your profile, and I thought you might be interested. It’s paid, out-of-state so they’re willing to give you housing, and there’s food allowance.”

“I hope you find it useful. It’s not just a favor. I know you’re capable of amazing things, and I just want to help you get there.”

“I also know I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m here, and I’m trying to do better. No matter what happens, I want you to succeed. Don’t let me—or anyone—hold you back.”

“Take care,

Jongseong.”

You could feel your heart in your throat as you read the letter again. It was a mix of sincerity, guilt, and distance all at once. You’d been trying to move on, to escape the emotional baggage tied to him, but this—this felt like another string pulling you right back into his orbit. You didn’t want to care. You didn’t want to be grateful for this internship offer, not from him. Not after everything. But a part of you was undeniably touched by his effort. You sighed and closed your eyes, trying to ignore the wave of conflicting feelings that hit you.

The internship could be a great opportunity, but the circumstances surrounding it made it feel...tainted.

You placed the portfolio on your desk, feeling the weight of it, both physically and emotionally. You had a choice now—take the opportunity and maybe let Jay back in, or turn it down, and risk cutting ties with a potential future you could’ve had.

Your heart was heavy, but there was only one thing to do.

—

Jay was in his study, tip tapping away at his laptop. Trying to fill the void of his seemingly never-ending guilt by doing his history essay. But his mind kept drifting to you. The look on your face when you stopped you, the look of disgust when he spoke to you, the fire in your eyes when you finally pulled yourself together. Building up a wall that he’s never seen, but only one that someone would do when they’ve been hurt.

He also hadn’t spoken to the guys that much either since what happened the other night. The narcissistic, petty part of him feeling like they were to blame for the demise of what was blossoming between you two.

If only they hadn’t even brought it up, then I wouldn’t have said that. Then I’d probably be the reason she went to sleep happy that night.

He just needed someone to blame.

This was the longest he’s gone without speaking to them within the two decades that they’ve been friends. But this was Jay’s problem; his pride, all of his life, has been the epicenter of all of his problems.

He hated crying because he didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they upset him.

When his mom told him to wash the dishes as he was enroute to washing them, he turned right back around because now I’m not doing them just because you told me to.

He hated admitting he was wrong when it really mattered, because he hated looking stupid.

And now, it was happening all over again—this time with you.

It was his pride that kept him from even admitting he was doing things for you—he didn’t want you to see his affectionate side. He didn’t want to look weak, like he cared.

He was too prideful to apologize to you for the first infraction and that only worsened and festered into a worse situation.

So as he stood up to stretch, groaning as his limbs stretched. His butt ached after sitting in the same chair for two hours.

Mid-stretch he heard his doorbell ring, which caught him off guard. He hadn’t been expecting any guests but he still went down to open the door.

He skipped down the skips, jumping down when he reached the last two. Then opened the door without looking through the peephole.

And there you were.

Standing on his doorstep, clutching something tightly to your chest—the box he mailed to you. Your eyes met his, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Jay’s heart jumped into his throat. He half-expected you to be wearing the same anger you wore the last time he saw you, but you didn’t. You just looked…tired. Tired and hurt.

Two emotions he knew too well.

You held out the box toward him, your arms stiff, like the whole idea of being here repulsed you. “I didn’t ask for this,” you said flatly. Your voice was calm, but Jay could hear the crack underneath it—the exhaustion. The sadness. He swallowed thickly, words jamming up in his throat. You shoved the box lightly into his chest, forcing him to grab it.

“I don’t need a handout to make myself feel better, Jay. I needed respect. And you made it real clear how little you thought of me.”

You didn’t even wait for him to respond—you turned around, your hair whipping over your shoulder as you walked back down his driveway, head held high. Jay stood frozen in the doorway, still holding the box, feeling every inch of shame burn under his skin.

For once in his life, he didn’t care if he looked stupid.

“Wait,” he called out hoarsely. You stopped walking and turned around to look at him with a sigh. Jay stepped down from the porch, clutching the box against his hip. “I don’t think little of you,” He put the box down on a small table next to him. “I think the world of you, actually.” He edged closer to you, the heat from his chest radiating onto your skin.

“I respect you, a lot more than you think.” He reached up slowly, carefully. Now the heat from his hand resting on the top of your head, then running it slowly down your curls. He gently pulled at the end of a strand, letting it spring back into place. “I just want you to give me a chance to show you just how much.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly, your heart warring with your mind. Every instinct told you to push him away—to protect yourself, to keep that wall firmly in place. But Jay’s hand in your hair was so careful. So gentle. Like he was afraid you’d shatter if he touched you wrong.

And for once, his voice wasn’t clipped or cold. It was low, raw, almost pleading.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said immediately. “I wouldn’t trust me either.” His thumb brushed over the curve of your cheekbone, tentative. “But I’m gonna earn it. Even if you never speak to me again after tonight—I’m still gonna try. You deserve that. You deserve better than what I gave you. I just need one thing from you.”

You looked up at him, really looked at him—the mess of his hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his mouth was set like he was trying to keep it together. Jay, who usually acted like the world needed to catch up to him, was standing there...waiting. For you.

You tilted your head to the side, waiting for him to give you a proposition.

“Just…come inside,” he whispered that last part. A look of desperation in his eyes, pleading. “Please, just come inside. I’ll cook for you, we can watch all the stupid Disney movies you like, a-and you can ask me questions. A million questions and I’ll answer every last one. And I can make you laugh,” He locks your gaze as he rests his hands on your cheeks. “And if you hate me after everything, then I promise on everything I love, I will leave you alone.”

His hands were warm against your cheeks, cradling you like you were something fragile—something precious. His thumbs brushed along your skin, grounding you.

You swallowed thickly, it was so easy to say no—to turn around and walk away. But he was almost hypnotic. His musky, yet sweet cologne. The way he touched and held you like you were fragile and easily broken—which at this moment, you were. The way he spoke to you, like he needed you.

Even with that, it was so dangerous—so easy to say yes.

And you did. “Fine,” you sigh shakily, “One night,”

Jay let out a breath of a laugh, like you’d just given him oxygen after he’d been drowning. “One night,” he repeated, like a prayer.

He pulled back just enough to scoop the box off the table and then he reached for your hand—tentative, giving you space to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. Your fingers curled into his automatically, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring it.

He led you inside—into the warmth of his house, into something uncertain but maybe, just maybe, something still worth saving.

—

The sound of the oven door closing echoed softly through the house as Jay carefully set the temperature and then washed his hands at the sink. His mind was a whirl of thoughts—half of them still about you, but the other half wondering if the food would actually turn out decent.

He wiped his hands on a towel, trying to calm his racing heart. When he turned around, he saw you sitting on the couch, your posture stiff but your eyes tracing the room. He couldn’t blame you for being distant. He wasn’t exactly the picture of trustworthiness.

As he stepped into the living room, he caught the way you looked at the space—familiar, like you were trying to gauge how much of it was still his. So much had changed between the two of you, and it seemed like it was more than just the argument.

You didn’t say anything when he sat down beside you, but Jay could feel the tension in the air. He didn’t push, just letting the silence fill the room.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he spoke softly. “Feel like talking?”

You gave a slight shrug, the barest hint of a frown tugging at your lips, but you didn’t pull away when he subtly edged closer, facing you. His heart skipped a beat, just for a second.

“I’ll do the talking then.” He chuckled, a little nervous but trying to keep things light. “So, um, I can’t cook for shit. Like, it’s honestly embarrassing. But if you want to help me out in the kitchen after this, I’ll…I’ll consider it an investment in our future.”

You suppressed a smile, looking down at the cushion. “Our future…” You smiled, feeling a bit of fluttering in your chest. “I seriously doubt you can’t cook though. It smells good.”

He leaned his elbow against the back of the couch, smiling a bit as he looked into your eyes. The warm lighting only made your golden skin gleam. “I just follow cookbooks, but I was a bit nervous cooking just now so I’m afraid I might’ve messed up. But if all else fails, pizza?”

You smile, “I actually don’t like pizza.”

His jaw dropped, but in interest. “Really?”

You shook your head shyly, with pursed lips. “Mm-mm, I’ve had it too much. I just feel like all of the pizzas I’ve had just blend together after a while and they all taste the same.”

He laughs, adjusting his glasses, “I just think that’s…sacrilegious. I mean, I can’t imagine a world without pizza.”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension between you both starting to ease just a little. It was a tiny moment, but it was enough to remind you that the Jay you once knew was still somewhere beneath the mess of misunderstandings and pride.

“If you know great places then I’m down for conversion. I will say I’m not easy to please, though.” You shrug.

“Are you a picky eater?” He scooted closer to you, his knee bumping your hip.

You shook your head, “Nah, but I’m just very choosy with the food I eat.”

Jay’s eyes flitted to the side before looking back at you, “So you’re a picky eater?”

“...Basically.”

Jay laughed under his breath, the sound low and boyish, and it made your heart do a little skip before you could stop it.

“You could’ve just said that,” he teased, nudging your leg lightly with his knee again.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “I don’t like the word ‘picky.’ It sounds... bratty.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully, giving you that familiar, lopsided smile. “Nah. I think it just means you know what you want.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Nothing wrong with that.”

The two of you fell into a brief silence, comfortable this time. Jay’s hand brushed yours as he reached for the glass of water on the coffee table, and you didn’t pull away. It felt like something had shifted between you, even if only a little. He could feel the warmth of your proximity, and though your trust was still fragile, you weren’t pulling away entirely.

“I have a feeling you’re not just here for food, though,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Do you wanna talk?”

You met his gaze again, this time your eyes a little softer. There was something about the way he looked at you now—like he really was ready to listen. That slight openness, the unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

You nodded slowly, setting your hands in your lap. “Yeah, I guess…there’s a lot on my mind.” You hesitated for a moment, then added, “I don’t know where to start, though.”

Jay leaned forward slightly, his posture open and encouraging. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his voice made you take a breath. You still weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but it felt...different. The way he was treating this moment. The way he was treating you. Maybe it was worth it, after all. Maybe.

The oven beeped from the kitchen, and Jay quickly jumped up, eager to distract himself from the heavy silence. “Aha, saved by the bell,” he muttered under his breath, trying to make light of the moment. He motioned for you to stay where you were. “I’ll grab the food, then we can talk.”

—

Jay is usually very particular and prefers to eat at the table, but tonight he set the plates right there on the coffee table, like he didn’t want to be too far from you. It felt almost domestic—your plates side by side, your knees brushing under the low table as you shifted to sit cross-legged. Jay set down a bowl of pasta and some garlic bread, both a little clumsy looking, but still warm and comforting.

He sat down beside you again, closer this time, the couch dipping slightly under his weight.

“I figured it’d be easier to eat here,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You know...so you don’t run away from me again.” His smile was a little self-deprecating, but there was real hope behind it too.

You picked up your fork, glancing at him with a small smile. “You’re not that easy to get rid of.”

Jay chuckled under his breath. “Not when it comes to you.”

There was that beat of silence again—this time heavier, sweeter, filled with things neither of you dared say just yet. And even though the food was right in front of you, warm and waiting, neither of you moved to take the first bite.

Jay picked up his fork first, twirling it around the pasta halfheartedly before sneaking a glance at you. “You know,” he said casually, “you don’t have to be nice about it. If it sucks, you can just tell me.”

You laughed under your breath, finally taking a bite. To your surprise, it wasn’t bad at all—simple, but good.

“I’m serious. I’m a big boy. I can handle the truth,” he teased.

You swallowed and tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm…edible. Not life-changing, but edible.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Edible? That’s it? You wound me.”

You laughed again, real this time, and Jay’s shoulders relaxed. It was small, but he could tell—you were starting to trust him again, if only a little.

After a few more bites, the playful atmosphere dimmed into something quieter again, like both of you knew there was more to say. You set your fork down, wiping your hands on a napkin.

“I just…” you started, tracing a small pattern on your napkin with your finger. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it would hurt. Hearing you say those things about me. Like I was just…something to joke about.”

Jay put his fork down too, his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer.

“I was stupid,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was trying to—I don’t even know. Look cool? Save face?” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “It was the dumbest thing I could’ve done. Especially when you…you meant more to me than any of them.”

Your heart ached a little at the admission, but you kept your expression guarded. “But those are your best friends. But still, why not just say that?”

Jay looked down at his hands, flexing them nervously. “Because I’m an idiot who didn’t think he deserved you,” he admitted. “And somewhere deep down, I figured if I pushed you away first, it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized it too.” He sighed, “And yeah they’ve been my friends for a very long time but…I’ve never really felt like this before.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening slightly around your napkin.

There it was. The truth, raw and real.

And somehow, hearing it didn’t make the pain worse—it made it a little easier to breathe.

You nudged your knee against his, just barely. “What does that mean?” you muttered, but your voice was soft, teasing.

He looked up introspectively, “I’ve never really liked anyone before. At least not since I was pretty young so that doesn’t count. But it’s just…all of my friends—I love them. They’ve been there for me in spite of my stubborn ways and I don’t know who I’d be without them, truly. They humble me, support me, and everything else. But in case you haven’t noticed…they have their fun.” He looked at you with a bit of a smile.

You nod with a laugh, “They do, for sure. Love them though!” You hold out your hands in defense.

Jay nods, “Yeah, of course. But I think because I’m obviously with them all the time and some people assume that I’m like them in that way. And really, a part of me has always wanted something more. I don’t just want to fuck people and that be my life. I know I can have that, but I’d rather not have that with just anybody.”

You blinked, caught a little off guard by how candid he was being. Jay was usually careful with his words—measured, sarcastic when he was nervous—but here he was, laying it all out there, raw and unfiltered.

Your voice softened without you meaning it to. “You want something real.”

Jay nodded, the movement slow, almost hesitant. His knee brushed yours again, and this time it stayed there, the small point of contact grounding you both.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I want someone who knows me. Someone I don’t have to perform for. Someone who actually sees me...and doesn’t run.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Your heart tugged painfully in your chest because you understood more than you cared to admit.

Jay leaned forward a little more, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. “I was scared you were gonna realize how much of a mess I am,” he said, almost in a whisper. “So I tried to ruin it first. Before you could.”

There was a lump forming in your throat now, but you pushed through it, blinking rapidly.

“You didn’t have to be perfect, Jay,” you said quietly. “You just had to be honest.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, nodding, his glasses slipping a little down his nose. His hair was a mess, his shoulders were tense, but he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

“I’m trying now,” he said simply. “Even if it’s too late.”

You fiddled with your napkin for another beat, heart pounding in your ears, before you finally whispered, “It’s not too late.”

His head snapped up at that, eyes wide, and you watched the tiniest crack of hope break across his face.

He looked almost boyish like that—caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder.

You shifted a little closer on the couch without thinking, your knees brushing again, your hand still twisted in the napkin. Jay didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second, like he was afraid the moment would shatter if he so much as blinked.

Slowly, carefully, he reached out and placed his hand over yours, covering the napkin too, his palm warm and slightly trembling.

“You mean it?” he asked, voice low and earnest.

You nodded, a small, shaky smile playing at your lips. “I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The distance between you grew smaller, like the pull of gravity itself was stitching the space closed. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, featherlight, as if memorizing the feeling.

And when you tilted your head just slightly—an almost imperceptible invitation—Jay leaned in too, slow and tentative, like he was giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Your forehead brushed his first, a soft, clumsy touch that made you both let out breathy laughs. And then, gently, his nose bumped yours, and the world fell into a suspended hush.

His lips brushed yours—barely, barely there—more a question than a kiss.

And when you didn’t pull back, when you leaned in just a little more, the kiss deepened by the barest fraction. Sweet. Careful. Like he was afraid to break you.

Like he was afraid to break this.

He was a little weary of crossing any further boundaries with you. Jay just wanted to be close to you and this was the first time he had felt butterflies in a very long time. So, he just wanted to be careful with you.

Jay rested his hand on the nape of your neck, gently guiding your lips closer to his—only deepening it. The warm ambience and distant songs from High School Musical 2 only made this funny and sort of endearing. Hearing “Everyday” while he was doing his best to show you what he could mean to you had made him smile into the kiss.

You, on the other hand, were a little cautious as well. But you yearned to cross boundaries, and a part of you knew that he’d let you. You leaned up on your knees to shift onto his lap without breaking the kiss. To which he instantly complied, hands hovering over your figure as you settled onto his lap. You grabbed them and placed them on your hips as your lips danced across each other’s.

But as much as he loved this feeling, he hated the fact that his glasses kept bumping your face. He quickly moved back, looking you in the eye as he took his glasses off and tossed them to the other side of the couch. Then kissed you with fervor, his hands finally pulling you closer, fingertips skimming the fabric of your shirt, feeling the heat radiating between you both. The kiss was no longer just tentative—it was hungry, urgent, but still delicate, like you both needed this as much as you needed air. Jay’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you even closer, as if afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t anchor you to him.

You responded, lips parting slightly as your hands roamed up to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss. There was a quiet desperation in the way you kissed him, as if you'd been waiting for this moment forever, yet had never truly realized it until now.

The sound of the movie, still playing in the background, felt miles away. The air between you was thick with everything you hadn’t said yet, with all the things you hadn’t dared to feel. But at that moment, none of that mattered. It was just you and Jay. And this.

He slowly lowered you down onto the couch, the tension in your back simmering as your back hit the plush material. He hovered over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. His affection left your lips and traveled to your cheek, then your jaw, then finally fell to your neck. Swirling his tongue along the sensitive area and sucking gently. This eliciting a gasp from you, your hands caught in his hair.

The heat between you both only intensified as his lips moved over your skin, each kiss sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You could feel his breath hot against your neck, the weight of his body hovering over you, but still, he was cautious—attentive to every little movement you made. His hands, though still uncertain, were exploring more boldly now, tracing the outline of your body as if memorizing every inch of you.

You arched your back slightly, pressing yourself closer to him, eager to feel more of him, to close that last inch of space that still remained between you. His lips left your neck and found yours again, this time with a fervor that matched the rhythm of your heart. He was all warmth, all hands, and you were lost in the sensation of him.

His hands slid under the fabric of your shirt, fingertips skimming the softness of your skin, and you gasped at the feeling. The sensations were overwhelming in the best way, and you couldn't help but want more, just a little more. The urgency, the heat, the way he kissed you like he'd been starving for it—it was intoxicating.

He pulled back slightly, eyes dark with desire, breath shaky. “I think we should stop.”

His forehead rested on yours as you smiled, stroking his cheek with your fingers. “I think so, too.”

His eyes softened at your touch, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to pause. The room, the air, the buzzing of the movie still playing in the background—it all faded away as you both shared that quiet, intimate moment. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, still so close, his hands resting on the curve of your waist, but not pulling you any further.

He nodded urgently, pulling you up with him. “Yeah, yeah of course.” You both sat up with smiles, but he playfully yanked you close to him by the leg. Resting it by the outside of his hip, locking him between the couch and you. “Do you still hate me?”

You let out a small laugh, the tension between you two melting into something much lighter. His playful tug had pulled you into his space, your leg draped over his, and for the first time in a while, everything felt easy. You met his gaze, eyes softening as you considered his question. “Hate you?” You shook your head, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I don’t hate you.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Oh really?” He leaned in, his voice dropping into a playful whisper. “Then what would you call all those times you wanted to strangle me?”

You snorted, swatting at his arm as you shifted slightly, feeling his warmth next to you. “Definitely not hate. More like... intense dislike.” You grinned, enjoying the lighthearted banter that felt so familiar, so right.

His laughter filled the space between you, the sound genuine and unguarded. “I’ll take that. I deserve it, though,” he said with a shrug, his fingers brushing against your skin lightly as he adjusted his position. “But I’m glad. Glad you don’t hate me.”

You smiled softly, a small, almost shy laugh escaping you. “Yeah...glad, too.” Your fingers traced a pattern across his chest, the easy rhythm of the moment making your heart settle. “But I’m still mad at you, just so you know.”

Jay’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What? I can’t be perfect?”

You snorted again. “No one’s perfect.”

“True.” He nodded sagely, then nudged you playfully. “So, can I redeem myself?”

You met his gaze again, eyes locking for a brief moment. The playful energy between you both was undeniable, but beneath it, there was something deeper that had shifted. You nodded, letting out a quiet sigh. “You’ve already started.”

Jay’s smile softened, his fingers brushing your cheek in a tender, almost reverent way. “Good. I’m not going anywhere. Not if you’ll have me.”

For a beat, you both just looked at each other, the playful teasing giving way to something a little more real, a little more fragile, but also more promising than either of you had expected. And maybe that was enough for now. The rest, the future—everything else could come in time.

And for tonight, you were okay with that.

You got a 94 on that project.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #kpop x black reader #enhypen fic #park jay #park jay x #park jay fanfic

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