Strawberrywise

[castellandiary]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ passion

fluff percy kissing u senseless after a loong day of training and watching over the younger kids. aged up percy by a little. wc: ~900

the thing about percy is that he doesn't do anything halfway.

when he fights, he's all in—sword swinging, water swirling, that wild grin on his face like he was born for it. when he's helping the younger campers, he's crouched down at their level, tying their shoes, fixing their armor straps, making them laugh until they forget they were homesick. and when he kisses you? gods, when he kisses you, it's like the rest of the world just stops existing. literally one of aphrodite’s exemplar couple’s.

today's been long. like, really long. the kind of day where you've been up since dawn running drills, where your muscles ache in places you didn't know you even had muscles, where you've broken up around five arguments between ten-year-olds about whose turn it is with the practice dummy. you're pretty sure there's still some weird concoction in your hair from when one of the athena kids' contraptions exploded at lunch. this is not quite what you signed up for when you came to camp half-blood. nemesis strikes even harder this time…

percy's been in the same boat. you watched him all day—teaching sword fighting to the newer campers, diving into the lake to retrieve a kid's lost retainer (gross, but very percy…), then spending an hour explaining to a homesick child from cabin seven why camp half-blood is actually pretty cool once you get used to the whole monsters-and-quests thing.

now it's finally evening. the sun's setting over the sound, painting everything gold and pink, and most of the campers are at the campfire. you can hear a mixture of heavenly blessed voices with off-key and… terrible singing voices. but it’s in a way where it kinda gives you nostalgia when you and percy were younger at camp half blood.

you're sitting on the dock, feet dangling over the water, taking in the beautiful sight of the pink hue and the yellow in the sky colliding with blue and purple hues.

then there's footsteps—that familiar, slightly uneven gait because percy's always in a hurry to get somewhere. the dock creaks as he drops down beside you, close enough that his shoulder bumps yours.

"hey," he says, and his voice is soft, a little rough around the edges. tired.

“hey,” you say gently, looking at him to be met with percy’s face contorted into somewhat of a half smile and half frown.

for a minute, you both just sit there. his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together like it's an instinct— a habit, almost. his thumb traces random shapes and patterns on your skin, and you can feel him unwinding beside you, the tension of the day slowly melting away.

"you've got—" he reaches over with his free hand, and you feel him gently pulling something from your hair. "—weird gooey stuff in your hair. still."

you groan, your fingers finding the weird spot of slime in your hair. "i know. that's not coming out without a serious shower."

he laughs, that dorky, wonderful laugh that makes your chest feel warm. "i've got seaweed in my pocket, so. we're both disasters."

"seaweed-brain with seaweed in his pocket? that’s so comical. and cute.”

"well… what can i say? i’m very humorous! the little kids think so,”

you turn to look at him, and gods, he's beautiful in this light. his dark hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction. there's a smudge of dirt on his cheek and what looks like marker on his neck (probably from the arts and crafts session). his eyes are tired but so, so green, like the ocean on a sunny day.

"you're staring," he says, but he's smiling.

"you're worth staring at." you wipe the dirt off his cheek with your thumb, savoring every single second you can adore and admire his pretty face.

his ears go pink. even after all this time, you can still make him blush, and it's adorable.

"shut up," he mumbles, but he's grinning now, that lopsided grin that makes your heart do stupid things.

he leans in, and his hand comes up to cup your face, gentle despite all the food fights and hangry children he had to deal with, he feels at peace with you. his thumb brushes your cheekbone, and he's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.

"i missed you today, y’know?" he whispers, even though you've been at the same camp all day, even though you've seen each other a dozen times.

"missed you too, perseus, you dork.” you chuckle at the sight of his face flushing a soft pink color.

then he's kissing you, sweet and gentle like he's got all the time in the world. it feels like he’s trying to pour all the stress and exhaustion into one big kiss. (cutie) his other hand finds it’s way in your hair, and you’re sure you almost stop breathing for a moment.

he kisses like he does everything else—completely, utterly, without reservation. like you're the only person in the world, like nothing else matters except this, except you.

when he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard, and he's got that dazed, dopey expression that makes him look about twelve years old again.

"uhm… sorry," he says with a genuine sheepish grin on his face, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

you laugh, breathless. "you might be a seaweed brain, but at least your a good kisser.”

he grins and pulls you closer, tucking you against his side. the water laps gently at the dock posts, and in the distance, the campfire in the distance songs continue.

"same time tomorrow?" he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"wouldn't miss it."

and you mean it.

[puddlesoffrogs]

won’t let you drown

summary: life after your brother's death is hard. It's nice to see someone still cares even while buried under their own guilt. mattheo riddle x fem!reader.

warnings: angst! mentions of death, grief (I listened to every sad song ever), but also fluffy occasionally?? happy ending ᥫ᭡ word count: 3.2k

The Ministry’s meddling in Hogwarts tainted your tongue with a bitter taste, one that didn't belong. An acrid presence filtrating its way around the corridors, artificial like Umbridge's condescendingly bubbly personality. Things were odd, and they had been since the night of the third task of last year's Triwizard Tournament. The night your brother was murdered.

The following summer drifted by in a blur, the voices of familiar family and friends merging together outside the confinements of Cedric's bedroom walls. His room became the only place to bring you any sort of calm in the new nightmare you were living. Buried beneath the safety and comfort of his blankets, you spent your break ignoring the condolence letters and disturbing headlines highlighting the newspapers.

Freak accident, Fudge had called it slandering Cedric's death. Insulting Harry's inability to stay out of the spotlight, branding him a liar and Dumbledore insane to believe him.

You weren't sure what to believe. Never had you not trusted Dumbledore's word, and Cedric had always liked Harry. There felt no need for him to lie.

But the topic of whether Harry was a liar or not — if Lord Voldemort was truly alive again, wasn't exactly a priority. You didn't want to think about it, about the possibility that Cedric was killed for just being in the way.

Upon your return to school however, it became unavoidable to escape the circulating whispers. Gossip at Hogwarts had always spread like wildfire, and your classmate's curiosity about Cedric's death had only amplified over the summer. The attention consumed you, like a deadly disease that once made you glow with confidence. It had always made you thrive being in the limelight, an angel of kindness. Cedric and you had shared that trait and the popularity that came with it.

But now the spotlight, shone bright and intense burning up your wings to reveal the fragile creature of skin and bone you had become.

The dock at the black lake was always a favourite spot of yours. The water enticed you like a sailor to a siren, lulling you with the prosperity of tranquillity. It had always been peaceful, quiet and lately reserved as the days turned colder. The perfect escape away from the gossip infecting the school, and not-so subtle eyes.

The water is colder, as to be expected in the middle of October with the leaves cracked and withered as they fall to the ground. It's cold enough to pierce your skin, like thousands of small needles but only for a second as you adjust to the lake's temperature. Your feet swish off the dock, disturbing the calm of the water's composure with ripples that project outwards. The sting numbs eventually, bringing a sense of relief to the rest of your body.

Cedric had never liked the water the way you had, remembering his frustration in revealing the clue for the second task to you. Course, he had no trouble figuring out a solution with the bubble-head charm and returned first — one whole minute before the time limit! Your heart aches at the memory, recalling the brilliant boyish smile upon his face. Cho Chang wrapped around his arm, the light of pure pride and happiness glimmering in his eyes.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, the usual onslaught of tidal wave pain surges pushing at your defences. You chant softly to oneself. Don't cry, don't cry, don't— but it's too late. The first tear stings in the corner of your eye, and your lashes rapidly flutter trying to evaporate them. You don't want to cry — it's all you did these days. Like a broken damn you crack, bursting with emotion unable to control yourself to stop.

Your chest pangs— aching woefully against the familiar squeeze of the coil, the knot tightening further indelibly. Fingers turning pallid under the force of your own deathly grip, your stomach twists with nauseating shudders that forcibly shake your body forwards, wishing for anything to be back in the comfort of Cedric's bedroom.

The water calls to you again, like a remedy. The need to fully submerge underneath the lake, to allow the cold to soothe you in ways no human seems capable of. Reassuring you with its predictability in everything it does. The only stability that seems to remain among the nightmares. It greets you like a friend, wrapping its own blanket of warmth as you slip of the dock, alleviating temporarily your pain with the bubbling reminder you're alive.

As one should always, Mattheo minds his business in his path back towards the viaduct bridge. The air was cool, enough for his hands to be buried inside the pockets of his coat. A woollen green scarf snug around his neck, his curls shifting against the morning breeze.

He couldn’t sleep, again. If he ever could, it was becoming a rarity these days. Opposite to the amount of morning meanders along the woods he'd concluded. Ironically Mattheo hated the cold and yet it swept through his mind like a helpful house-elf, dusting out the persistent and uninvited sensations. Allowing Mattheo his first breath of air without a noose pulling on his neck.

Ignoring his own rule his steps slow to a halt, interest peaked as he passes the black lake dockside, eyes stuck on the figure sitting over the edge. He shivers noticing the pair of shoes removed, offended by the chill invading his layers of warmth as if his own feet were immersed in the icy waters.

He should keep moving, not like he cares about the lunatic who wishes to get hypothermia, but something catches his eye. It's only for a flash that he recognizes the swift of your hair before you disappear off the edge.

The hell is she thinking?!, he panics, the wooden panels groaning with anguish under the pace he sprints on top of them. Shoving hastily his coat and boots off, watching stunned with dread as you submerge quick by the weight of your clothes, moulded to your body. There's no time to think before he's diving in after you.

The water embraces Mattheo in a deathly hug, the cold seeping into every pore and fissure like an uninvited house guest. It clings, grasping onto him as if trying to pull him further down into the depths of darkness. His limbs ache with pain, fingers turning white in stiffness while his heart freezes in shock. He had never been good in the water, the cold never a friend to him as he splashes disastrously reaching for the surface.

Fingers grip his arms with their own struggling strength, and his head arises back out into the crisp October day. Mattheo chokes, spluttering in his rapid inhales of much needed air, coughing like a child. His head feels faint, pounding like an old bell as his surroundings begin to restore with clarity. His brows furrow, caught between a scowl and bewilderment at the absurd idea it was to help in the first place, desperate to rid the burning sting piercing his skin.

Mattheo lifts himself from the water, before pulling your own drenched body up onto the deck. His hero arch quick to deflate when he catches you blinking back the droplets the dangle from your lashes. There's barely a shiver that racks through your body unlike Mattheo's whose teeth have begun chattering — as if to you the lake was tempered like a hot bath instead.

“THE hell w—was that about?” he spits with a rising temper stuttering slightly, hastily reaching for his wand to cast a warming spell over both of you. His eyes are narrowed with confusion meeting your wide-eyed ones, stunned like you're starring directly at a ghost. Which you may as well have been, Mattheo's recent presence in your life had become nearly as absent as Cedric.

"Mattheo?" You say his name unbelieving him to be truly before you, nevertheless soaking wet just as you are.

His curls once buoyant and coiled lay flat to his forehead, the colour lost in the saturation gleaming a near midnight black. His eyes clouded with fatigue, burying that warmth you once remember. His jaw shifts under your scrutiny, forcing the lump of regret, not his intention to yell at the grief-stricken girl he had an ever-growing crush on.

"I—" Mattheo begins his attempt at an apology, halting at the curve of your lips, a burst of laughter blooming out of you like fresh flowers at spring. It’s loud and free, and it reminds him of your old self. The girl from the ball, who kept trotting on his feet. Who drank too much fire whiskey from his flask. Who pressed your forehead to his making his body run hot before you booped his nose with yours pulling back with that same elated laughter.

His brow arches an unsure smile of his own forming, but you're still laughing. Clutching yourself like you can't breathe. Mattheo watches a little alarmed, that splash of panic re-surging down his back. “Hey— oh fuck. Are you going into shock from the cold?” His hands grab your sides with urgency.

It's happening so fast, the happiness warming your insides — it's an odd feeling. It's nothing like the cold you've grown so close to. It's cozy and joyous and it makes you feel completely lightheaded. For once someone isn't treating you like a fragile piece of China. He's yelling and he's clueless, and it's kind of adorable.

You finally turn away from him to exhale a deep breath, relief and reality flooding your senses. "I'm sorry — I'm okay."

Your eyes meet his again, the touch of his hands still at your sides and the warmth burns again. It flurries up you like a rushing river spreading the infectious feeling to the base of your neck and you smile again bashful at the concern he's expressing. "That felt nice."

His eyes reveal that he doesn't quite believe your reassurance as he responds, "What the laughing or the winter dip?"

"Both." You nod squeezing out the excess water from your hair onto the deck with a splat. "Though it's not quite winter is it."

Mattheo rolls his eyes unbelieving the tease coming from the situation, "Doesn't mean your sane for plunging in fully clothed. I don't know what you were thinking... " His eyes drift over your form, taking you in properly as one does art.

Except this portrait's vision is smeared, repainted over with lifeless colours. Eyes bordered by hollow circles suffering under the weight of exhaustion. His hands continue subconsciously rubbing, tending to your vulnerable state, oblivious to the ease its also bringing him.

"It's his birthday today."

The answer slithers out as a whisper. One he wouldn't catch had he not been giving you his full attention.

He's quick to figure out who you're referring too and it makes all the guilt, temporarily forgotten beneath the water re-emerge. The wall fortified around memories of that night, fracture as pieces chip until they crumble and break free.

The wailing ring of your scream deafening his ears, shoulders knocking as you push past him rushing to reach Cedric’s dead body on the pitch. The band stalling, as people realize he’s not moving — the celebrations switching to agony.

No one else seems to have noticed him as he stands frozen in the crowds clinging onto Potters words. He’s not thinking about you like he should, or your brother unmoving on the ground.

Consumed by the fear and shock of what soon awaits him.

Holidays for Mattheo were never perceived the same as most of his classmates. Time for bonding, families coming together to celebrate the joyous occasions. But he's since stop wanting that — he lies to himself. He no longer cared about the absence of his family, finding his own version of home within the castle walls. Focusing on that feeling and forcing out the lingering thought of family fantasy with each return to his foster care.

But the summer following the "tragedy" — as the paper put it — Mattheo was moved to live with his cousin. It was hard to ignore the future that was unfolding before him inside the claustrophobic house. His family wore smiles though tightly lipped, with whispers of apprehension that soaked into the walls of the cold and hollow Manor.

A part of him wanted to cling to the hope that Potter was wrong, nothing more than a wannabe liar relishing in the spotlight. It wouldn't be the first time. But then the itch begins, festering away under his skin until he's spiralling unable to think of anything but that night. The underlying truth that he knew who had returned.

His guilt only grew in the return to school, staying clear of you in any way possible. He didn't want to bring you further pain, feeling the weight of responsibility for his families' relations.

Mattheo never stopped watching though, unable to force his eyes not to look for you. He watched from afar, a guardian angel that wasn't allowed to interfere. Though if he was an angel his path was already led astray.

He shifts uncomfortably brought back to reality, as you continue speaking. “No one will talk about him with me — and I'm afraid-d…” you choke struggling to push the words off your tongue. “I don’t want people to forget about him.” You sob out. Gone is the laughter, the sun hidden behind the immediate downpour.

“No, no people won’t forget about him.” His arms wrap, bringing your head to bury into the shelter of his chest trying his best to offer comfort. He's in unfamiliar waters now, never consoling anyone. The way your body is shaking with uneven breaths, as more tears fall — a heart retching sound pulls unlike any he's heard before as you wail in despair.

Witnessing your pain brings him nothing but remorse, the vibrations of it ricocheting into the atrium of his heart. Its unbearable, and yet he's reminded it's nothing to the tenfold you are experiencing. His arms instantly tighten around your delicate frame, clinging with desperation to piece you back together. 

His fingers thread through your hair, cradling you with a patience he's never possessed before, whispering tenderly with barely any strength. He tries to calm your breathing, his chin resting at the crown of your head.

Uncontrollably, his mind spins the same thought like a broken record; I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. His vision blurs, and his grip tightens around you, the one thing anchoring him from drowning in his blame…

"It's not your fault."

The hoarseness of your voice knocks him rigid, the realization he had spoken aloud. He keeps his head lowered, eyes still closed tight trying to tear apart your conviction to find any hidden deception in your tone. "I didn't mean—" He whispers apologetically, his throat closing up unable to finish his sentence.

"I would never blame you." You continue, voice so raw it burns to even whisper. Cupping his jaw, you sit inching closer, chests rising only fingertips apart.

His eyes open finally, and with it an unsought tear escapes, dropping to join your own stained cheeks. He's never cried in front of anyone, and while you'd not one to judge — he feels a new level of self-pity. Swallowing down his embarrassment in exposing a weakness, he looks away uncomfortably. The water doesn't look so bad anymore.

He chokes out a rejected laugh that fills the silence with his disbelief. "I don’t even know why I'm here."

You hand falls, trying not to be bothered by his sudden efforts to distance. His words don't offend you though, knowing Mattheo rarely shares bits of himself. There's a comfort that swarms you, despite the unintentional exposure of his vulnerability he's not really running away. “I'm glad that you are though.”

"I don't understand—" He starts, shaking his head with frustration, turning to look you dead on. His gaze is perplexed struggling to grasp where your anger is — he's certainly feeling angry for you but then he deals with every situation with temper. Your face tilts, contorting into confusion rather than resentment and he asks the lingering question, "Don’t you hate me?"

"Hate you?" A deep frown falls over your face, finding the suggestion ridiculously absurd. "What? Why? You didn’t do anything."

“If what Potter said is true, which I think we both know it is." He doesn’t know if he can utter the next words out loud, not even having admitted it to himself yet. "My father—"

"—is not you." You snap sharply.

No longer are your eyes filled with anguish, lit with a defiant fury that burns so intense Mattheo shivers. But its familiar. Reminding him of the girl who he once saw yank Cedric's ear despite him being a foot taller than you. The girl who made a first-year cry after screaming at them for ruining your crammed Charms Essay. The girl who drunkenly accused him of hiding her wand tucked in her hair.

He sighs, deeply and gives you a sad smile. "It doesn't matter; it doesn't change how I feel."

"No." Shaking your head, you repeat, "No. Please don't ever blame yourself." Grabbing his hands with the same strength you wish to convince him; you squeeze them tightly. Sniffling as you do, thinking of Cedric again and the terrifying feeling his hands last felt in yours. That version of cold was never your friend. "I'll hate you truly, if you do."

That would be easier. He's quick to believe before he scolds himself, swallowing down the bitterness of the lie. He doesn't want you to hate him. Not after he's beaten himself blue for months, creating a reality that was built on an insecurity.

The weak thought disappears the longer he gazes at you, held with immense sincerity. Like his presence has always meant more than he knows, that maybe you had missed him equally as he had been secretly missing you.

Mattheo doesn't know if he can ever allow himself forgiveness when the weight of Cedric's death weighs him down so heavily tainted by his blood. He knows nothing in his life has ever been easy, but trying for you seems possible under your caring gaze.

"I don't want you to hate me." He whispers earnestly, "I missed you a lot." He words of penitence won't fix the damage done, won't erase your pain. Knowing it's his own fault for keeping himself from you, bailing like a coward when you perhaps needed him most.

“I’m not the one who went away.” 

He deserves that. "I know and I'm sorry." Tenderly he brushes back a strand of hair, still wet to touch. It doesn't go as elegantly as he envisioned, his fingers knotting between and he tries not to laugh at the timing. He notices the small twitch of a smile struggling to hold back, a sign that things between the two of you might be okay.

His fingers slide behind the base of your neck, cupping it gently and meeting your eye with a look of determination. "I won't go again. I won't let you drown anymore."

It's one of the few promises he's ever made, hardly anyone in his life worthy of them. Rubbing softly as if to ensure his word, he flashes a smile not seen by the sun in months. “Even if I can't swim."

an: eeeeh omg she finished a fic! only took like a month (womp womp). big, humongous thanks to @acourtofchaos for proof reading and letting my indecisive ass bother u love u always, and @viperify who had to listen to me complain 24/7 for the entire month your support means the world to me. but also, just all my moots, i swear i have the loveliest support system! thank you for reading! feel free to leave behind any love ᥫ᭡

[lxve-fool]

pairing; hockey player!mattheo riddle x reader

summary; you expected things to be different after mattheo found out what you’d been keeping from him, but you didn’t expect it to get to his head. literally.

warnings; high school au, modern au

note; part 1, part 2

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a weapon on the ice, but that kid has got a serious temper. He spends more time in the penalty box than Crouch Jr! You remember that boy?”

You shook your head silently, staring blankly out of the windshield.

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” your father dismissed with a wave of his hand, the other resting lazily on the steering wheel. “That Riddle boy is real valuable, though, so I’m willing to look past that. I really think he can bring my program back to what it once was. He’s already pretty popular in the media.”

You nodded along, barely registering his words. Your mind was elsewhere, somewhere in a dimly lit stairwell surrounded by anatomy textbooks and broad shoulders.

You finally looked over at your dad when he gave your shoulder a small nudge.

“Maybe you’ll even have time between all those doctor classes to come watch a few games,” he teased, but his tone held a flicker of hope. A flicker that you would snuff out before it became a flame.

“Maybe if your players hit the puck instead of their opponents, I’d be more inclined to watch,” you mumbled, toying with the jade ring on your finger.

Your dad laughed heartily at that, and you watched with a tiny smile despite the sinking feeling that crawled throughout your stomach.

The boy. The boy with the pretty brunette curls that fell over his forehead messily, like he’d woken up that morning and merely splashed water on them. The boy with the cut on his brow and a split lip.

Mattheo Riddle.

You couldn’t help the urge to treat his injuries when he’d stumbled into the little hiding spot you’d made for yourself in that stairwell. You were more than bored, music cranked to full volume in the headphones that you’d bedazzled all by yourself, eyes barely reading the book in your hands.

You had tried to find a spot away from all the noise, but still, the muffled cheering and the obnoxious goal horn bled through your music.

It all only made you more curious about the game you hated.

But then the roaring of the crowd through the walls shifted to aggressive jeering as the players no doubt punched and shoved each other around the ice, and your stomach dropped to your feet.

You hated that violence. How could someone willingly drive their fist into someone else’s nose, knowing that the damaging of their nasal septum could lead to breathing problems for the rest of their life?

Okay, maybe not everyone knew exactly that, but they were doing it to hurt another person, and that never sat right with you. It made your hands clammy and shaky, fingers twitching with the urge to fix whatever was broken.

Which is why you had to treat Mattheo Riddle’s injuries.

However, your aversion to violence didn’t quite explain why your heartbeat sped up every time his skin touched yours or your cheeks ached with the smile that you couldn’t quite stamp down in his presence. He, with just one private moment and some gentle words, had somehow managed to put you in a constant state of high blood pressure and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“I know you just happened to bump into him, kid, but I’d still be cautious if I were you,” your dad’s careful warning cut through your thoughts. Your dad was usually so lighthearted and kind. You’d never heard him so serious and it only made you spin that ring on your finger faster. “You hate violence, he no doubt craves it. It’d do you well to stay away from him.”

After you and Mattheo’s almost-kiss and your hurried attempt at escape, your dad had found the two of you exchanging hushed words by the door. Your father wasn’t quite as disturbed as you expected him to be, partially due to the fact that you hadn’t given him much time to register the interaction at all. You’d all but ripped your backpack from Mattheo’s shoulder and rushed out into the parking lot, where you then explained to your dad that what he’d seen had just been an innocent run-in with one of your classmates.

He hadn’t suspected that that particular classmate of yours had been plaguing your thoughts for weeks.

So maybe you were going crazy at the prospect of speaking to him again. Maybe the entire weekend your skin had been buzzing from the memory of his lips brushing yours. The feeling of his breath hitting your slightly parted lips, his brown eyes closer than you’d ever seen them, it all worked to slowly unravel your carefully structured mind. He had a dimple on his right cheek, your brain had noticed without your permission, and it only showed when he gave you that silly grin and called you ‘doc.’

It was maddening.

Come Monday after that game, the voice in your head damn near belonged to him. All of your attempts at studying had failed because your brain couldn’t hold anything except the distinct tilt of his head when he was amused.

And you’d been completely foolish to think that speaking to him again would set your mind straight, because he hadn’t said a word to you.

Every passing glance you’d spared him in the halls had not been returned.

Every time you’d seen him he was scowling at nothing in particular, not even paying attention to his obnoxious friends around him.

And every opportunity you’d seen to speak to him was snatched away as he avoided your very presence.

It was giving you a strange sort of déjà vu.

Oddly enough, it was when you’d retreated to your sanctuary, the library, when you finally spoke to him.

Classes for the day had already been let out, and it was your favorite routine to sit at the nice table in the library and catch the late bus home so you could spend a few peaceful hours studying. The place was empty and the scent of books and the sound of the librarian shuffling around behind her desk was all that remained.

You had finally made it to the familiar spot, clutching a few books to your chest and backpack brimming with schoolwork, when a head of messy brunette curls caught your eye.

You immediately stopped, squinting at the boy occupying your favorite table.

Mattheo Riddle was in the library. In your spot.

But the odd thing was: he had no books out.

There wasn’t a single piece of paper or even a pen on the table that could’ve indicated him doing some kind of work.

He was just sitting there, fingers clasped together on the surface, jaw clenched so tightly you swore you could hear his teeth grinding, and eyes trained on the markings in the smooth wood. His hair was a bit damp and he was wearing a ‘Hogwarts Hockey’ practice jersey, padded hockey shorts still on his body like he’d been in the middle of practice before he wandered over to your table.

His posture was stiff, but the way he didn’t even look up as you approached told you that he’d been sitting there, spacing out, for quite a while.

You stood right next to the table, and he only looked up when you let your books fall onto it.

“Mattheo?” you said slowly, lips tugging up in a tiny, teasing smile. “Are you getting back at me for infiltrating your spot a few weeks ago?”

The boy blinked up at you like you’d woken him from a trance, then frowned a frown that you’d never seen before. It wasn’t quite a scowl like the kind he usually had on at school, but he didn’t look sad either. He looked almost lost.

When he didn’t answer you, your smile dropped and your voice took on a softer tone, tilting your head to the side in confusion. “Mattheo?” you repeated, gentler this time.

“I hate the library, doc,” he whispered, voice matching the lost little boy look he was giving you. “I hate the library, but my legs carried me all the way over here anyway.”

Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Smells like you in here…like books and my imagination.”

You furrowed your brows at his unblinking nature, leaning closer to his face, inspecting his eyes. That’s when you noticed his pupils. His left eye was almost completely black, but his right pupil was dilated slightly less, only making you press even closer in concern.

Your hand came up to gently cup his cheek, and you turned his head slightly, gasping at the blossoming purple mark on his temple.

“Mattheo are you…are you concussed?” you spluttered, other hand reaching up to hold his face still.

His eyelids fluttered and you swore that the sound vibrating through his throat closely resembled a purr. Mattheo Riddle was leaning into your hands and purring.

“Said I was okay to walk to the health office by myself,” he slurred, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes. “But y’know I hate those people, angel. I hate ‘em. Was walking past the library and I…I smelled you. Then I couldn’t think of anything else, of anyone else. Just you. Just this.”

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest at his words and you could’ve stopped breathing when his hands came up to steady your shaking hands on either side of his face.

His hands were rough and calloused against yours, but his cheeks were soft. So soft you didn’t think you ever wanted to let go. Better yet, you never wanted to leave his proximity.

Stepping slightly closer as Mattheo turned to face you fully, knees bracketing your legs, you murmured slowly, “You’re disoriented. You need to go home, to rest.”

“Please don’t go,” he mumbled sadly, pressing his lips to your palm. Your lips parted in shock, you didn’t think Mattheo Riddle had ever pleaded for anything in his life. “This is where I need to be. Only want your hands on me, and I hate when people put their hands on me. I just met you and you’ve already fucked with my head. Doc, I hate doctors.”

His hands left yours to circle around your waist, pulling you suddenly closer. You yelped as he yanked you between his thighs and rested his chin against your stomach, staring up at you with those dazed brown eyes and a frown that tugged at every single one of your heartstrings.

This boy. This boy with the gruff voice that only softened when he was with you. This boy with rough hands that held you like you meant something. This boy and his sweet words.

“I lied to you, Mattheo,” you sighed, fingers reaching up to brush stray curls off his forehead as the guilt gnawed at you viciously. It’d been a lingering feeling all weekend as you remembered the disturbed look on his face that night after his game. “You should hate me for not telling you. I would. Doing…whatever we’re doing…could mess with your entire career!”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he groaned, words sticky in his mouth as he struggled with the thoughts that were likely bouncing around painfully in his head. Worry joined the guilt in your body as you eyed his concussed state. You opened your mouth to tell him he needed to seek treatment, but he kept talking. “You aren’t a liar. Far from it. Yeah, I was a bit frustrated with you for not saying anything, but I don’t blame you. Not one bit. And I can’t stay away from you.”

Mattheo heaved in a pained breath, but his rambling cut off your protests once more, words slurred. “I don’t care that my future coach is your dad. I mean, he’s a little scary, but not having you is way scarier. I’ve never been worried about my career, I know I’m good, I’ve met tons of people who say the same thing. But I’ve never met someone who I’d let patch up my injuries, I’ve never met someone like you.”

In finality, he whispered, “I’m not letting you get away from me.”

You blinked quickly, eyes burning with the emotion you were holding back, and you laughed thickly despite yourself. “You sound very sure of yourself,” you huffed, eyes trailing over his face, lingering on his bruise.

“Good, cause I don’t feel like it,” Mattheo winced as your finger brushed lightly over his temple.

You immediately felt your brain switch into doctor mode, and by the weak, but knowing, smile on his face, you knew he saw it too.

“You have a concussion, Riddle, you need to sleep,” you muttered sternly, but he only laughed as you pulled at the skin under his eyes to inspect his pupils. “You cannot go back to practice, and you definitely shouldn’t be in the bright library lights right now.”

He was full-fledged grinning up at you now, big hands sprawled across your back and chin digging into your stomach. “Yeah? Is this your way of telling me you like me back?”

You chuckled again, feeling the blood pump faster into your poor heart and butterflies wreak havoc in your stomach. “Yes, it can be,” you lilted, voice slow as you took in his hazy state. “But it’s also an order.”

“Yes, doc,” he grumbled, eyelids drooping shut with each word.

You panicked and shook his head gently, but he still hissed at the pain.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, brushing a damp curl from his forehead again. “It’s just—you shouldn’t sleep yet. Wait a few hours, incase any worse symptoms occur.”

“Can’t help it. Your voice is so soft and you smell like books.”

The following hour and a half was filled with Mattheo’s slurred teasing as you stumbled through the halls with him leaning his weight on you, a car ride from hell as you fought to keep him awake while driving his extremely expensive car back to your house, and a lot of convincing from your part to get him inside.

“I’ll explain everything to him, Mattheo,” you coaxed as you turned the engine off and leaned over the center console to peer into his gorgeous brown eyes.

“S’already humiliating enough that a girl’s driving me home,” he huffed, pressing a palm to his forehead. “Now I have to meet her terrifying father half fucking conscious? Kill me already, would you?”

“You’re very dramatic, did you know that?” you shook your head, unbuckling his seatbelt and patting his shoulder once before slipping out of the car. You leaned against the open door in annoyance when he made no move to get out. “Would you like me to come around and open the door for you in proper chivalrous manner?”

“Merlin, no!” he rushed out, moving with a speed that you didn’t think was healthy in his state. He stumbled up your porch steps behind you, silent with what was no doubt anxiety thrumming in his concussed head.

You felt it too, and with shaky fingers you unlocked your door.

You had no idea what your dad might say about you bringing home his next biggest prospect, dizzy and delirious, but you couldn’t risk leaving Mattheo alone. Your doctor brain wouldn’t allow it, and your foolish heart couldn’t even bear it.

“Dad?” you called as you stepped through the threshold of your home, flicking on the hallway light but immediately flicking it off when Mattheo hissed in pain behind you.

You heard your dad call back your name in confusion, his voice coming from the living room. “Shouldn’t you be at the library? It’s still pretty early,” he shouted over the commentary of what was likely a hockey game playing on the TV.

You gulped, reaching blindly behind you to grasp Mattheo’s hand, pulling him into the dimly lit room where your father had his feet kicked up on the coffee table and fingers locked behind his head.

“Well, I was but, uhm,” you began nervously, standing in the entryway of the living room, waiting for your dad to turn around and spot the six-foot-something wall of muscle barely upright on his feet beside you. “I ran into someone…”

Your father turned at that, and his eyebrows raised so high up his forehead you thought they might fly off all together. It was safe to say he was stunned, speechless as he slowly rose from the couch, hockey game forgotten, and stared at Mattheo.

“That’s…” your dad trailed off, gaze flicking between the two of you with rising confusion.

“He’s concussed, dad, and you know how I am about injured people!” you immediately said, fingers tightening around a silent Mattheo’s hand. “He doesn’t like being treated by the medical staff at school and I couldn’t leave him on his own! Please let him stay and rest, just for tonight. He’ll be better by the morning!”

There was an eery sort of quiet that settled over the room after you finished rambling, before Mattheo finally decided to grace your father with his disgruntled words.

“I’ll be a perfect saint on the ice for her,” he spoke in a pleading tone, taking a shaky step forward. “I’ll stay out of the papers unless it’s hockey related, I’ll be more friendly in interviews—just please let your daughter fix me with her soft hands, because seeing two of you is a lot scarier than one.”

You felt your heart swell in your chest at his sweet words. No one had ever been willing to better themselves just for you. But he would. He wanted to. All so your dad would accept him.

You couldn’t help the grin that spread over your lips, pulling your father’s attention away from the swaying boy. The man’s eyes softened as they trailed over your smile, then down to your hands still gripping each other’s firmly.

“He’s not just a classmate, is he?” your dad asked slowly, voice tender in a way you’d never heard it before.

You shook your head.

He approached you two, sizing up Mattheo. Not as a legendary hockey star or a potential player, but as a boy holding his daughter’s hand.

“You’d better be on your best behavior, boy, you hear me?” he grunted, pointing a finger at the taller boy.

Mattheo seemed to be having a hard time focusing on the finger in his face and harsh words directed towards him, but he nodded quickly.

“Goodnight, then,” and your father merely spared you one last knowing glance before stepping around you two and heading towards the stairs.

“I’ll even wear a bloody suit,” Mattheo called to your father’s retreating figure, only receiving a dismissive hand in response.

Once you heard the door to your dad’s bedroom shut in the distance, you turned on Mattheo and threw your arms around his neck.

“That went far better than I expected!” you squealed, feeling his arms come around your waist.

“Shh,” he shushed, pressing his lips to your hair. “I really do like this, baby, but I still feel like I got an anvil dropped on my head.”

You smiled sheepishly into his chest but only tightened your arms around him. “Sorry,” you whispered, feeling one of his hands travel up your side.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” he hummed deeply, reaching for your chin with careful fingers and directing your gaze up to his.

You raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “I thought you were seeing double.”

“I don’t mind seeing two of these,” he brushed a thumb under your bottom lip, smirking. “And I think I know my way around your face with how often I stare at it.”

You swallowed hard at his deep voice vibrating through his chest that pressed against yours, but didn’t pull away when he leaned down so your noses touched.

“One kiss, Mattheo, then you need to rest,” you whispered, lips brushing his dangerously.

“Yes, doc,” he crooned, then finally closed the distance between your lips.

[lxve-fool]

pairing; hockey player!mattheo riddle x reader

summary; you expected things to be different after mattheo found out what you’d been keeping from him, but you didn’t expect it to get to his head. literally.

warnings; high school au, modern au

note; part 1, part 2

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a weapon on the ice, but that kid has got a serious temper. He spends more time in the penalty box than Crouch Jr! You remember that boy?”

You shook your head silently, staring blankly out of the windshield.

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” your father dismissed with a wave of his hand, the other resting lazily on the steering wheel. “That Riddle boy is real valuable, though, so I’m willing to look past that. I really think he can bring my program back to what it once was. He’s already pretty popular in the media.”

You nodded along, barely registering his words. Your mind was elsewhere, somewhere in a dimly lit stairwell surrounded by anatomy textbooks and broad shoulders.

You finally looked over at your dad when he gave your shoulder a small nudge.

“Maybe you’ll even have time between all those doctor classes to come watch a few games,” he teased, but his tone held a flicker of hope. A flicker that you would snuff out before it became a flame.

“Maybe if your players hit the puck instead of their opponents, I’d be more inclined to watch,” you mumbled, toying with the jade ring on your finger.

Your dad laughed heartily at that, and you watched with a tiny smile despite the sinking feeling that crawled throughout your stomach.

The boy. The boy with the pretty brunette curls that fell over his forehead messily, like he’d woken up that morning and merely splashed water on them. The boy with the cut on his brow and a split lip.

Mattheo Riddle.

You couldn’t help the urge to treat his injuries when he’d stumbled into the little hiding spot you’d made for yourself in that stairwell. You were more than bored, music cranked to full volume in the headphones that you’d bedazzled all by yourself, eyes barely reading the book in your hands.

You had tried to find a spot away from all the noise, but still, the muffled cheering and the obnoxious goal horn bled through your music.

It all only made you more curious about the game you hated.

But then the roaring of the crowd through the walls shifted to aggressive jeering as the players no doubt punched and shoved each other around the ice, and your stomach dropped to your feet.

You hated that violence. How could someone willingly drive their fist into someone else’s nose, knowing that the damaging of their nasal septum could lead to breathing problems for the rest of their life?

Okay, maybe not everyone knew exactly that, but they were doing it to hurt another person, and that never sat right with you. It made your hands clammy and shaky, fingers twitching with the urge to fix whatever was broken.

Which is why you had to treat Mattheo Riddle’s injuries.

However, your aversion to violence didn’t quite explain why your heartbeat sped up every time his skin touched yours or your cheeks ached with the smile that you couldn’t quite stamp down in his presence. He, with just one private moment and some gentle words, had somehow managed to put you in a constant state of high blood pressure and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“I know you just happened to bump into him, kid, but I’d still be cautious if I were you,” your dad’s careful warning cut through your thoughts. Your dad was usually so lighthearted and kind. You’d never heard him so serious and it only made you spin that ring on your finger faster. “You hate violence, he no doubt craves it. It’d do you well to stay away from him.”

After you and Mattheo’s almost-kiss and your hurried attempt at escape, your dad had found the two of you exchanging hushed words by the door. Your father wasn’t quite as disturbed as you expected him to be, partially due to the fact that you hadn’t given him much time to register the interaction at all. You’d all but ripped your backpack from Mattheo’s shoulder and rushed out into the parking lot, where you then explained to your dad that what he’d seen had just been an innocent run-in with one of your classmates.

He hadn’t suspected that that particular classmate of yours had been plaguing your thoughts for weeks.

So maybe you were going crazy at the prospect of speaking to him again. Maybe the entire weekend your skin had been buzzing from the memory of his lips brushing yours. The feeling of his breath hitting your slightly parted lips, his brown eyes closer than you’d ever seen them, it all worked to slowly unravel your carefully structured mind. He had a dimple on his right cheek, your brain had noticed without your permission, and it only showed when he gave you that silly grin and called you ‘doc.’

It was maddening.

Come Monday after that game, the voice in your head damn near belonged to him. All of your attempts at studying had failed because your brain couldn’t hold anything except the distinct tilt of his head when he was amused.

And you’d been completely foolish to think that speaking to him again would set your mind straight, because he hadn’t said a word to you.

Every passing glance you’d spared him in the halls had not been returned.

Every time you’d seen him he was scowling at nothing in particular, not even paying attention to his obnoxious friends around him.

And every opportunity you’d seen to speak to him was snatched away as he avoided your very presence.

It was giving you a strange sort of déjà vu.

Oddly enough, it was when you’d retreated to your sanctuary, the library, when you finally spoke to him.

Classes for the day had already been let out, and it was your favorite routine to sit at the nice table in the library and catch the late bus home so you could spend a few peaceful hours studying. The place was empty and the scent of books and the sound of the librarian shuffling around behind her desk was all that remained.

You had finally made it to the familiar spot, clutching a few books to your chest and backpack brimming with schoolwork, when a head of messy brunette curls caught your eye.

You immediately stopped, squinting at the boy occupying your favorite table.

Mattheo Riddle was in the library. In your spot.

But the odd thing was: he had no books out.

There wasn’t a single piece of paper or even a pen on the table that could’ve indicated him doing some kind of work.

He was just sitting there, fingers clasped together on the surface, jaw clenched so tightly you swore you could hear his teeth grinding, and eyes trained on the markings in the smooth wood. His hair was a bit damp and he was wearing a ‘Hogwarts Hockey’ practice jersey, padded hockey shorts still on his body like he’d been in the middle of practice before he wandered over to your table.

His posture was stiff, but the way he didn’t even look up as you approached told you that he’d been sitting there, spacing out, for quite a while.

You stood right next to the table, and he only looked up when you let your books fall onto it.

“Mattheo?” you said slowly, lips tugging up in a tiny, teasing smile. “Are you getting back at me for infiltrating your spot a few weeks ago?”

The boy blinked up at you like you’d woken him from a trance, then frowned a frown that you’d never seen before. It wasn’t quite a scowl like the kind he usually had on at school, but he didn’t look sad either. He looked almost lost.

When he didn’t answer you, your smile dropped and your voice took on a softer tone, tilting your head to the side in confusion. “Mattheo?” you repeated, gentler this time.

“I hate the library, doc,” he whispered, voice matching the lost little boy look he was giving you. “I hate the library, but my legs carried me all the way over here anyway.”

Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Smells like you in here…like books and my imagination.”

You furrowed your brows at his unblinking nature, leaning closer to his face, inspecting his eyes. That’s when you noticed his pupils. His left eye was almost completely black, but his right pupil was dilated slightly less, only making you press even closer in concern.

Your hand came up to gently cup his cheek, and you turned his head slightly, gasping at the blossoming purple mark on his temple.

“Mattheo are you…are you concussed?” you spluttered, other hand reaching up to hold his face still.

His eyelids fluttered and you swore that the sound vibrating through his throat closely resembled a purr. Mattheo Riddle was leaning into your hands and purring.

“Said I was okay to walk to the health office by myself,” he slurred, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes. “But y’know I hate those people, angel. I hate ‘em. Was walking past the library and I…I smelled you. Then I couldn’t think of anything else, of anyone else. Just you. Just this.”

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest at his words and you could’ve stopped breathing when his hands came up to steady your shaking hands on either side of his face.

His hands were rough and calloused against yours, but his cheeks were soft. So soft you didn’t think you ever wanted to let go. Better yet, you never wanted to leave his proximity.

Stepping slightly closer as Mattheo turned to face you fully, knees bracketing your legs, you murmured slowly, “You’re disoriented. You need to go home, to rest.”

“Please don’t go,” he mumbled sadly, pressing his lips to your palm. Your lips parted in shock, you didn’t think Mattheo Riddle had ever pleaded for anything in his life. “This is where I need to be. Only want your hands on me, and I hate when people put their hands on me. I just met you and you’ve already fucked with my head. Doc, I hate doctors.”

His hands left yours to circle around your waist, pulling you suddenly closer. You yelped as he yanked you between his thighs and rested his chin against your stomach, staring up at you with those dazed brown eyes and a frown that tugged at every single one of your heartstrings.

This boy. This boy with the gruff voice that only softened when he was with you. This boy with rough hands that held you like you meant something. This boy and his sweet words.

“I lied to you, Mattheo,” you sighed, fingers reaching up to brush stray curls off his forehead as the guilt gnawed at you viciously. It’d been a lingering feeling all weekend as you remembered the disturbed look on his face that night after his game. “You should hate me for not telling you. I would. Doing…whatever we’re doing…could mess with your entire career!”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he groaned, words sticky in his mouth as he struggled with the thoughts that were likely bouncing around painfully in his head. Worry joined the guilt in your body as you eyed his concussed state. You opened your mouth to tell him he needed to seek treatment, but he kept talking. “You aren’t a liar. Far from it. Yeah, I was a bit frustrated with you for not saying anything, but I don’t blame you. Not one bit. And I can’t stay away from you.”

Mattheo heaved in a pained breath, but his rambling cut off your protests once more, words slurred. “I don’t care that my future coach is your dad. I mean, he’s a little scary, but not having you is way scarier. I’ve never been worried about my career, I know I’m good, I’ve met tons of people who say the same thing. But I’ve never met someone who I’d let patch up my injuries, I’ve never met someone like you.”

In finality, he whispered, “I’m not letting you get away from me.”

You blinked quickly, eyes burning with the emotion you were holding back, and you laughed thickly despite yourself. “You sound very sure of yourself,” you huffed, eyes trailing over his face, lingering on his bruise.

“Good, cause I don’t feel like it,” Mattheo winced as your finger brushed lightly over his temple.

You immediately felt your brain switch into doctor mode, and by the weak, but knowing, smile on his face, you knew he saw it too.

“You have a concussion, Riddle, you need to sleep,” you muttered sternly, but he only laughed as you pulled at the skin under his eyes to inspect his pupils. “You cannot go back to practice, and you definitely shouldn’t be in the bright library lights right now.”

He was full-fledged grinning up at you now, big hands sprawled across your back and chin digging into your stomach. “Yeah? Is this your way of telling me you like me back?”

You chuckled again, feeling the blood pump faster into your poor heart and butterflies wreak havoc in your stomach. “Yes, it can be,” you lilted, voice slow as you took in his hazy state. “But it’s also an order.”

“Yes, doc,” he grumbled, eyelids drooping shut with each word.

You panicked and shook his head gently, but he still hissed at the pain.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, brushing a damp curl from his forehead again. “It’s just—you shouldn’t sleep yet. Wait a few hours, incase any worse symptoms occur.”

“Can’t help it. Your voice is so soft and you smell like books.”

The following hour and a half was filled with Mattheo’s slurred teasing as you stumbled through the halls with him leaning his weight on you, a car ride from hell as you fought to keep him awake while driving his extremely expensive car back to your house, and a lot of convincing from your part to get him inside.

“I’ll explain everything to him, Mattheo,” you coaxed as you turned the engine off and leaned over the center console to peer into his gorgeous brown eyes.

“S’already humiliating enough that a girl’s driving me home,” he huffed, pressing a palm to his forehead. “Now I have to meet her terrifying father half fucking conscious? Kill me already, would you?”

“You’re very dramatic, did you know that?” you shook your head, unbuckling his seatbelt and patting his shoulder once before slipping out of the car. You leaned against the open door in annoyance when he made no move to get out. “Would you like me to come around and open the door for you in proper chivalrous manner?”

“Merlin, no!” he rushed out, moving with a speed that you didn’t think was healthy in his state. He stumbled up your porch steps behind you, silent with what was no doubt anxiety thrumming in his concussed head.

You felt it too, and with shaky fingers you unlocked your door.

You had no idea what your dad might say about you bringing home his next biggest prospect, dizzy and delirious, but you couldn’t risk leaving Mattheo alone. Your doctor brain wouldn’t allow it, and your foolish heart couldn’t even bear it.

“Dad?” you called as you stepped through the threshold of your home, flicking on the hallway light but immediately flicking it off when Mattheo hissed in pain behind you.

You heard your dad call back your name in confusion, his voice coming from the living room. “Shouldn’t you be at the library? It’s still pretty early,” he shouted over the commentary of what was likely a hockey game playing on the TV.

You gulped, reaching blindly behind you to grasp Mattheo’s hand, pulling him into the dimly lit room where your father had his feet kicked up on the coffee table and fingers locked behind his head.

“Well, I was but, uhm,” you began nervously, standing in the entryway of the living room, waiting for your dad to turn around and spot the six-foot-something wall of muscle barely upright on his feet beside you. “I ran into someone…”

Your father turned at that, and his eyebrows raised so high up his forehead you thought they might fly off all together. It was safe to say he was stunned, speechless as he slowly rose from the couch, hockey game forgotten, and stared at Mattheo.

“That’s…” your dad trailed off, gaze flicking between the two of you with rising confusion.

“He’s concussed, dad, and you know how I am about injured people!” you immediately said, fingers tightening around a silent Mattheo’s hand. “He doesn’t like being treated by the medical staff at school and I couldn’t leave him on his own! Please let him stay and rest, just for tonight. He’ll be better by the morning!”

There was an eery sort of quiet that settled over the room after you finished rambling, before Mattheo finally decided to grace your father with his disgruntled words.

“I’ll be a perfect saint on the ice for her,” he spoke in a pleading tone, taking a shaky step forward. “I’ll stay out of the papers unless it’s hockey related, I’ll be more friendly in interviews—just please let your daughter fix me with her soft hands, because seeing two of you is a lot scarier than one.”

You felt your heart swell in your chest at his sweet words. No one had ever been willing to better themselves just for you. But he would. He wanted to. All so your dad would accept him.

You couldn’t help the grin that spread over your lips, pulling your father’s attention away from the swaying boy. The man’s eyes softened as they trailed over your smile, then down to your hands still gripping each other’s firmly.

“He’s not just a classmate, is he?” your dad asked slowly, voice tender in a way you’d never heard it before.

You shook your head.

He approached you two, sizing up Mattheo. Not as a legendary hockey star or a potential player, but as a boy holding his daughter’s hand.

“You’d better be on your best behavior, boy, you hear me?” he grunted, pointing a finger at the taller boy.

Mattheo seemed to be having a hard time focusing on the finger in his face and harsh words directed towards him, but he nodded quickly.

“Goodnight, then,” and your father merely spared you one last knowing glance before stepping around you two and heading towards the stairs.

“I’ll even wear a bloody suit,” Mattheo called to your father’s retreating figure, only receiving a dismissive hand in response.

Once you heard the door to your dad’s bedroom shut in the distance, you turned on Mattheo and threw your arms around his neck.

“That went far better than I expected!” you squealed, feeling his arms come around your waist.

“Shh,” he shushed, pressing his lips to your hair. “I really do like this, baby, but I still feel like I got an anvil dropped on my head.”

You smiled sheepishly into his chest but only tightened your arms around him. “Sorry,” you whispered, feeling one of his hands travel up your side.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” he hummed deeply, reaching for your chin with careful fingers and directing your gaze up to his.

You raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “I thought you were seeing double.”

“I don’t mind seeing two of these,” he brushed a thumb under your bottom lip, smirking. “And I think I know my way around your face with how often I stare at it.”

You swallowed hard at his deep voice vibrating through his chest that pressed against yours, but didn’t pull away when he leaned down so your noses touched.

“One kiss, Mattheo, then you need to rest,” you whispered, lips brushing his dangerously.

“Yes, doc,” he crooned, then finally closed the distance between your lips.

[prythiansprincess]

DEAR BELLA | a theo nott series.

"you're still the one I run to, the one that I belong to; you're still the one I want for life."

word count: 65,605.

summary: a love story told through the past and the present, unsent letters, and years of aching devotion. at its heart, this series is about friendship, longing, healing, and finally coming home to the person who has always been yours.

author’s note: hey hi hello i'm back again with yet another theo series. this one was a lot of fun to write since it's different to what you've read from me so far. i'm happy to say the entire series is complete so I will be posting a new chapter every friday ♡

♫ you're still the one - teddy swims. nav. more theo.

💌 CHAPTERS

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. chapter six. chapter seven. chapter eight. chapter nine. chapter ten. chapter eleven. chapter twelve. chapter thirteen. epilogue.

💌 PLAYLIST

somewhere only we know - rhianne exile - taylor swift (feat. bon iver) save your tears - the weeknd (feat. ariana grande) someone you loved - lewis capaldi the night we met - lord huron (feat. phoebe bridgers) start over - 5 seconds of summer work song - hozier i miss you, i'm sorry - gracie abrams begged - olivia rodrigo glimpse of us - joji daylight - taylor swift golden hour - kacey musgraves a thousand years - christina perri you're still the one - teddy swims

💌 TAGLIST

@harringtonsb1tch @allurearia @piayaluvsya @nonbeliever1 @daniel-is-bae @doseiiii @lilyyyyy08 @lucyysthings @junebugskippingposting @maryjaneeeee

[prythiansprincess]

DEAR BELLA | chapter one.

"this could be the end of everything, so why don't we go somewhere only we know?"

word count: 3,447.

summary: third year is upon theodore nott and time has not been kind to him. reeling from the loss of his mum, he finds comfort in a kind stranger—a hufflepuff, of all things, but theo learns that sometimes the unexpected is exactly what he needs.

author’s note: hey hi hello welcome to yet another theo series. this one is very near and dear to my heart so please be kind as we journey along. as always, please let me know what you think ♡

♫ somewhere only we know - rhianne. nav. chapters. more theo.

Past

September 1, 1993

Hogsmeade Village — Scottish Highlands, Scotland

Three little words. 

That’s how your story started. 

“Are you okay?” 

The question sounded warped in his ears as Theodore Nott collapsed against the rough trunk of a weeping willow, bark scraping against his arms and spine while he folded inward, head bowed between trembling knees. 

Autumn had settled over Hogsmeade in crisp golds and biting winds, but Theo barely felt the chill. His lungs refused to cooperate, each breath shallow and splintered, as through grief itself had wrapped skeletal fingers around his ribcage and squeezed. 

He was shaking. 

Eyes bloodshot. Lips cracked. Hands unsteady. 

Theo was decidedly not okay. 

“I’m fine,” he croaked, though even he could hear how brittle the lie was—how the words cracked apart before they fully left his mouth. 

“I see them too.” 

Theo slowly lifted his head. 

You sat beside him on one of the willow’s sprawling roots, your yellow-and-black Hufflepuff scarf wrapped snugly around your neck. He recognized you vaguely from shared classes—another third year, though he had never spoken more than a passing word to you before now. 

Ordinarily, Theo would have dismissed the intrusion. He was a Slytherin, after all, and strangers were rarely worth the effort. 

But then you spoke again. 

“Is it your first time seeing one?” 

Theo’s gaze drifted toward the skeletal creatures grazing at the edge of the village. Their leathery wings shifted against gaunt black bodies, pale eyes glowing eerily beneath hollow faces. 

They were grotesque.

And strangely beautiful. 

“What are they?” he whispered. 

“Thestrals,” you explained softly. “They frightened me too, at first.” 

Theo’s throat tightened. 

“No one else can see them,” you continued. “Not unless they’ve witnessed death.” 

His chest caved inward. “I just lost my mum.”

The confession slipped out before he could stop it, fragile and broken. 

You didn’t pity him. 

That was what startled him the most. 

Instead, you offered him something far more foreign: understanding. 

“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “I lost my dad a few years ago. A rare blood curse.” 

Your voice softened, though Theo noticed the practiced steadiness in it, as though this was a grief you had learned to carry carefully rather than one that hurt any less. 

“He was sick for a long time,” you continued gently. “The healers tried everything they could, but sometimes love doesn’t make you powerful enough to save someone.”

Theo’s brows pinched together. “Does it ever get better?” 

Your gaze turned distant for a moment, thoughtful.

“Grief is like a wound,” you said. “Even after it heals, it leaves behind a scar.” 

Your hand covered his, warm and steady. 

“The stronger the love, the deeper the scar.” 

Theo swallowed hard. 

“It does get easier,” you promised. “And one day, you won’t resent the scar anymore. You’ll cherish it. Because it proves they were here. That they mattered.” 

Such wisdom felt impossible coming from someone so young. 

Theo wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever escape the bitterness currently hollowing him out from the inside. Whether he would ever be capable of seeing loss as something survivable instead of something final. 

Right now, with his mother’s death still raw and festering inside him, it felt unimaginable. 

There were days when getting out of bed seemed insurmountable. Days when joy felt like something meant for other people. 

Then came the rustle of paper. 

Theo blinked as you unwrapped a chocolate frog and broke off a piece for him. 

“The dementors,” you explained, nodding toward the dark shapes patrolling the distant skies. “Chocolate helps.” 

Theo accepted it carefully. “Thank you.” 

The sweetness melted across his tongue, and though it did little to ease his grief, Theo found himself breathing easier. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the chocolate.

Perhaps it was you. 

For a while, the two of you sat in silence. 

Theo’s eyes wandered once more to the thestrals.

Creatures only visible to those who had suffered unimaginable loss. 

Unseen. Misunderstood. Feared. 

Lonely. 

“We don’t have to take the carriage,” you said after a while. “We can find another way to the castle.” 

Theo looked at you in surprise. 

“You’d stay?” 

Your smile could have rivaled sunlight itself.

“Of course.” 

You extended your hand toward him.

“We’re friends now, you and I. I’m Y/N, by the way.” 

Theo hesitated only briefly before slipping his hand into yours. 

Warmth spread through him like a balm. 

“Theodore,” he replied softly. “But you can call me Theo.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Theo.” 

The final call for carriages echoed through the clearing. 

Fear coiled tight in Theo’s stomach once more. 

But your fingers remained laced with his. 

Steady. Certain. 

Safe.

“I think I can do it,” Theo whispered. “But only if you come with me.” 

You squeezed his hand without hesitation. 

“I’m with you, Theo,” you said softly. “For always.”

And as he climbed into the carriage—heart pounding, grief aching, fingers clinging to yours like a lifeline—Theo realized something monumental. 

For the first time since his mother died, he did not feel entirely alone. 

Everything would be alright. 

As long as you were with him.

Past

March 14, 2002

Oxford University — Oxford, England

As an only child, Theo had never quite mastered the art of sharing. 

Especially not when it came to you.

Since that fateful day in third year, the two of you had become inseparable in every conceivable way. House divisions had proved meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It did not matter that you were a Hufflepuff and he was a Slytherin. Theo still found ways to weave himself into every facet of your life. 

You were simply his person. 

He walked you to class, studied beside you in the library, shared meals with you in the Great Hall, and found endless excuses to remain by your side. 

Even after graduation when Oxford claimed you and Cambridge claimed him, distance had done little to diminish your bond.

You were still his constant. 

His safest place. 

His bella. 

Which was precisely why Theo immediately decided Cedric Diggory’s existence was, at best, deeply inconvenient.

The moment Theo entered the courtyard, his easy grin faltered. 

There you were, seated beneath a willow tree on a weathered wooden bench—the very bench Theo privately considered his whenever he visited. 

Only today, someone else occupied his rightful place beside you. 

Cedric Diggory. 

“Teddy!”

Your delighted grin lit up the courtyard as you hurried into his arms, and for one glorious moment, Theo forgot why his blood had begun to simmer. 

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” 

“Hi bella,” he murmured warmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I thought I’d arrive early so we could pick out wine for dinner.”

Theo smirked. 

“I’m thinking perhaps the cheapest bottle Aldi has to offer, mixed generously with Ribena. It might finally provoke Draco into a proper aristocratic meltdown.” 

You laughed. 

Cedric watched the exchange carefully. 

Too carefully. 

“You truly must stop antagonizing Draco,” you scolded half-heartedly. “One day, he’ll ban you from the manor entirely. Then where will you be without Tilly’s sticky toffee pudding?” 

Theo gasped dramatically. 

“A risk I’m willing to take,” he replied. “That’s what he gets for calling my Elven wine swill.” 

A snort interrupted the moment. 

Theo’s gaze slid, begrudgingly, toward Diggory.

Right. 

Him.

“Forgive us,” you said politely. “Theo, you remember Cedric from school, don’t you?” 

Theo offered the man a curt nod. 

“Diggory.” 

“Nott,” Cedric returned with maddening ease. “Y/N’s told me quite a lot about you.” 

“Naturally,” Theo drawled, waving a dismissive hand. “We are best friends, after all. Bonded through trauma and emotional devastation. It’s all terribly profound.” 

Theo draped an arm around your shoulders with practiced familiarity. 

“There’s no getting rid of me now, is there, bella?” 

Cedric’s smile remained easy, though something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. 

“He’s forever a pain in my arse,” you informed Cedric. “But occasionally charming when he’s not busy being an insufferable Cambridge snob.” 

Cedric chuckled. 

Theo did not care for how comfortable he seemed. 

“You’re attending Cambridge?” Cedric asked. 

Theo caught the note of surprise in his tone and immediately disliked it. 

“What are you studying?”

“Economics,” Theo replied coolly. “Someone has to repair the catastrophic damage my father inflicted upon our family’s vaults and holdings.” 

At the mention of his imprisoned Death Eater father, Cedric visibly stiffened. 

“I see,” Cedric said carefully. “That’s…admirable.” 

Theo resisted the urge to scoff. 

You, sensing the tension, quickly intervened. 

“Cedric is finishing his Mastery in Sports Medicine,” you explained. “He’s been helping me with my healing coursework.” 

Theo’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. 

How thoughtful.

“The immunology curriculum is brutal,” you continued. “Professor Fowler may very well be part troll.” 

“The man hasn’t smiled in a century,” Cedric added with a grin. “Though I imagine I wouldn’t either with a stick that far up my arse.” 

You laughed. 

Theo, personally, found the joke painfully mediocre. 

Still, he noted the ease with which Cedric inserted himself into your orbit. 

A problem.

“One Hufflepuff helping another,” Cedric said lightly as he adjusted his bag. “We tend to look after our own.”

Theo disliked that far more than he probably should have. 

Once Cedric finally excused himself, Theo exhaled sharply. 

“Merlin,” he muttered. “I thought he’d never leave.” 

You swatted his arm. “Be nice,” you chastised. “Cedric may be my only hope of surviving Immunology.” 

Theo effortlessly intercepted your bag before you could protest, slinging it over his shoulder as though it belonged there. 

“Fine,” he conceded dramatically. “I suppose Diggory has his uses.” 

His arm settled around you once more. “Just don’t go replacing me with him.” 

You blinked up at him, amused. 

“At the very least,” Theo continued, “find someone equally rich, devastatingly handsome, and exceptionally witty.” 

You giggled.

“Not to mention, extremely humble.” 

Theo smirked

“I intentionally omitted that trait. I didn’t wish to sound arrogant.” 

“Godric forbid,” you quipped, looping your arm through his. 

And just like that, balance was restored. 

This was how things were meant to be: you and Theo, arm in arm, trading barbs and banter, entirely in sync.

Theo glanced down as you tilted your face towards his, expression suddenly softening. 

“You know I could never replace you, right?” 

The sincerity in your voice struck him squarely in the chest. 

Theo adored that look—that earnest, nose-scrunched seriousness that only ever seemed to emerge when it came to him. 

“You’ll always be my person, Theo,” you said firmly. “Nothing is ever going to change that.”

Theo smiled then, truly smiled, and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head. 

“I know, bella.” 

His voice softened into something achingly sincere. 

“You’re with me, and I’m with you.” 

Theo squeezed your shoulder gently.

“For always.” 

Past

March 14, 2002

Malfoy Manor — Wiltshire, England

“What in the bloody hell did you put in this, Nott?” 

Theo feigned innocence with remarkable skill, though the mischievous glint in his watercolour eyes betrayed him entirely. 

Across the grand dining table, Draco Malfoy glared with all the indignation of an affronted aristocrat while dabbing cheap wine and Ribena from his mouth with a linen napkin. 

Beside Theo, you very nearly choked on your risotto trying—and failing—to suppress your laughter. 

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you mean, Draco,” Theo replied smoothly.

“Bullshit,” Draco snapped. “You tampered with my drink because you’re still bitter no one appreciated your precious wine selection at our last dinner.” 

Theo set his fork down with exaggerated offense.

“First of all,” he began haughtily, “everyone appreciated the wine. A distinguished 16th century Elven wine, which required significant effort to acquire, I might add. It’s hardly my fault your palate is too tragically pedestrian to appreciate fine craftsmanship.” 

Draco gaped. “So your solution was poisoning me?’ 

“It wasn’t poisoning,” Theo corrected. “It was a lesson. One does not insult my wine choices and walk away unscathed. Frankly, I’m beginning to think years of peroxide have finally seeped into your brain.” 

Mattheo nearly inhaled his firewhisky trying not to laugh, while Blaise and Enzo observed the exchange with the sort of rapt fascination usually reserved for Quidditch matches. 

“I do not dye my hair!” Draco hissed. “This is natural.” 

“Boys,” Pansy interrupted dryly.

Her tone alone could silence armies. 

Theo leaned back in his chair with all the elegance of a bored prince, his smirk remaining firmly intact.

“Could you both kindly save your childish bickering for later?” Pansy drawled. “There are more pressing matters at hand.”

A wicked smile curved her crimson lips.

“Such as when exactly Draco intends to ask Hermione Granger out on a proper date.” 

Silence.

Utter, catastrophic silence. 

Draco visibly paled. 

“How do you know about Granger?” 

Enzo grinned far too brightly. “Please, cousin. Everyone knows.” 

Theo watched with growing amusement as Draco’s expression shifted from horror to betrayal.

“Y/N called it after Granger slapped you in third year,” Enzo added cheerfully.

Draco’s narrowed eyes immediately found you. 

“You,” he accused, scandalized. “You were supposed to be above this lot of gossiping heathens, Y/N.” 

You, entirely unrepentant, merely shrugged. 

“What can I say, Dray? After years surrounded by snakes, corruption was inevitable.” 

Theo couldn’t help but laugh softly at the conspiratorial wink you shot Pansy. 

Merlin, he adored you. 

“Besides,” you added sweetly, “I happen to think you’d make a lovely couple. I could always mention it to her—”

“Absolutely not,” Draco sputtered, cheeks burning a truly spectacular shade of red. “No one will be asking Granger out on my behalf. I’ll handle it myself.” 

Theo smirked into his wine. 

Dinner continued with laughter, insults, and far too much firewhisky until eventually the group migrated into the lavish sitting room for post-dinner drinks. 

Theo settled into a velvet armchair near the roaring fireplace, one ankle crossed over his knee, while Mattheo occupied the chair opposite him. 

Across the room, you stood animatedly chatting with Blaise and Enzo about your upcoming graduation. 

Theo’s gaze softened instinctively. 

You looked radiant. 

Hopeful, passionate, alive with purpose. 

And Merlin, he was so proud of you. 

For years, Theo had witnessed firsthand your unwavering compassion, your fierce determination, and your relentless desire to help others. There was never any doubt in his mind that you would excel as a healer. 

St. Mungo’s would be lucky to have you.

“Have you told her yet?” 

Mattheo’s question shattered Theo’s reverie.

Theo sighed quietly.

A few weeks earlier, he had made the grave mistake of confessing to Mattheo that he planned to finally reveal his feelings for you. His friend had reacted with deeply unnecessary enthusiasm, claiming it was about bloody time Theo stopped "pining like a Victorian widow."

Rude.

Not inaccurate, unfortunately, but rude nonetheless.

“Not yet,” Theo admitted, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “I want her graduation to be about her. She’s worked too hard for me to overshadow it.” 

Mattheo nodded thoughtfully. 

“When do you leave for Rome?” 

“The day after graduation.” Theo exhaled. “Nonna needs my help managing family affairs. I’ll tell Y/N when I return. We’ve planned dinner with her mum.”

Mattheo was quiet for a moment. “Do you really think waiting is wise?” 

Theo’s gaze instinctively found you again. 

You were laughing now—head tilted back slightly, moonlight from the tall windows catching your features just so. 

Beautiful.

Always beautiful.

“I’ve already waited years,” Theo murmured softly, almost to himself.

Then, with the kind of devotion that rooted itself deep and permanent, he added:

“I’d wait a thousand more for her.”

Mattheo huffed a laugh. “That is, without question, the most revoltingly romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. 

But Mattheo’s teasing quickly faded, replaced by something more serious.

“Take it from someone who knows,” he said quietly, rising from his seat and clasping Theo’s shoulder. “Sometimes waiting costs you more than you’re prepared to lose.” 

Theo frowned slightly.

Mattheo rarely spoke with such gravity.

“Tell her,” his friend urged. “Tell her that you love her before it’s too late.” 

The words struck Theo harder than expected. 

Because deep down, he already knew Mattheo was right.

Still, as the evening wore on, Theo found himself stealing glances at you from across the room—memorizing your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when discussing your future. 

And for the first time, Theodore Nott truly confronted the terrifying possibility that perhaps time was not as endless as he had always assumed. 

Perhaps love, no matter how steadfast, was not something meant to remain unspoken forever. 

Perhaps the greatest risk was not telling you at all. 

Past

March 15, 2002

Cambridge University — Cambridge, England

Tell her that you love her before it’s too late. 

Mattheo’s parting words proved far more persistent than Theo would have liked. 

They haunted him. 

Relentless. Jarring. And entirely too wise for Theo’s comfort.

Long after the evening at Malfoy Manor ended, after Cambridge’s cobbled streets had fallen silent beneath the veil of night, Theo laid wide awake in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling while his thoughts churned mercilessly. 

Sleep, it seemed, had abandoned him entirely. 

Outside his window, the quaint campus slumbered peacefully. 

Inside, Theo’s mind was chaos. 

With an aggravated sigh, he finally surrendered to his restlessness. 

This was, unquestionably, Mattheo’s fault.

Careful not to disturb the elderly neighbors who already regarded him with enough suspicion, Theo slipped from bed and padded quietly across his flat. 

His office awaited him just beyond the hall—a room lined with dark mahogany shelves, polished wood, and the familiar scent of parchment and candle wax. 

Atop his desk sat a pristine stack of monogrammed stationery. 

Waiting. 

Theo stared as though it might somehow solve the impossible task before him. 

With a flick of his wand, candles burst softly to life around the room, casting golden light across the desk’s surface. 

The muggle fountain pen you had gifted him for his birthday hovered just above the blank parchment. 

And yet—

Nothing. 

Theo frowned. 

For once in his life, Theodore Nott found himself at a complete loss for words. 

Not because he didn’t know how he felt. 

Merlin, he knew.

He had replayed his confession a thousand times over in the privacy of his own mind. He knew the depth of it. The ache of it. The terrifying certainty of it. 

The problem was not emotion. 

It was articulation.

How was he meant to explain something that had become so deeply ingrained within him it no longer felt separate from his own existence? 

Theo did not know when exactly friendship had blurred into something deeper. 

He only knew that somewhere along the way, loving you had become as natural to him as breathing. 

There was no singular moment, no grand revelation, no distinct beginning. 

He simply…was.

He loved you in the quiet certainty of shared library afternoons. In every walk to class. In every holiday spent at your family’s table. In every forehead kiss. Every laugh. Every for always.

Theo could scarcely remember who he had been before you. 

And perhaps that was the most terrifying realization of all. 

Because how could he possibly condense nearly a decade of unwavering devotion into mere words on a page? 

How could language ever suffice when it came to you?

Theo exhaled slowly, gripping the pen more firmly. 

Then, with trembling resolve, he began the only way that had ever felt right.

Dear Bella.

And just like that, the floodgates opened. 

Ink flowed across parchment in elegant, practiced strokes. 

Page after page. Confession after confession. Every buried feeling, every hidden longing, every unspoken truth poured from him with startling clarity. 

Theo wrote of thestrals and grief, of friendship and survival, of laughter and devotion, of the way you had become his safest place in a world that so often demanded armor.

He wrote of loving you quietly. Completely. Endlessly. 

By the time Theo reached the final page, dawn had begun to stretch pale gold fingers across Cambridge’s skyline. 

Birdsong stirred faintly outside his window. 

The night had slipped away entirely. 

And there, at the bottom of the final page, Theo wrote the three words he had spent nearly ten years swallowing whole. 

I love you. 

Theo stared at them for a long while. 

Three simple words. 

So small, so fragile, so utterly catastrophic. And yet somehow, they carried the full weight of his heart. 

With careful hands, Theo folded the letter. 

He sealed nearly a decade of yearning behind emerald wax, pressing his monogrammed crest firmly into place. 

Then he sat back, staring at the confession that had the power to alter everything. 

His greatest hope. 

His greatest fear. 

Three little words. 

The beginning. 

The end. 

And perhaps, if fate were kind, something in between.

💌 TAGLIST: @harringtonsb1tch @allurearia @piayaluvsya @nonbeliever1 @daniel-is-bae @doseiiii

[simp-for-love]

Five more minutes

Theodore Nott x Reader

Theo Nott shows up to the library after a terrible day. Instead of talking about it, he buries himself in your arms and refuses to let go, turning your quiet study session into a soft, clingy moment of comfort.

Warnings: established relationship with a tired clingy boyfriend

Word count: ~1,4k

A/N: hi, hello. Yep, I'm trying to write again after a long break. This one was inspired by @nottendo post (no smut tho, sorry, babe). Love u ♡

The library had grown quiet around you.

Not silent, exactly. Hogwarts never truly went silent. There was always the soft scratch of quills, the distant shuffle of pages, the low crackle of torches along the stone walls. Somewhere behind a shelf, someone whispered too loudly and was immediately hushed.

But your corner had settled into something peaceful. A pile of books sat open in front of you, notes scattered across the table, ink pot dangerously close to the edge. You had been trying to focus for the better part of an hour, rereading the same paragraph on defensive charms until the words started to blur together.

Then Theo appeared.

You noticed him first by the way the chair beside you shifted, though he didn't sit in it. Instead, he hovered there, quiet and tired-looking, his school tie loosened, dark hair falling messily over his forehead. His eyes, usually sharp with dry amusement, looked heavy today.

You softened immediately.

"Theo?" you asked gently.

He said nothing at first. He only stepped closer, leaned down, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind. His face disappeared into the crook of your neck.

You froze for half a second in quiet surprise before your hand instinctively came up to rest over his arm.

"Bad day?" you murmured.

Theo hummed against your skin. It was a low, unhappy sound.

"That bad?"

He just nodded slightly, his nose brushing your neck, and tightened his hold around you. His body curved over yours like he had been holding himself together all day and had finally found somewhere safe enough to fall apart a little.

You let your quill drop onto the parchment, focusing on him fully. "What happened?"

"Don't want to talk about it," he mumbled quietly, voice muffled against your skin.

"Okay."

He seemed grateful for that. His shoulders loosened slightly, though he didn't let go.

For a while, you let him stay there. You could feel the warmth of him against your back, the soft rise and fall of his breathing against your skin. His thumbs moved absentmindedly over the sleeve of your jumper, slow and soothing, as if he were comforting himself with the texture of it.

You turned your head just enough to brush your cheek against his hair. "I do have to study, you know," you said softly.

Theo went still.

Then, with all the dignity of a wounded prince, he whined.

It was quiet, barely more than a breath, but it was so unlike his usual composed self that you had to bite back a chuckle.

"Theo."

"No."

You laughed under your breath. "No?"

"No," he repeated, voice low and petulant as if he were a 5-year-old. "You studied yesterday."

"That's not how exams work."

"They should."

You tried to turn back toward your notes, but Theo only buried his face deeper into your neck, his arms tightening around you as if he could physically prevent you from returning to your work.

"Theodore Nott," you warned, though there was no real bite in it.

He just made another miserable sound and nuzzled further. "Five more minutes," he muttered.

"You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"That was a different five minutes."

You smiled despite yourself.

Theo must have felt it, because he pressed a little closer, his lips brushing the side of your throat in something too soft to be a kiss and too tender to be accidental.

"Please," he whispered softly.

That made you pause.

Theo didn't beg often. He rarely asked for anything directly in general. Usually, he hovered at the edges of affection, pretending not to need it until you offered it first. But now his voice had gone quiet and rough, stripped of all sarcasm.

You reached back and touched his hair softly. His breath caught slightly in his throat.

"Really terrible day?" you asked quietly, voice laced with a gentle worry.

He nodded once, and it made your heart ached.

With a sigh, you pushed your books away and carefully turned in your chair. Theo loosened his grip just enough to let you move, but not enough to let you go. The moment you faced him, he stepped between your knees and leaned into you again.

You cupped his face. He looked so exhausted as if he'd been running around the Hogwarts since the last you saw him.

"Oh, Theo," you breathed out softly.

His eyes flickered over your face, guarded and vulnerable all at once. "I just wanted to see you."

"You did see me."

"No," he said, frowning slightly as if it was obvious. "I wanted this."

Before you could ask what he meant, he folded himself into you, arms sliding around your waist as he tucked his face back into your neck. You wrapped yourself around him instinctively, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other resting between his shoulder blades.

He exhaled like he had been waiting all day to breathe. "You're warm."

"And you're freezing."

"Mhm."

"You need to take better care of yourself."

"I have you."

"That is not a care plan."

"It's my favorite one."

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers kept moving gently through his hair. Theo melted under the touch. His entire posture changed, the tension draining from him bit by bit. He leaned more heavily into you, trusting you to hold him together, and you did.

The library around you faded into the background. There was only Theo, tired and clingy and soft in a way he showed almost no one else. Theo, who looked like winter to everyone else but felt like a quiet fire when he was this close. Theo, who hid his bruises behind clever remarks and cold eyes, but came to you when the day had been too much.

"You know," you said quietly, "Madam Pince is going to throw us out if you keep standing here like this."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Then you'll have to stop studying."

"You're impossible."

He gave a small, satisfied hum. You felt him smile against your skin.

"There he is," you murmured warmly.

Theo lifted his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet yours. "Who?"

"My Theo."

Something in his expression shifted. The teasing disappeared. For a second, he only looked at you, blinking slowly.

Then his face softened so completely that it nearly broke your heart.

"Yours?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. "If you want to be."

His hands tightened at your waist. "I do." No hesitation. No sarcasm. No clever deflection.

Just the truth.

Your thumb stroked his cheek. "Then yes. My Theo."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch like the words had settled somewhere deep inside him.

"You make everything quiet," he whispered.

You swallowed slightly and softly kissed his head. "Is that a good thing?"

His eyes opened again, darker now, gentler. "It's the best thing."

You didn't know what to say to that, so you simply pulled him closer. Theo followed easily, sinking into your arms until his forehead rested against your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You held him while the torches burned low and your abandoned notes lay forgotten on the table. His breathing evened out slowly, his fingers no longer clutching at you quite so desperately. Every now and then, he shifted closer as if reminding himself you were still there.

Eventually, you murmured, "I really do have to study."

Theo groaned.

You just laughed softly. "Theo."

"Five more minutes."

"You are going to say that forever."

"Yes."

"Theo."

He lifted his head, just enough to look at you through his lashes. "Your scent and warmth make me feel at home."

He seemed embarrassed the second the words left him. His gaze dropped, a faint flush touched the tips of his ears. But you didn't tease him — you just can't when your heart was aching so terrifyingly beautiful in your chest at his words. You only pulled him back in and kissed the side of his head gently.

The books could wait.

The essay could wait.

The exam could even wait, at least for a little while.

Theo had spent the whole day being sharp-edged and silent for the rest of the world. But here, with you, he was soft. Here, he was safe. Here, he could bury his face into the crook of your neck and ask for five more minutes like it was the only thing keeping him together.

So you held him tighter.

"Okay," you whispered. "Five more minutes."

Theo sighed, warm and relieved against your skin.

And this time, neither of you pretended it would only be five.

[cabin7jackson]

From me, to you.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨

Saltwater and Strawberry Jam

Percy Jackson x Reader

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The kitchen in Cabin Three smelled like a disaster area, but it was a happy disaster.

Percy was stood by the small counter, a streak of flour across his jaw and a look of intense, comedic concentration on his face. He was currently trying to flip a pancake using a plastic spatula that was definitely not designed for high-stakes culinary maneuvers.

"Don't do it," you said, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of hot cider between your hands. "Percy, I'm warning you. The last one ended up on the ceiling fan."

"That was a fluke," Percy argued, not taking his eyes off the sizzling batter. "The structural integrity of that pancake was compromised from the start. This one? This one is a masterpiece. Watch and learn."

With a dramatic flick of his wrist, he tossed the pancake into the air. It flipped twice, caught a rogue breeze from the open window, and landed with a soft splat right on top of his own head.

For a second, there was total silence.

Then, you absolutely lost it. You laughed so hard you had to set your cider down on the table to keep from spilling it, your shoulders shaking as you pointed at him.

Percy stood perfectly still, the pancake draped over his messy black hair like a floppy, golden-brown beanie. A single drop of blue food coloring trickled down his forehead. He blinked at you, completely deadpan.

"Are you done?" he asked, though a twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

"Not even close," you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye. "It suits you, honestly. It’s a good look. Very avant-garde."

"Glad you appreciate fine art," he said. He reached up, peeled the pancake off his head, and tossed it into the trash with a sigh. "Okay, so maybe my flipping technique needs work. But the batter tastes good!"

To prove his point, he scooped a bit of leftover blue batter onto his finger and offered it to you. You leaned forward and bit it off, laughing when he immediately used his clean hand to smudge a dot of flour onto the tip of your nose.

"Hey!"

"Payback," he grinned, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. He smelled like ocean air, sweet batter, and the strawberry fields outside. "Besides, you have a beautiful laugh. I have to do ridiculous things to hear it."

You placed your hands on his chest, looking up into his sea-green eyes, which were bright and completely clear—no storms, no weight of the world, just warmth. "You don't have to wear breakfast as a hat just to make me laugh, Jackson."

"It helps, though," he murmured, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "Admission price is pretty cheap. Just one smile."

"You're a dork."

"Yeah, but I'm your dork." He kissed the tip of your flour-dusted nose, then kissed your lips, sweet and lingering, tasting faintly of sugar.

When he pulled back, he smiled, his hand coming up to gently brush a stray hair out of your eyes. "Come on. Let's abandon the kitchen before Chiron sees the ceiling. The sun's out, the canoes are unlocked, and I promise not to flip the boat this time."

"Is that a demigod promise?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

"Strictly a human one," Percy laughed, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the door. "Which means it’s way more reliable. Let's go."

[snowynns]

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝓟.𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐎𝐍: Dress reveal got me down.

♡. 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐬 : Percy is convinced he fell in love with you a second time at his mother's wedding & it rewires his brain.

Percy thinks—no, knows—this is one of those moments that rewires his brain chemistry forever, not in a neat way, not like something he’ll look back on calmly later, but in a way where his head feels too full all at once and his body doesn’t know what to do with the excess.

He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs and his foot keeps tapping against the floor even though he told himself to stop doing that, even though Annabeth shot him a look a minute ago. His suit jacket is pulling weird at the shoulders. The tie is too tight. He loosens it, then tightens it again because loose feels worse somehow. His hands don’t settle and they just keep opening and closing.

The apartment is warm, maybe too warm??? Someone brushed past him earlier and apologized and he nodded like a normal person, but it barely registered. Everything felt delayed, as if he’s underwater without actually being underwater, maybe the air has the wrong density.

The stairs are empty. They won’t be empty for long.

He knows that. He’s known it for ten minutes. Maybe longer. Time’s doing something strange.

His mom is getting married.

That fact keeps floating back up, disjointed, like a notification he keeps swiping away without reading properly. Sally Jackson— his mom, the constant and the anchor in his life— is standing in the next room in white, about to walk into a new part of her life. Percy’s chest tightens every time he remembers it, not in a bad way, he's overwhelmed by happiness.

People move around him. Paul says something about the rings. Someone asks Percy if he’s ready and he nods automatically, because yes, he is, he has been for years, for all of this— his mom happy, his mom safe, his mom choosing something good.

Oh, but Percy's mind is also floating another way— what could he possibly do when he sees you in that dress?

Just when his mind is wondering you descend the stairs. The light catches on the curve of your shoulder, the way the dress fits perfectly and accentuates your beautiful body. You hold the railing with one hand, bouquet in the other, and you laugh at something someone whispers behind you.

That’s when it happens.

One second he’s smiling, the next his mouth is trembling, and then— gods— then the tears are just there, spilling.

“Oh—no, no, no,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-breaking, dragging the heel of his hand under one eye, then the other, failing miserably.

Percy never got that moment, did he?

The prom staircase with the dress reveal and the chance to stand there and think: ‘that’s her, she chose me while the rest of the world watched.’

Percy is already there when you reach the last step. He stops short close to the railing, eyes wide and glossy, mouth opening and then closing again. His tie is crooked and one sleeve is wrinkled from where he’s been fidgeting with it all afternoon.

You notice immediately.

His shoulders are tight, his breath uneven, and when he blinks, a tear slips out anyway. He laughs under his breath like he’s embarrassed, and you lower your bouquet to give attention to your boyfriend.

“Percy?” you ask, worry threading into your voice as you step closer. “Hey love— what’s wrong?”

Your hand comes up to his face before he can answer, thumbs brushing under his eyes, catching the tears he didn’t even realize were falling yet. He leans into the touch instinctively, he’s been practically knocked off balance and you’re both the cause and the thing that sustains him.

“I’m fine,” he says, sniffing hard and ruining the lie. He drags his wrist across his nose, laughs again, softer this time, and looks at you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. “I swear. I just— gods.”

He swallows, voice thick. “You’re so pretty.”

Another sniff. His hands settle at your waist, not tight but steady, grounding himself there. He looks a little wrecked, eyes red, lashes wet, with a smile trembling and sincere.

“I didn’t think it would hit me like this,” he admits quietly.

“You came down the stairs and I just—froze. I never got to have that moment with you. Prom, or anything like that. Seeing you all dressed up and walking toward me.” His thumb starts tracing small, absent circles against your side. “And now here you are, and I can’t stop thinking about how lucky I am.”

Someone clears their throat nearby. A camera flashes but Percy barely gives his attention to it. He presses his forehead to yours for a second, breathing you in, pulling himself together a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, still smiling, still sniffing. “I’m just really in love with you.”

The room is dark except for the thin stripe of city light slipping through the curtains, cutting across the bed and the floor.

The wedding ended two hours ago and there you are, warm beside him, one leg tangled with his, your back pressed lightly to his chest. Percy stays still for a long moment, listening at your breathing slow and even, the kind that tells him you’re really asleep this time.

He shifts just enough to free one arm, careful not to wake you. His hand stays on your waist, fingers splayed for the reminder that you’re there. He reaches for his phone with the other hand, and winces when the screen lights up too bright, immediately dimming it down.

Rings.

He types it in and then deletes it. Types again. Engagement rings. He exhales quietly through his nose, lips pressing together as the page loads. His thumb hovers, hesitant, before he starts scrolling.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for at first.

Too flashy feels wrong. Too simple feels like it’s missing something. He keeps glancing at your hand where it rests against the pillow, memorizing the shape of your fingers, the way they curl when you sleep. He reaches out, gently, lifting your hand just enough to slide his own under it, lining his fingers up with yours, testing how it would look someday.

“Yeah,” he whispers to himself, barely sound at all. “Okay.”

He scrolls slower now. Stops on one. Zooms in. Back out.

He lets out another sniff, quiet and ridiculous, because somehow he’s emotional again. He wipes his nose on the edge of the sheet and shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

He taps a few tabs open, compares bands, stones, settings. Reads reviews.

He imagines you wearing it while brushing your teeth, while cooking dinner, while absentmindedly twisting it around your finger when you’re nervous. He imagines the weight of it there and how permanent that would make everything in the best way.

He wants to spend his life with you forever.

You shift in your sleep, brow creasing slightly, and he freezes instantly. His phone locks instantly and his hand tightens at your waist, pulling you a fraction closer until you settle again, breath evening out. He lets out the breath he was holding, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your shoulder.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, even if you can't hear him.

When he unlocks his phone again, he saves a few.

“Just bookmarks. It's nothing official.” He’s trying to think, trying not to rush it— he just wants to know what forever might look like in metal and stone. His thumb pauses over one last ring, simple, sturdy and beautiful.

He glances at you one more time, at the way your hair spills over the pillow, at how safe you look there with him.

“Soon,” he ends up with, and finally sets the phone down.

He pulls you closer, arm snug around your waist, nose tucked into your hair. His breathing slows to match yours, the glow of the screen fading from his eyes but not from his chest.

♡ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

♡ 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝ 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

💭: Someone asked for this one repost.

[whoactuallyknowsanything]

Masterlist!!!!

Percy Jackson

Big Brother

Blue Banana Bread

Chiron

Father Figure

[vampireedolll]

Lunch Date | Fire Lord!Zuko

✰summary: goes on his first date after reconnecting with his childhood rival✰

✰wc: 2k✰

✰pairing: firebender!F!reader x fire lord zuko ✰

✰pt. 2 to this fic :) ✰

✰ gif credits: @/nohardheroes ✰

"Zuko, you need to relax. Everything is going to be fine."

Zuko wishes he could relax, but can't. He knows his uncle is right and that he should listen, but every second that passes, another thing that could go wrong pops into his head.

His uncle helps him find the right thing to wear on his date. Holding up different robes to Zuko's body. This is the first date he's been on probably since he was 17 or 18, with the girl he is still convinced hates him, at least partially. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before and spent his morning meeting dozing off, thinking about her. Wondering if she was looking for it as much as he was, or if she really was too nervous to say no. She had grown up seeing how his father was to him and Azula, maybe she thinks he's the same.

"You don't know that, Uncle. What if the date is horrible and she never wants to talk to me? I can't be paired with whoever the council wants to set me up with." He runs his hands over his face. "What if she doesn't even want to go on a date with me in the first place?"

"She said yes to the date. Why would she not want to go, Zuko?"

"What if she felt that she couldn't say no because I'm Fire Lord and thought I would… banish her or something if she said no."

His uncle stares at him a little. "Zuko, you have never banished anyone as Fire Lord, and why would she assume you'd start with the fire-bending teacher? That would look pretty bad, too."

Zuko nods, running his hands over his face. He knows his Uncle is trying to make him laugh. And he knows that it did sound a bit ridiculous, but it didn't ease his nerves about the date. And that is obvious to his uncle.

"Zuko. Take a deep breath. The first set of robes you had out was fine. The date will be bad if you're not relaxed."

Zuko wants to listen, but he can't relax. When he saw you for the first time at the fire bending school, his heart was racing, and his palms were sweating. He felt like he was 13 years old again, with shaky hands and unable to think clearly, whenever he saw you.

"Where is your date going to be?" His uncle asks him.

"Uh, we're having a picnic in the gardens in the palace. Thought it would be best if our first date was out of the public."

"That is smart. The gardens are beautiful. I'm sure she will enjoy it. Everything will be fine. Here, try this new tea blend I brought back from Ba Sing Se."

Zuko takes the tea but sets it down on the table instead of drinking it. He puts his head in his hands and lets out an annoyed groan. "I don't want to have an arranged marriage, uncle! I don't want the councilmen pairing me up with a poor woman who has no interest in me!"

"Zuko. Relax. It will be fine, don't worry about the future, or you'll miss the present."

Zuko is running late. A few chamber members had stopped him in the hallway about a few matters, and he ended up being almost 15 minutes late to when you planned to meet.

As he makes his way to the garden, he sees you're already there, sitting on a blanket he had laid out. You're reading a book in your lap, eating some of the fruit, and he assumes one of the ladies who works in the kitchen provided it for you while you wait. He takes a deep breath, his uncle's words replaying in his head as he walks towards you.

"Hey."

His voice gets your attention from your book, and you look up at him, giving him a small smile. "Hey."

He sits down across from you, setting down the basket of food he brought. "Were you waiting long? I tried to come straight here, a few chamber members found me and… yeah." He stops himself from rambling on about the worries of running the fire nation, assuming you have little interest in such matters.

"Sorry, I'm late. I see they have given you food while you wait."

She nods, scooting the bowls of fruit and snacks more towards the middle for him to take too.

"Mhm. I had to remind myself that this was a picnic to refrain from finishing the bowl."

The mention of the picnic reminds Zuko of the meal he had brought. He takes it out of the basket that the chefs have prepared. "Speaking of which, I brought these. Um, there's Fire cakes, Hot cakes, and Noodle soup with Komoro." He awkwardly scratches his head, hoping it wasn't too much.

Her eyes take in the spread of food, and she grabs one of the serving bowls and some of the noodles. He does the same. "Um, how was your day?" He asks, trying to fill the awkward silence.

"Not too bad. I mean, trying to get kids to not burn each other on purpose is tiring, but their parents usually give me nice gifts for teaching their children to not burn things around the house, so it's okay."

"Did you get a gift today?"

"I got a big basket of fruit from one parent and got some flowers from my mother. She told me that her daughter would burn holes in her clothes before she learned to manage her flames."

He watches her smile slightly, and her eyes brighten slightly as she talks about her students. "How'd you start teaching fire benders? I don't know how you have the patience. I get annoyed as is with the chamber members and advisors, I don't think I could handle teaching fire benders."

"Well, first, you've never had any patience. But as for how I got started, my sister taught them before me, but then she got married and had her own kids, and I needed a job, so I took over for her."

"Do you like it?"

She nods, eating another bite of the noodles. "It makes the days interesting. I would be bored having a standard job, you know. Well.. I guess you are ruling the Fire Nation."

They fall into conversations talking about what they've been up to. And the more they spoke, the less nervous Zuko became. The conversations felt natural and comfortable. Every so often, Zuko would find himself distracted by her, by the way her face would light up when she spoke about something she was passionate about.

"So you need a wife?"

Zuko pauses mid-bite of the food he had put in his mouth. Caught off guard by the topic change. He slowly finishes chewing so as not to choke before speaking. "W-what?"

"You mentioned when you came by the school that you needed a girlfriend, or you were gonna have an arranged marriage instead."

"Did…did I say that?"

She nods.

"Well…" He starts, but she interrupts.

"Was this date not for you to ask us to start dating? I mean, I'm not sure we know each other well enough to get married, but I'd be open to dating."

Zuko stares at her, speechless, blinking slightly. A few seconds pass before finally words enter his brain.

"Uh, well, technically yes… I do need a wife. And I um would like to date you. But we don't have to talk about marriage or anything yet. We can take it slow. I'm not expecting you to just jump into marriage.

She nods, smiling a bit. "Well, I'd like to date you too, Dum Dum. But guess I don't really have a choice, can't really say no to the fire lord, can I?" Her voice is filled with humor and teasing, she clearly did not think that was true.

He laughs, rolling his eyes. "You know thats not true."

"Oh, it is. I heard the last girl who turned you down got exiled to an unknown island. Never to be seen again."

"Shut up." He says with another laugh. "You know no one has ever been exiled since I've became Fire Lord."

She shrugs, smiling clearly amused, but then she shifts from where she was sitting and slowly leans in and kisses his lips. It's longer than the kiss they shared at the Firebending School. Zuko moves his hands to your waist, gently pulling her closer against him. The kiss makes Zuko's head spin just slightly, and his heart starts to race.

But just as they were interrupted at the fire-bending school, once again, they are interrupted by the sounds of footsteps crunching on some leaves. The two of them pull apart, and Zuko suppresses an annoyed sigh, knowing it was probably one of his chamber members or advisors needing him. They straighten up a bit as it turns out it was his advisor. He knows that this means the end of their date.

She leans over the food and kisses him. It's short and over just as soon as it starts, but it still leaves Zuko's face blushing.

"Um, Lord Zuko? Sorry to bother you, but there is a situation you need to be aware of."

Zuko nods, trying to hide his annoyance and disappointment. He brushes the dirt and food crumbs off his robe. "Yes. I'll be there shortly."

His advisors bow slightly before leaving. Zuko starts to pack the food back into the basket he brought.

"Sorry that I have to go so soon." He says his voice is filled with disappointment and guilt. But when he looks at her, Zuko only sees contentment, even a hint of excitement in her eyes.

She shakes her head as she helps him with the food. "Don't worry about it, Dum Dum, I had fun. And this is probably something I will have to get used to, being the future Fire Lady of the Fire Nation." She teases.

"Still. I'll try not to make it a common occurrence. You can write to me whenever you are available to do this again.

"You should probably just write me. I'm sure your schedule is far busier than mine."

"No. I can-I'll work around that. I don't want everything to be on my terms." His voice softens when he says the second half of his sentence. Because it was true. He didn't want everything to be around him. He wanted to be as normal as possible when he was with her. She was one of the few people who still made jokes and relaxed around him.

She holds his gaze, taking his words in, and he can tell she understood what he was trying to tell her.

"Okay. I'll let you know."

They stand up, preparing to go their separate ways, but Zuko takes her hand in his and kisses her lips. This kiss lasts longer than the quick one you gave him earlier, but it's still too short. But he walked away, heading back inside the palace, as she left through the opposite end. Already thinking about their next date.

Tag List: @radicaldualism @eiyu-ri @randomfan218-blog

[iamlins]

DC × neglect!demigod!READER × PJO

LUKE CASTELLAN × demigod!READER × THALIA GRACE(platonic) × ANNABETH CHASE(platonic)

post < pt.v(here)

Words: 1246 Letters: 7176

Warning: Death, disappointment, nice and cool Diana, comfort at the end, family relationships, harassment, escapes, possible deviation from the canon.

(Remember! English is not my native language. I translate all my texts through a translator. If you find any mistakes, don't be afraid to write to me about them. And don't criticize too much, please)

DEMIGOD!reader...

Who was getting pretty tired of all the running...

Having lost her ring, the girl felt unnecessary and useless. She suspected, sensed, that her mother was involved. She did not like her daughter's bold answer and negative attitude, and she decided to take her gift back.

Using her first heavenly bronze knife, DEMIGOD!reader helped in any way she could. She felt guilty in front of the group, but they wouldn't let the girl talk about herself like that.

Nightmares have become frequent visitors. Although they used to be present too, now they dreamed every night, repeating the same plots. She dreamed of a pine tree, a grown-up Annabeth with an unfamiliar blue-eyed boy. But the worst nightmare was Luke, who had grown up with a scar near his eye, one golden eye instead of a beautiful blue one, and the knife Annabeth had given him in his hands.

She tried to stay awake, spending the whole night on duty, guarding the sleep and safety of her family. Sometimes she was joined by Thalia, Luke, and even baby Annabeth, who hugged her tightly, telling her that everything would be fine. She really hoped for it herself.

Meanwhile, Bruce was looking for at least some clues about the ring left by DEMIGOD!reader.

None of his children had ever seen it before, but it was clear that it held great power. After scanning it, Tim and Barbara did not find any mechanisms capable of turning it into a dagger in a matter of seconds.

Jason, or the Red Hood, became even more inspired to search for her after Bruce told him about his meeting with DEMIGOD!reader, hoping that she could not have gone far.

Without losing hope, Batman decided to take the ring to the Justice League and show it to the one who understands rings — the Green Lantern. After hearing a negative answer to his question about whether he had seen a similar ring before, Bruce already wanted to give up.

Suddenly, Diana, passing by, saw the ring and felt its divine power and the familiar aura of the Greek gods. Approaching the two superheroes, she asked what Batman was doing with a ring endowed with divine energy.

Bruce asked me to tell you in more detail what Wonder Woman means. After briefly explaining what this ring is and by whom it can be created, she once again asked her question. To this, the vigilante replied that it had been left to him by his "missing" daughter, omitting the whole story.

Diana congratulated him, saying that most likely his daughter is a demigod, and he slept with a goddess.

Bruce asked to find the owner of the ring, if possible, and Wonder Woman hesitated to agree, not knowing that the owner of the ring had escaped from her father's arms with all her might.

When the Cyclops chasing them drives them to Brooklyn, the four demigods get lost in its maze. When the girl hears Luke's voice and follows his trail, she comes across Annabeth saying that she hears her father's voice.

When the two girls find themselves in the place where the sound came from, they see Thalia and Luke tied up and hanging by their legs. While baby Annie distracts the monster and wounds it in the leg, DEMIGOD!reader frees two prisoners from the ropes.

Running away from Cyclops, they meet a satyr who introduces himself as Grover. He says he's here to escort Zeus' daughter to Camp Half-blood. After hearing that there is a safe place for people like them, the demigods do not hesitate to follow the demigod.

A few days later, the friends and the satyr arrive on a hill, behind which they can already see huge strawberry fields, faint lights and several children in bright orange T-shirts.

When they almost reach their destination, the cyclops, who has been chasing them all this time, finally catches up with them. It was not profitable to engage in battle: the demigods were exhausted from the incessant running and chasing. But Thalia's eyes flashed with a fury and confidence unknown before.

DEMIGOD!reader tries to dissuade the girl from self-sacrifice, saying that all four of them will get to the camp, that they will make it in time. To which Thalia only hugs the elder demigoddess tightly one last time, saying that she will definitely save them, and then with crushing confidence she moves towards the monster.

Although Thalia manages to defeat Cyclops, she pays for her victory with her life.

Watching Zeus save his daughter by turning her into a pine tree to guard the camp, DEMIGOD!reader can't cry. No matter how much she wanted to. She cannot accept the death of her sister, her mainstay and best friend.

Hugging Annabeth softly, she can barely contain her cries of despair. But you have to hold on. For the sake of the Thalia. For Annie's sake. For Luke's sake. She can't let her emotions run wild when others are already feeling bad. Taking the younger demigoddess in her arms, she quietly walks towards the lights.

In the morning, when they are introduced to the camp participants, as if mocking the girl, the mother immediately marks her as her daughter. Eris's mark glows over her head like a curse. She immediately receives incredulous and contemptuous looks from some demigods and sympathetic looks from others. But she doesn't care. She only tightens her grip on Luke's hand as he strokes her palm with his thumb, silently comforting her.

After Athena marks Annabeth and Hermes marks Luke, DEMIGOD!reader and blue—eyed stay in cabin eleven because Eris doesn't have her own cabin, and Annabeth goes to the sixth, to her stepbrothers and sisters.

Life was getting back to normal. They learned to fight, read, and speak ancient Greek. In my free time, escaping from reality and problems, DEMIGOD!reader spent time at the Thalia's tree. Remembering her nightmares, she blamed herself for not trying to prevent it.

On one of these evenings, when she was telling Thalia about the day and funny situations (she didn't want to bother Thalia with her problems), she came to her — Diana Prince, better known as Wonder Woman.

The first thing I did was ask if it was her ring. When DEMIGOD!reader saw the lost ring, she felt no joy, only pain. If her mother hadn't taken it away from her, she might have sensed the danger and avoided death.

Honestly answering the Amazon's question, she asks her to return to her family, because her father is very worried about her. Grinning at the warrior's summons, the demigoddess refuses. When Diana asks the reason for her refusal, the broken girl's composure cracks. She begins her life story quietly, but ends with hysterical tears, begging the woman not to tell her father about her whereabouts and to lie that she had not found the owner of the ring, if only for the sake of the memory of their common sister, who became a tree.

Zeus' daughter agrees, but offers to leave her the ring. Eris' daughter refuses her mother's gift, renouncing their bond.

As she leaves, Amazon promises that she won't tell anyone about her secret, and wishes them luck.

As she watches the disappearing heroine, she feels a familiar presence behind her. She moves closer to the pine tree, making room for the Luke. He sits down next to her without a word.

They remain sitting under the starry sky, each thinking about his own...

taglist: @bat1212 @otmyname @sarah-luz @jennysketchup @s1mppp @eveeevelyn @cookiepersona @stormnightingale @mymmyrym @ilovecoffe0 @3-smi @venomsvl @duckyduck25 @mousedit @mosseetrees @juninnyxriddle @esposadomd

[Eeeeeehhhh.. I finished the first act. I'll take a break from everything for a couple of days and start writing the second Act. But don't worry, I won't stop writing other works, I have so many ideas. And thank you for reading me.]

[iamlins]

DC × neglect!demigod!READER × PJO

LUKE CASTELLAN × demigod!READER × THALIA GRACE(platonic) × ANNABETH CHASE(platonic)

post < pt.iii(here) > next

Words: 1195 Letters: 6879

Warning: anger, revival, quarrels, acquired family, deaths, consolation , hurt-comfort

(Remember! English is not my native language. I translate all my texts through a translator. If you find any mistakes, don't be afraid to write to me about them. And don't criticize too much, please)

DEMIGOD!reader...

Who still misses Jason....

When Jason returns, he expects to see his beloved sister and dear friend, to inform them that everything is fine with him. She's the only person he doesn't want to hold a grudge against.

He remembers all their happy moments, but when he returns, he sees emptiness.He doesn't see her..

She's nowhere to be found.

He no longer feels her gloomy but familiar aura.

Only later does he find out that she has disappeared and begins to get even more angry and blame Bruce for not being able to save her as well.

He starts his own search, but sees no trace of NEGLECT!reader.

But no matter what happens, he's not going to give up.

He would find her at any cost.

Who hasn't been apart from Luke for three years and is happy to welcome a new member into her group...

DEMIGOD!reader and Luke ran into a surprisingly large cluster of monsters chasing them.

Initially, they tried to fight back, but deciding that this was not bringing any results, they rushed into bego.

But having driven themselves into a dead end, they could only pray to all the gods for salvation and help. But the gods, as we know, do not care about the problems of their children.

So, having already lost hope of salvation and fighting off the monsters with their last strength, the two demigods felt a strong aura and a girl no older than twelve appeared in front of them with a menacing look, radiating tremendous power.

Before the friends could blink, the girl rushed to the attack. Inspired by the courage of the young demigodess, as they could guess from her spear capable of killing monsters, Wayne and Castellan immediately begin to fight with greater force.

After quickly defeating the monsters, the three demigods quickly leave the battlefield, hiding among the trees in the forest.

There they find out that the girl in front of them is named Thalia Grace and that she is the daughter of Zeus himself, the king of the gods.

DEMIGOD!reader invites Thalia to join them and she happily accepts her offer.

Thalia tells them about her "dead" brother and her drinking mother. He says that his brother's death was the last straw before his escape.

It all reminds DEMIGOD!reader of herself, so she and Luke swear that they will never leave her and will always be there for her.

Who didn't hesitate to help Thalia chase her father's magical goat...

Chasing Almathea all the way to Richmond, the three demigods see a huge, creepy mansion.

DEMIGOD!reader immediately senses that something is amiss, but it looks like their unpleasant memories and associations of their past.

After Luke uses his abilities to open the door of the mansion, and then it slams shut behind them, the friends try to escape through the windows, but enchanted curtains fall on them. Running up the stairs to the top, they see in front of them an elderly man who introduces himself as Halcyon Green.

It turns out that he spoke with the help of Lecrot because Apollo, his father, took away his ability to speak after he used his abilities to save a girl who was destined to die. He was trapped here in order to attract demigods to feed the monsters.

After hearing his story, DEMIGOD!reader remains disappointed by the cruelty of the gods. But the fear of death from lecrot does not disappear anywhere.

Thalia persuades Halcyon to send the monsters away and talk on Eden. She learns from Helkion that most of the demigods came here for a magical artifact hidden in a chest, unlocking which, Hal's curse will be lifted. Then she guesses why Almathea was leading her.

Luke manages to open the lock and they find a silver bracelet.

Thalia tries to activate the bracelet, thinking that it must have some special power, while Luke and DEMIGOD!reader try to find a way out.

Meanwhile, Hal tries to predict the future once again. He tells Talia that she will find her family in the future. To Luke, who sees betrayal and fire in his future. DEMIGOD!reader he says that her future is shrouded in darkness and loss, which worries the young girl very much.

When Luke guesses to use Greek fire to escape, the four of them search for the potion recipe in the library.

Luke mixes a potion for Greek fire, and Thalia tries to summon a lightning bolt to finish it, and the stone on the DEMIGOD!reader ring begins to glow stronger and stronger, foreshadowing trouble. Meanwhile, Halcyon Green gives Luke his diary and his knife and tells him to learn from his mistakes. Just then, the bars lift, and the leucrotae come out. Hal sacrifices himself to give Luke, DEMIGOD!reader and Thalia enough time to run for it. He uses the bomb to set the mansion on fire, and while being attacked by the monsters, Luke figures out how to activate the bracelet, by using a code word, Aegis.

Who would never trade her friends for immortality...

When Artemis hunters rescue the three demigods during one of the battles, DEMIGOD!reader senses a catch.

When Zoey starts offering them and Thalia to join their ranks, she immediately rudely cuts off their offer, not wanting to leave Luke. Talia is hesitant, but also decides to stay with her friends, not wanting to leave them, which makes Zoey angry and in anger says that Luke will disappoint and betray them.

Talia is angry at the huntress. DEMIGOD!reader remembers Hal's prophecy, but is shaken by misgivings, not believing that her Luke will be able to betray someone.

Who rejoices when she finds a brave little girl of seven, to whom Luke gives his knife.

Who is more than happy to travel with her new little family, but it turns out not to be safe...

After building more than a dozen shelters, before the last one was destroyed and Thalia's leg was injured, Luke decides to take the company to his old house to patch up the leg of Zeus' daughter.

When friends find themselves at Mae Castellan's house, DEMIGOD!reader is horrified by the mess.

But they're not the only ones who visited Luke's mom..

While Mae and DEMIGOD!reader are treating Thalia's leg, the girls hear the rising voices of Luke and his father from the next room.

When the boy's voice breaks into a scream, he storms out of the room and runs away, holding DEMIGOD!reader tightly by the hand. The girls quickly rush after them...

Who does not believe in prophecies, but in the fact that people build their own destiny...

Late at night, while still in one of the makeshift one-night stands, DEMIGOD!reader hugs the blue-eyed demigod tightly, softly stroking his back while he silently cries, burying himself in her neck.

Thalia and little Annabeth are sleeping peacefully, enjoying a moment of calm, hugging tightly and warming themselves.

And the elder demigoddess thinks that she will never trade her family for anything in life and that she will definitely keep it, no matter what, that even if the gods try to touch them, she will overthrow them from their heavenly throne...

taglist: @bat1212 @otmyname @sarah-luz @jennysketchup @s1mppp @eveeevelyn

[Nai, I love you all very much, thank you for reading me. I adore you. Thanks for subscribing. Please like and comment if you don't mind. There is one problem that I can't add some of them to the taglist, it may be because of your own account settings.. Don't be offended by me, I'm really sorry that I can't do this either]

[sleepn0tfound]

Do I Look Like Him? || Chap. II

[Dc x Neglected!Batsis!Surgeon!Reader x PJO]

Word count: 6.6k

Previous <- - - || - - -> Next

────•⋅⊰༻♡༺⊱⋅•────

'Honestly when will she come back?' Damian grumbled as he did NOT swivel in the chair at her desk.

He had already looked at the set up of her desk, actually he looked at her entire room already. The wall of medals and blue ribbons as well as certificates and the display of trophies right next to it were the most interesting parts. Other than that it seemed pretty empty, as if they stayed here it definitely wouldn't be for long.

Just as he was about to reach for a piece of paper that had been left on her desk he flinched and immediately pulled his hand away when he heard voices outside. He took a deep breath in and exhaled, mentally preparing himself to ask what he wanted to.

Wait.

Voices? Why are there more than one?

He got closer to the door and pressed his ear against it to hear.

"The stunt you pulled at the gala was unacceptable and leaving with no warning right after—"

"So what did you expect me to do? Just take those disgusting comments from that man?"

"I expected that the second oldest of this family to at least have some decency and restraint!"

Damian flinched behind the door as he heard his father yell. He never yelled, usually when he got mad he would only use his infamous bat tone.

He was even more taken aback when the next thing he heard was laughter, actual loud laughter. Has he ever heard such laughter from his sister before?

"Family? Since when have any of you considered me as family?"

Damian froze. His blood running cold at her words and the tone she said it in. He didn't have to see her face to sense the underlying anger in her words. But... They were family weren't they? They had the same blood running through their veins. She was the only one out of his siblings that had the same blood as him—

He was only brought out of his thoughts when he heard the handle of the door turning, immediately jumping and going as far as he could to make it seem like he wasn't eavesdropping.

He watched as she opened the door, immediately closing it with a sigh and leaning against the door as if she was done with life. She was.

She looked up not long after and he heard her voice, "What is it this time, demon spawn? Going to make fun of me again?”

Ugh. He always hated how both Jason and her called him that. He simply scoffed and turned his head to the side, “Tch. I don’t have time for that.”

"Then what are you here for?"

He already decided to come this far, there's no going back, "I want to volunteer at your hospital."

.

.

.

He really didn't like the long silence that ensued.

"What." Was all she said after that long silence.

────•⋅⊰༻♡༺⊱⋅•────

She stared at the boy in front of her. The same boy that used to ridicule her. She knows why, of course she did. Did they really think they could hide the fact that they were the bats? Just because she didn't say anything didn't mean she was clueless.

No. It wasn't just him. All of them excluded her, like they all knew a secret she wasn't apart of. Which was true to be honest. Not like she wanted to be apart of that circus anyways.

Back when she first came into the family after she was found out to be Bruce's she was extremely hopeful. She thought she had finally found her family, family was supposed to be warm and loving, right? Hah. Pathetic.

Back then it was just Dick. She was barely acknowledged. While both him and Dick were talking at the dinner table she tried to join in but she only got a short sentence in response before they talked over her again.

She tried asking her father to read her bedtime stories but she was always told "Next time." or "I'm busy." It wasn't long before she found out why Bruce would always say no. She saw them entering the Batcave through the study.

But still. She tried. She tried to be enough for him to acknowledge.

Martial arts. Swimming. Fencing. Ballet. Science competitions. Robotic competitions. Art competitions. Shooting. Archery. She had gained so many accomplishments. Earned so many blue ribbons. So many gold medals. So many gold trophies. First place in anything she attempted, even graduating from High School as a valedictorian at twelve. And yet nothing.

Even Wayne Tech had acknowledged her creation as first in their competition and she had gotten a full ride scholarship so why? Why was nothing enough to make him notice her?

At one point there was entire wall of blue ribbons and golden medals in her room with a wall of shiny gold trophies right next to it. Though there was one that always had more displays than any other. Archery. When she first picked up a bow it felt as though she was made to wield it.

She had so many achievements, so many people praising her when she went to the galas that the Waynes would go to and yet why would those praises matter when she couldn't even get a "Good Job" from the one she desperately wanted to hear from.

As the years passed and her accomplishments only increased she was known as 'The Perfect Wayne' along with many other titles. Sure she had a temper but that was overshadowed by the sheer amount of achievements she had earned.

And as they grow so did the envy from her siblings. Siblings? Could she call them that when they barely even talked? She was basically The Golden Child after all. Though she would disagree with that, if she really was the golden child that meant she would've gotten some attention from Wayne.

She didn't even know when it went from "Dad" to "Father" to "Bruce" to "Wayne".

She had learnt by then that it was no use trying to engage in conversation with any of them since they barely even gave her one sentence replies.

Even Jason. She could still remember the times where she would talk with him for hours on end about the novels they read, it was the type of memory that would make a bittersweet smile on her face. She hadn't exchanged a proper conversation with him ever since he came back.

When she first saw him bleeding out in Crime Alley as Red Hood she knew. She knew it was her baby brother. And she patched him up before he left without a word while she sobbed and asked why he didn't come back home.

Every meeting after that was the same that she couldn't bring herself to try anymore. She used to go to Crime Alley because she knew he wouldn't properly treat his wounds, nowadays she would drive past the district.

Though Damian... He didn't look at her like the rest of them did. Sure the envy was there but it was something more complicated than that. But then again she assumed it was always more complicated than that with this family.

He would always mutter 'disgraceful' under his breath and ridicule her and yet his eyes seemed to always follow her during the rare times she was at the manor. What a contradiction he was.

"Uh... Yeah no." She said as she walked towards her desk.

"Why not!" Damian fumed as he turned to to her.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror she had on her desk, "I don't exactly want to bring a kid with me to work."

"I'm not a kid!" He shouted, why does everybody always call him a kid!

Her eyes flickered to meet his through the mirror, "Yes you are. Aren't you like in middle school?"

"I trained as—" Damian only realised his slip of the tongue after she cut him off.

"So what?" She cut him off, "It doesn't change how old you are."

"I'm much more mature than the average child!"

She turned around and looked at him, "...I don't doubt that." She said as she walked to the window.

"What?" Damian was taken off guard, he was expecting to have had to yell back.

She leaned against the wall and sighed, not expecting to have this conversation tonight or... ever. Her eyes held some kind of emotion that Damian couldn't understand, "You don't have to grow up fast. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

His eyebrows furrowed as she walked towards him, "This is your life, kid. Not anyone else's. So don't chase anyone's expectations but yours." She knelt done in front of him on one knee, looking at him eye to eye, "Do what you want while you're still young. Play around, nobody is expecting you to be perfect, and if they are then fuck them, because you're a kid, you're supposed to make mistakes, to have space to learn, to have fun."

"Because if not now then when? There's one thing in life you can never get back, kid. And that's time. That's what makes life so precious." Damian didn't like how it felt as though she could see right through him, as if she knew what he has needed to hear for years, "Sacrificing your own happiness just to appease someone else is a sad way to live. You can barely call that living."

"If not you'll grow up to regret it. Trust me I would know." Her eyes flickered to her achievement wall behind her, "Don't waste your childhood."

She stood up, walked towards her window and opened it then turning to Damian, "Think about what I said." Before she jumped out, because she was not staying in that place more than she has to.

He grumbled as he looked back to the desk, picking up the piece of paper he wanted to grab from before only to realise she had written something on it.

Next Wednesday, 8 A.M. Meet me in the garage. Already bailed you out from school.

When did she even write that?

Damian huffed but he kept the paper.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

When Wednesday rolled around Alfred knocked on Damian's door since the boy hadn't come down for breakfast yet, to his surprise he found the boy looking through his closet quite frantically.

"Young master Damian? You're not already dressed?"

Damian almost jumped at the sound of Alfred's voice. Ugh. He had been trained as an assassin since before he could walk he should've been able to sense Alfred's presence or at least have heard the door open. What had gotten into him?

Damian straightened his posture, "Pennyworth. Y/n is bringing me to her workplace today. She said she has already contacted my school."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Mistress Wayne?"

"Yes. I'm trying to find a suitable outfit to wear." Damian said before going back to rummaging in what used to be his very neat wardrobe, though it's current state was... not optimal.

Alfred coughed, his expression returning to normal "I don't think Mistress Wayne particularly cares about what you wear, Young Master."

Damian turned to the butler, "Y/n Wayne, The Queen Of Gotham, the woman who single handedly led trends for the past decade, doesn't care about what someone dresses like?"

Alfred picked up the articles of clothing that had fallen to the ground, "Yes but I think that only applies to those that has... come of age."

"A simple attire might be the best suited." Alfred said as he took out a forest green sweater vest, a white dress shirt and grey relaxed slacks before he bowed, "I'll take my leave now. Breakfast is already on the table for you, young master."

Damian stared at the outfit Alfred had placed out as he heard the door closing, contemplating whether to wear it or just find a new outfit. He finally relented after a few minutes.

He put on the outfit before going to gel down his hair. Ugh. His cowlicks were always so insufferable to deal with.

He ate his breakfast in silence, the only sound in the dining room was the sound of his foot repeatedly tapping the ground. Once he was done he rushed walked to the garage. He had a tight grip on the strap of his messenger bag that he had slipped his green notebook into.

When he arrived he already saw that iconic black and purple convertible in the garage, a figure leaning against said car.

She was wearing a black turtleneck, black formal trousers and completed with a long black coat. She was likely prepared for autumn since it will soon be in full swing. She exuded an aura of undisputed authority, the type that didn't allow any sort of complaints.

Even with the weather getting colder it seemed she was still enjoying her iced coffee, "You're here. Get in."

Damian took a breath in before he got into her convertible. She followed suit, starting the car and changing the song to "Riptide" by Vance Joy before driving off.

Once they exited the garage she could feel the cold breeze, "Nothing like the cold wind of Gotham to wake you up." Not that she really slept but you get what she meant.

As the wind blew against her face she hummed, "Have you gotten used to the Gotham air yet? I heard you used to live in the mountain ranges. The shift from there to here must be quite a whiplash."

Damian's face scrunched up, "Indeed. Gotham is very... dirty."

"Yeah. I remember every time I came back from my summer camp the change of environment was very apparent." She said, a rare fond smile on her face, at least it was rare to him.

Though Damian was confused. Wasn't summer camp for unruly children? From what he knew Y/n was the perfect picture child so why should she be in a summer camp?

"Summer camp?" He asked.

"Yeah. Once you do everything you can in this city you get kind of bored, you know? I made the best memories of my life at Summer Camp." She said, not taking her eyes off the road.

Damian furrowed his brows, the best memories of her life are at camp? Not any of the multitude of achievements she has received? He didn't understand her, the most simple things seemed to bring her more joy than anything else she has achieved. Is that just how prodigies like her think?

Her eyes flickered to the boy for a split second before focusing on the road again, "You think it's weird, right? Out of all the things I've experienced summer camp is the happiest?"

Perhaps her past self would've agreed with Damian. If she didn't do it for the validation then what would be the point of doing it? She could see what kind of child Damian was, he was putting up a front because he believed he shouldn't be weak, he was trying to reach an impossible standard, he was trying to prove himself.

She ignored the shadow of a young girl that seemed to be behind him.

"One day you'll find people that makes you forget all the worries of life and remind you to live in the moment." She said as she drove, the wind blowing through her hair. "It's important that you find those people."

The rest of the drive was silent until they reached the hospital's parking. She got her keys and her coffee before exiting her car, "Today is a more chill day. I'll be having some consultations then oversee a few surgeries. You can join me since we'll be watching from the outside through a window. You might've heard of it but it's called smart glass."

Damian grabbed his messenger bag as he got out of the car as well, "It's like a one way mirror."

"Yes. Exactly that actually. Some surgeons may feel pressured knowing that their higher ups are watching so instead I had smart glass installed." She scanned her card to enter a private elevator lobby.

"We'll go to my office first." They walked into the elevator and went to the highest level.

As they both walked out of the elevator they heard someone calling her name.

She smiled as she saw the blonde haired ball of sunshine, "Will." She greeted before looking to the other person next to him who was a deep contrast to the former, "Hey Nico."

"Who's the mini one?" Will smiled at Damian who in returned scowled.

"Mini? I'm not—" Y/n smiled as she covered the boy's mouth.

"This is Damian, my younger brother. Damian, this is Doctor Solace, our chief medical officer and this is Doctor Di Angelo, our chief forensic pathologist and Solace's boyfriend."

Will paused, muttering under his breath, "Brother, huh..." He was too quiet for the others to notice his change of expression.

"I see you finally brought something that doesn't contain over five hundred milligrams of caffeine." Nico joked as he waved at the boy.

Damian still had a scowl on his face but he felt as though something was very familiar about the black hair one.

"You never know." She shrugged with a teasing smile, "Maybe he's fifty percent caffeine."

"He's your brother so I wouldn't put it past him." Nico let out an amused scoff.

Y/n simply rolled her eyes before looking back at Damian, "Today is bring your thing to work day. So I brought you. Solace brought Di Angelo and vice versa. Not like it's different any other day though. They're always glued to each other."

"You're just jealous that your partner isn't—" Nico was cut off by Y/n slapping her palm against his back.

She looked over to Damian, expecting to see a look that said he was not amused but she was shocked to see him looking puzzled instead, she furrowed her eyebrows before quickly putting back on a smile.

“Anyways. I’ll see you later, Will, Nico.” They both nodded and waved the two off as Y/n brought Damian to her office.

The office was very luxurious. The windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling, overseeing the entirety of Gotham. She had a wall which was just a shelf filled with books.

The desk was placed so her back would be to the window. To the side there was a glass table with a couch and three other chairs. There seemed to be a different room to the side, probably a bathroom.

Y/n slid her fingers against her desk, "What's wrong? You've been pretty quiet."

Damian looked up to her, "You said they were boyfriends."

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows, "Yes?"

"But they're both boys."

.

.

.

Y/n Wayne was extremely skilled in hiding her true emotions, though this was one of the rare times it took everything in her to stop herself from gaping. "Uh... Well..." She really didn't think she would ever have to this conversation again.

She really didn't know he hadn't learned this lesson— if you could call it that, yet considering the family he comes from. Todd and Harper— wait no she doesn't think they know that they're dating. Drake and the older Kent? Nope. They were too oblivious to notice they like each other. Uh... Surely Grayson and West? No wait Grayson too many commitment issues for that. Wayne?

...

Hah. Yeah no. Who was she kidding? That man can't hold a relationship for more than a week. Maybe that's where Grayson got those commitment issues from.

She really can't blame the boy for his lack of knowledge in the emotional sector. Nobody in that family is emotionally competent.

"Love knows no bounds, kid. You can't control what your heart wants, no matter how much you want to. I don't see anything wrong with two people of the same gender liking each other as long as it's healthy." Yeah... A bit ironic that she was the one saying that.

Ugh. She was having flashbacks to this same conversation already. While she was contemplating how to continue the conversation her pager suddenly let out a ping.

Her eyes widened as she saw the string of text. "Fuck. Damnit. Today was supposed to be a chill day—"

She was already taking off her heels, "Sorry kid. We'll finish this conversation later. Emergency!"

She took off her coat and grabbed the white one instead and went inside her private bathroom in the office, "You can take a look at my notes on the desk first!"

He looked at her desk and indeed saw a very thick red binder, "What? But wasn't I supposed to observe the surgeries?" Damian shouted so she could hear him through the door.

Y/n came out of that bathroom with scrubs on in record time, "Not this one, demon spawn. This one might be too much for you."

Damian stretched out his hand to reach for her, catching her wrist, "No it won't! I'm not a child!"

Y/n turned back instantly, she barely controlled her instincts to shove the child off her, but when she looked at the young boy her expression changed for a split second, her eyes widening and holding some kind of emotion that held a lot of untold words, short enough that Damian didn't realise.

"I'm not a child!" The sound of a young girl's voice, too knowing for her age echoed through her mind.

She let out a sigh and relented, "Fine. Follow behind me. You're not allowed in the operating rooms."

The emergency room was bustling. Never a good sign.

"He's losing too much blood! Get him to—"

The noise around him seemed muffled as Damian watched as the same kind blonde haired doctor he saw earlier was shouting orders with such a firm tone as different patients were rushed into different operating rooms. It almost seemed like he was an entirely different person than the one he met just now.

"Solace. Rundown. Now." Damian only snapped out of it when he saw her, his sister, looking so much different as she took over issuing the orders.

He wondered how she remained so level headed and calm in such a chaotic situation. He doubt even his father could keep the same level of composure as she did.

Her figure seemed so reassuring, the type that eased others nerves, like she was the pillar that ensured that nothing falls apart. And everyone seemed to trust her without a hint of doubt too as they followed her orders to a tee.

Though his eyes trailed from her to the patients in the being moved and his heart sank. They were all children. No, not only that but they were wearing the same uniform that he would have if he went to school today. He saw classmates, upperclassmen and even children from the elementary sector of Gotham Academy.

He felt like throwing up.

Why? He had seen so many dead bodies. He had killed so many. And yet why does the sight of the emergency room being filled with children make him so nauseated?

No. Worst of all the children looked as if they had a permanent grin on their face. He could instantly tell which rogue had gotten the children, one of the only rogues that would even target children.

He was so out of it that he didn't even notice that his phone was constantly vibrating.

He could only watch as his sister went from room to room, operating on as many children as physically possible.

His face paled as he saw that doctor, no, the forensic pathologist from earlier enter one of the rooms. Then another. And another.

It was then he remembered why the black haired male seemed so familiar. He had seen him talking to Commissioner Gordon before when he was Robin. Right. Forensic pathologists did autopsies for crime victims as well.

Damian's train of thought was broken when he saw him enter the rooms of classmates, peers, people he saw in the halls, even those he never talked to or disliked.

His focus shifted back to his sister. No. He had to focus on her so that he wouldn't throw up. He could watch as she flawlessly completed every risky procedure before handing it over to other surgeons when the patient was more stable.

He really didn't know how her hands were so stable while operating when his were shaking just from looking at the scene playing out in front of him. He could tell she liked children with the way she treated him. Even if she didn't this sight wouldn't be easy on anyone.

And he knew she was doing the riskiest operations, he could recognise them from the books he had read. She must have so much pressure on her and yet she looked so composed.

He felt like he was seeing his father for the first time again. The first time he saw his father saving the lives of citizens. He felt like he was seeing a hero.

Is that what it took to be a doctor?

Did he even have what it took? While Y/n powered through this situation without panic here he was nauseous just from watching.

But he continued to watch for what seemed to be hours. Because it was. Painful hours as he heard giggles of children echo through the emergency room, somewhere where those sounds should never be heard. It was extremely eerie.

And all through those hours never once did his sister falter. Never once did she stop operating on the children.

He was looking through the smart glass, too distracted to even notice someone sprinting towards him until they grabbed him from behind. He flinched and raised his hand out of instinct.

"Damian. Do you have any idea how worried we were? Why didn't you answer your phone!"

Only then did Damian's arm lowered. He stared at familiar icy blue eyes and black wavy hair.

"Grayson." Damian's tone seemed reserved.

Dick had one of his knees on the ground as he knelt in front of the younger boy, "Let's go home, Damian."

Damian didn't say anything in response, he only turned his head to look in the room that Y/n was in. She looked just as she had hours ago when everything started. He wondered how.

Dick's eyes followed Damian's line of sight, "She'll be fine, Damian. This is her job. She does this everyday."

Damian knew that Dick probably said that to make him feel better but he didn't know much worse that made him feel. Because he knew Dick was right. This was an everyday occurrence in Gotham. And that was horrible.

How many people died each day? How many people had his sister have to resuscitate each day, how many people could have been saved? He was in a family of heroes yet it felt like there was no difference being made.

In fact it felt as though Y/n was doing much more than them despite not being a vigilante.

He let Grayson lead him out of the hospital, his gaze still locked onto his sister who was still working tirelessly. Only when the elevator closed could he finally stop looking in her direction.

It was a quiet drive home. Though it wasn't like that serene quiet he had experienced this morning, it was a heavy silence. Just the sound of the engine could be heard, unlike the songs that Y/n had been blasting on the way to the hospital this morning.

Even when they arrived home it was quiet. His father and Tim were probably in the Batcave handling the aftermath. The others were nowhere to be seen, it was to be expected. This always happened after every major incident.

Only Alfred was there to greet them, "Young masters." Alfred's expression was solemn.

Damian ate his dinner in silence. And that silence continued for the next week of his life. School had been cancelled. For obvious reasons.

It had been nine days since then. He hadn't spoken to anyone, then again the only one who even tried to check in was Dick and his father even if he was extremely awkward about it. And Alfred was already a given. He saw the butler more than anyone else in the manor.

Actually, no. There was one more person. The day after the incident something had appeared on his windowsill. A crocheted black wolf plushy.

The purple heart it had on its cheek instantly gave away who had sent it to him. He didn't really know how it ended up there but he was never going to tell anyone about how that plushy was now bundled up in a blanket hidden away on his bed.

And for nine days he contemplated what he wanted. He poured over the biology books that were in the huge library of the manor. But was it enough?

He grit his teeth and made his decision.

So on the ninth day he finally talked to Alfred. He asked to be driven to the hospital. Alfred only nodded.

There was something that Damian never understood. Alfred obviously respected all of them, but there was something off with the dynamic between Alfred and Y/n.

While he seemed to treat her on the same level as his father she seemed to actively dislike him. Then again he hasn't seen her much to deduce anything for certain.

Not only that but Alfred would address all of them as "Young Master" or "Young Miss", even Dick who was the oldest. So why did he address Y/n as "Mistress Wayne"? Just as he called his father "Master Wayne".

He stopped thinking about it when he reached the desk. Everyone in Gotham knew who Damian was, some personnel had even seen him staring into the operating rooms that day. So he was easily granted access to Y/n's office, though he was informed that she was currently operating on someone.

He saw the staff giving him smiles as he passed by. Huh. He was used to having pitying stares aimed at him. Though he supposes since this is a hospital that was probably discouraged.

As he entered the elevator and tried to press the button to the highest level he realised he had to have a card to do so, he grumbled and was about to ask the lady at the front desk again when a tall black haired man with glasses entered the elevator and scanned his card, pressing the highest level.

Damian had seen this man the other day. He seemed to be one of the higher positioned doctor because he had access to the highest level, not only that but he along with the blonde one, were taking on the riskier patients along with Y/n.

This man had a cold aura to him. No not figuratively he meant it literally. Like the air around him was colder. Though he did look extremely aloof Damian could sense that he was much kinder than he looked.

As the man left the elevator and seemed to enter his own office near Y/n's Damian suddenly felt a cold sensation on his hand. He looked down and saw a small snow...cat? Like a snowman... but cat.

He looked at the closed door of the man's office.

"Doctor Li"

The nameplate showed. Huh. That man was probably at least part Chinese. Ah. When was the last time he spoke Chinese? Ugh. He might be getting rusty if he doesn't practice. You would think having a manor full of multilingual people would mean he got to spoke his other mother tongues. Then again they don't really interact as much anymore.

He held the snowcat tenderly as he entered Y/n's office. Taking in the luxury of it once again. Luxurious but not gaudy.

Then he saw the same red binder he saw on her desk that day that seemed to have a lot of love and care put into it. And it was thick.

His hand hesitated as he reached out for it. I mean she did say he could read through it that day so...

His eyes widened as he flipped through the pages of the binder. It was very clear why she was so skilled in every single type of surgery, because every single page was extremely detailed and held an almost impossible amount of information.

He hasn't even seen anything as thick as this binder back when he was living at The League of Assassins base. And his grandfather used to be a doctor. So that said a lot.

He wondered if there was information in here that even his grandfather doesn't know about. The more pages he saw the more he could believe it.

He spent hours reading through the binder, losing track of time. He hadn't even heard the door opening and jumped when he heard a voice, "I see you're enjoying my notes."

Damian cursed internally, why has his senses been so dull the past few days. He looked up to see Y/n, looking as perfect as ever. But he knew better. She has probably not have a wink of sleep in days, even if you couldn't tell. But a doctor such as Y/n who was in a league of her own? There's no way she gets proper rest.

Damian faked a cough, "Your notes are very detailed."

"Thanks. I spent more than half my life on those so." She had a lazy smirk on her face.

Damian looked at her with a questioning look, "What?"

"Yeah. I started getting into basic medicine when I was eight." She looked at the red binder fondly, "My friend was very... accident prone."

Damian stared at the binder, he never would've guessed that she had started this binder at just eight years old. The word prodigy seemed to be an understatement when describing her. His fists unknowingly clenched.

"Ah. Zayne must've given it to you."

Her voice made him look back up at her, "Zayne?"

She pointed at the snowcat that was somehow still frozen, "Zayne might look icy on the outside, literally, but he's actually a real softie."

Damian looked at the snowcat again, "How is it still frozen—"

"Damian."

The boy paused, his focus now completely drawn away from the snowcat. Y/n had never said his first name before. Ever.

"Are you okay?"

"What? Of course I'm—"

"Damian. You're a smart kid." Y/n had contemplated not mentioning anything. All children are different, some would rather not talk about bad things that they have experienced, others needed to vent it out to feel better. Or they could be both at the same time. Her years as camp councilor have taught her that.

She had been the one who allowed him to watch everything that happened that day, so she is responsible for that. It wouldn't be right to gloss it over like that and try to distract him, not with a kid like Damian. "I'm sorry you had to see that. It's my fault."

Damian scoffed, trying to hide his real expression as he turned his head, "I'm the one that insisted on following."

"Yes. But I'm the one who allowed you to witness that. And—" She stopped him from refuting, "I know you don't want to be treated like a child. And that's fair. You're going to be a teen soon."

"But compared to me you're still young. And I'm the adult in this situation, so yes, it was wrong for me to bring you there. And it was my fault, not yours." She looked straight into his green eyes that almost seemed unnaturally bright.

"I want to know how you feel." She watched as he looked down at his hands.

Huh. When was the last time someone said that to him? Feelings? The League taught him that feelings were useless for someone like him. And it wasn't like the people in the manor were that great at expressing their emotions in a healthy way either.

Is that why he doesn't know how he's feeling?

Y/n waited patiently as the boy stayed quiet, "Take your time. If you don't know what it is try to describe it to me."

"It was bad."

Y/n listened quietly.

"I felt so bad. When I saw Doctor Di Angelo going through multiple rooms it was nauseating. I didn't talk to them, I didn't even like them. But they were my age. They were young." Damian hands clenched even harder, his nails digging into his own skin.

"They had dreams too! They had their whole life ahead of them so why—" He never understood it. Even if The League had engraved into his soul that killing was just part of their nature he never understood why.

Y/n had one knee on the floor as she knelt in front of him, using her own hands to ensure that his nails didn't make himself bleed.

"Why is it so unfair! Why are the innocent people the ones who die?"

Y/n spoke quietly, "You're right. Life is unfair. Everyone in this world eventually dies, Damian. That's also a part of life. Death doesn't discriminate against the sinners and the saints. It just takes and takes."

She took a breath in.

"Do you know why I decided to be a doctor?"

Damian looked up from his hands into her eyes, they were the same type of blue as their father's and yet he didn't know why they looked so different.

"Because I refuse to let death take my loved ones before their time is due."

Damian froze.

"I would never wish for my loved ones to be immortal. That's a fate far too cruel for them. But I want them to live a life with no regrets, that they'll be able to leave peacefully saying that they have indeed lived, that they have accomplished all they wanted to. That they lived their life to the fullest."

"Because in a world full of destruction, I choose to create."

Those words. He had never told anyone why he wanted to be a doctor, in fact he thinks the only ones who knows is Y/n and Alfred. Dick only thought that he was at the hospital because he wanted to pester Y/n.

But the real reason? He had found their grandfather's journal. And in the journal Thomas Wayne has detailed about how he wished that his legacy will be passed on.

Of course Damian wanted to be a part of the Wayne legacy, and at first that was just being a vigilante. Then he found the journals. It only started as a want to feel belonged, but as he continued to read something changed.

He noticed how different his paternal grandfather was compared to his maternal grandfather. Ra's raised him to be a killer, to incite violence. While Thomas wanted to heal.

No. Thomas Wayne didn't just want to heal, he said he wanted to build. He wanted to build a different path for Gotham.

And as time went on Damian realised so did he. It wasn't just for legacy's sake. He didn't want to be tied to violence, to be who he was raised to be by The League.

And those words. It really did make sense that Y/n was a Wayne. Because her words seemed as though it would've came straight out of their shared grandfather's mouth.

And... He wants to be like that too.

She looked into his eyes and he could see the sincerity in them, "So, do you really want to be doctor?"

Damian took a deep breath in before answering, "I'll try my best."

A smile formed on her lips, "That's all that matters."

Hey guys... It's been a while. Erh. I just get random spurts of motivation so like yeah... You can thank my current PJO hyperfixation for this fic. I wasn't actually planning on traumatising Damian but like he's already traumatised so what's a bit more? It builds character heh. This chapter turned out much longer than I expected so next chapter will prob be shorter. I have a prologue chapter about 60% done so you can look forward to that if I don't disappear for half a year again LOL Also I reached flowstate and wrote the last 3.5k words in the past 4 hours and it's 5AM currently so it's not rlly proofread. To anybody expecting Death Of A Star chapter 2 I apologise because I have zero idea what direction I even want to go to with that story but like it'll come out... eventually :)

[jasongracesbiggestglazerever]

Be that someone

(Percy x Reader, in which, Percy wants to be that someone for you) one shot fluff

Percy is that someone. That someone who’s the hero of camp, the someone who girls fawn over, the someone who’s head over heels for you. He’s your friend, not your bestest friend, but a person you could talk to and trust, friendly, funny, and honest, but he wouldn’t describe himself as honest every time someone asks about who he likes. They don’t even need to ask, the way he looks at you is enough.

That someone who looks at you. When he goes to the camp fires he immediately tries locking sight on you, and when he does he plays it off as it being the only seat

“So much people here tonight, am I right?” he says as he sat close to you, the empty seats that gave gaps between people and groups. You laughed at the jokes campers told while Percy looked at you with a dopey smile while you laughed. He noticed you, he only saw you, he blamed it on the smoke covering everyone else.

When you two were by the lake and talked about everything and anything you caught him in the reflection staring at you while you talked. He knew water was his power but right now he really felt betrayed and played it off as a fish in the water. Though fish never got that close to the shallow end.

When he had school he would doodle your name in different fonts, he’s memorized your whole name and how to write it in perfect handwriting and in perfect Greek. So if he ever comes across Aphrodite again she would know exactly who to hit with the arrow of love.

“I can pay mom” he offered, but once he pulled out his wallet he regretted those very words, he regretted even angling it towards her. After an hour of constant pestering he finally caved

“It’s a girl from camp mom…” he grumbled, the wallet shoved in his pocket where it held the photo of you he stole from your half sibling.

“A girl from camp you’re dating? A girl from camp who-“ she continued

“A girl from camp I like” he says with a sigh

By the time he had to go back to camp he made up his mind, he couldn’t do this anymore, the slow burn, the stares, the pain of longing. He wanted to be that someone you could depend on.

“Hey y/n I just wanted to say I’ve been thinking about you all summer and will you be- may I-… may I be your boyfriend” he said as Grover had a cringed smile

“Well… maybe don’t include the scary part of you thinking of her” he offered advice lightly as Percy groaned

“I’m pathetic Grover, I’ve rehearsed this a million times and it sounds like something a second grader says to a girl he won’t even remember the next year!” He complained in the empty Poseidon cabin.

By the time he gathered the confidence he took big strides to you and gave a proud smile

All that came out was a cough from choking on his spit and an awkward half wave where his finger twitched.

“Percy” Chiron called out, he gave a sigh and smiled at you awkwardly, running off but when he took a glance back at you, you were already walking away to your half siblings. He sighed and frowned, turning to face forward as he slammed into a pillar. The loud thud made the Ares cabin erupt in loud laughter, especially from Clarisse who sounded like she had held in that laugh for that specific moment, your half siblings laughed and nudged at you as you couldn’t help but give a laugh. When he saw you laughing his eyes softened and he gave a dopey smile

“Come on” Grover said as he picked him up to his feet and dragged him to Chiron, dodging anymore pillars Percy might run into.

He had finally began talking to you, but it wasn’t anything he hoped to talk about.

“Well, I guess I would say the friendliest animal would be a dolphin” you say as you two say by the lake, it was his fault. He broke the awkward silence by asking a stupid question with his knowledge

“You’d think that but they are absolutely evil, they harm other animals, bully other sea animals and are the worst animal for another sea animal to run into. Well besides the big animal who prey on dolphins” he explained as you laughed

“Really?” You ask as he nodded slowly

“You’re really pretty” he said softly as you smiled

“That came up randomly” you say

“it’s not out of nowhere y/n, it’s a confession from the heart. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and what we could’ve been years ago if I hadn’t been so scared, the moment I met you, I knew it was you. The someone my mom described to be the woman of my dreams, my soulmate, I can’t push down these feelings any longer and I can’t run into anymore poles or pillars because I want a second glance at you. It’s hurting me, literally” he said, the bruise on his forehead from running into the pillar before being evidence

“Why didn’t you just tell me Percy?” You say as he gained a smile

“May I be your boyfriend y/n?” He said so quietly you almost didn’t catch it

“I’m more sure of that answer being yes than anything I am ever sure of” you say as he smiled, hugging you and secretly taking a deep breath, nothing like the smell of love in the air and you.

“And don’t worry, I know how to protect you from dolphins” he warned as you laughed

————————————————————————

Very short one shot today and I love making cute little couple one shots it’s so cute, I could make thousands but I run out of ideas.. But I hope you liked reading this because I literally love Percy and longing people feel for another, it’s so beautiful. Kisses kisses 💋

[jasongracesbiggestglazerever]

A Knight

(Knight! Luke x Reader, in which, a knight has been stalling his love life for you, his medic) fluff

Luke has been a visitor of your hospital you work at since you’ve started. He’s the strongest knight in 300 years it’s a surprise how he continues after all the injuries he endured. You first began your job at 16, where Luke was only 17. He stumbled into the hospital with pushed off his gear, he was told by his usual doctor he would be treated by someone new.

“Isn’t this great Chris? A new helper when I’m in the worst state of my life” he said breathlessly as he lie on the cot helplessly

By the time his wounds were cleaned and treated he slowly warmed up to you, it was something Chris picked up on as well.

“Awww little boo boo, the paper cut must burn! You going to visit your girls job?” Chris teased as Luke shoved him with a scoff

“She’s not my girl” he grumbled, more of a grumble from a man who knew it was everything he wanted

Time and time passed, but not a day gone by without Luke visiting you with a bouquet of flowers, each day it was different colors, different combinations, and different vases, vibrant ones, mauve ones, glass ones, never ending. He wanted to see which one made you happiest. He never told anyone but he wrote in a journal about the bouquet details and how you reacted, maybe one day it would be of use.

It wasn’t long before others caught their eye on you, Luke couldn’t blame them, you were single, smart, and absolutely stunning. He laid on his cot while watching you laugh with another patient. That patient wasn’t the best knight in 300 years, that patient didn’t search everywhere for flowers that would stun you, that patient wasn’t going through as much heartache as Luke was in that moment. So why were you laughing so much with a man who didn’t get you flowers everyday?

“Hey y/n, I was wondering if you wanted to come training with me, well- watch me come train because you know. I’m not in the best shape to fight without my medic on my side” Luke said placing the shiny vase full of flowers of your desk that had multiple vases full of flowers already.

“Sorry Luke, I’m busy tonight” you say as Luke frowned

“Maybe Dan could be your spotter?” You offer as Luke’s frown deepened

“Yeah… maybe” he mumbled before walking away

At practice he hit like he didn’t have a single injury. He wouldn’t say it out loud but his heart hurt the most, he knew you were most likely out with that patient, he felt jealous, he felt angry, he felt hurt.

“Seems like you’re in great condition Luke” Dan patted his shoulder as he nodded

“Annabeth I just can’t do it” you groan as you flop on your bed

“You could’ve been his spotter, he called you ‘his medic’ y/n, that’s everything you need to know” she said

“I panicked! I hope he doesn’t hate me” you groan into your pillow

“He would never hate you” she laughed at those ridiculous words

When he laid down at night in his shared room with Chris, Chris turned to him.

“Come on, tell me what’s got you so tough now” Chris whispered, the single candle between them on the nightstand glowed.

“It’s nothing, I just want to be a good knight for the royal” he lied as Chris clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes

“I just wanted y/n to pick me” Chris said in a slightly deeper voice to mock Luke’s, Chris turned around and after a while his familiar snoring rang out. Luke blew out the candle and pulled the blanket over his face.

After a harsh practice, Luke went into the hospital and into your office with a vase filled with flowers, but your seat was empty, he frowned and walked out with the vase in hand. It wasn’t like you to be out of your office.

He knocked on your door persistently and when he approached your room he sighed in relief. You were in bed sniffling with a fever.

“Isn’t my doctor supposed to know how to cure a fever?” He joked, setting the vase down and sitting on the edge of your bed, when you responded with a cough he laughed and shook his head. He grabbed a rag and soaked it with cold water, pressing it on your forehead and sat back down.

“You need to be taken care of, I don’t want you struggling alone” he said but when he looked at you fast asleep he let out a quiet laugh and smiled.

He took your features in, your nose when it got runny, your breathing pattern, how your room smelled like you, how much he loved you. It’s been two years since he’s met you and he couldn’t stop falling in love with you.

When he returned to his quarters Chris smiled

“So…. What happened and why are you late?” He grinned

“Chris” he groaned and threw a pillow at him

“She’s sick and that guy she’s so fixated on doesn’t care enough to check on her… and I wanted to show her my flowers” he sighed as he sat on his bed

“All the knights are asleep, you’re the leader Luke, you should be asleep too” Chris teased as Luke got finished changing into his pajamas

“Yeah yeah” he brushed off and pulled the blanket over himself

By the next day Annabeth had knocked rapidly on Luke’s door, he opened it with a yawn and eyes that were barely opened

“Luke, you need to help y/n, she’s sick and needs help” she says

“Help in what way?” He asked, straightening up as if you could actually see him

When he got into the room he covered his eyes as you lay in the bath, your body washed but you were far too tired to wash your hair. You had a towel wrapped around you while in the bath

“Well isn’t this a view” he joked as Annabeth rolled her eyes and left.

“Well I wouldn’t want you seeing her like that anyway” she scoffed

It was quiet, but intimate. Luke scrubbed shampoo into your hair and rinsed it out, then conditioner. He didn’t know conditioner was ever useful until you explained it through coughs and sneezes. He dragged you up and turned away while you changed yourself, he picked up the drenched towel and scrubbed it clean before hanging it to dry.

“Annabeth” he said as he walked out after you fell asleep, she was your buddy to share a room with after all

“Why did you ask me and not you know… the other guy?” He asked hesitantly

“Figured you were closer” she shrugged, he nodded and walked off while she sighed in relief, she was worried he would catch her in the lie. You had talked about Luke so much that Annabeth didn’t even know there could be another man other than Luke to take care of you.

When you got back to the hospital, Luke welcomed you as if he owned it, another vase of flowers you would never bore of and a smile that you wouldn’t tire of.

Luke had walked in too late in the night, a conversation with you and Annabeth. He wanted to tell you his feelings, how he’s been in love with you since he was a developing teen. But also how he was being sent away to fight and there was a high risk of no return.

“Annabeth I love him. He’s so sweet, he makes me laugh, and he’s someone I imagine myself with forever” you say as Annabeth sighed. Luke paused and clutched his hands, he knew he shouldn’t be listening in, but this was his last moment to hear your voice, he couldn’t resist.

“Then tell him, tell him how you adore your time with him, how you like how strong he is, and how caring he is. Tell him everything you tell me” Annabeth said

“I can’t, it would break Luke’s heart” you say, Luke’s heart stopped beating, he didn’t know if it ever would again.

He stormed off to get ready for the suicide mission, missing the parts of your conversation with Annabeth

“I don’t want to break Luke’s heart, making him choose between me or being a knight. He’s lived his whole life training for this, why would he choose me” you say as Annabeth sighed

“Because he loves you” she says

By the time you could get to Luke he was long gone, his clothes were packed, barely anything left in his and Chris’s small space called a room, you explored everywhere but he wasn’t there, it was a public announcement that knights were sent to fight off enemies across the world last night. Why hadn’t Luke told you?

“Luke” you whispered as you stumbled upon a small room full of messed up vases and notes on how to make the perfect vase. Luke had learned how to be perfect for you.

During the war Luke bled out and he didn’t have you to help him, his medic to bless him with your presence.

Blood spilled more and more as he slowly blacked out, another nurse on standby came to his aid, he reached his hand up to his pocket while he heaved and blinked slowly

“Y/n?” He whispered as he tried getting a better look at the nurse who’d been helping him. But by the time he reached the familiar photo in his pocket he blacked out, more and more doctors rushing to him.

Across the world right now Luke was bleeding out and calling for you, and across the world from Luke you calling for him in his small art room full of vases he deemed as imperfect. Because he didn’t want anything but perfection for his medic.

A year had passed since you’ve seen Luke. All hope was drained from you since you’ve heard less and less news about the war across the world. You heard footsteps outside your door you expected annabeth or Percy. When you saw Luke standing awkwardly with flowers that were rumored to be grown only in enemy territory in a beautiful vase you couldn’t help but frown.

“I know. You’re happy with that guy, you want nothing to do with me, but let me give you this. My celebration for surviving that battle” he said, like the wounds scattered around his body that bled out were there for decor. It wasn’t a bouquet for his celebration of surviving, it was the bouquet that would decide if you’ve loved him all this time and would finally accept his love.

“Luke…” you whispered, you stood up and shoved the vase on a surface, when you leaned in for a hug he leaned in for a desperate kiss.

He held your face with both of his calloused hands, a warmth he hadn’t felt in a year, his lips connected with yours, he leaned in more, he wanted more with you. He wanted a life with you.

When he pulled away he saw your awkward stance of when you tried giving him a hug and he tensed

“Sorry” he said as he pulled away embarrassedly. He had kissed you when you wanted a hug.

“I missed you y/n, I really did, I thought of you everyday, I thought about how you’re probably married now, I had a photo of you with me at all times to remind me on why I needed to return” he said pulling a photo from his pocket.

“Why did you leave Luke? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you give me a letter? Why didn’t you answer my letter?” You say as he looked confused

“Do you hate me?” You ask, the question that’s been biting at you, Annabeth had assured you he didn’t, but right now you weren’t so assured.

“I could never hate you y/n, that’s like hating air, what I need to survive” he says with a frown

“What letter?” He softened his tone

“I heard you that night y/n, you love him and you don’t love me. I just- I wanted my first selfish move to be with you. I want to be selfish with you, I’m sorry.” he whispered

“I’ve never been selfish with anything in my life, when I had to grow up destined to be a knight I never complained over the older knights walking all over me, I was never selfish with my time, I had to share a shack with other knights in training, everything I’ve ever had in my life wasn’t ever just mine. I didn’t care because it wasn’t anything special to me, it was what was meant to be shared, but you… you, you are the only thing I don’t want to share, the only thing I find worthy of being selfish with” he said

“But what letter” he repeated while looking at you seriously

“Luke… I’ve checked my mail box ten times a day, I sent you three letters every week begging to know how you were, if you would ever come back to my office with those flowers and more importantly, that smile” you say but couldn’t help the tears filling your eyes

“Y/n, I spent this year imagining a guy having everything I dreamed of with you, if I had gotten a letter from you I would’ve came back to you, I would’ve brought back a ring and married you on spot, what letters?” He said softly, a quiet nervous laugh escaping him

“The ones I sent to the quarters of war” you say as he shook his head

“That’s outdated y/n, they don’t deliver letters to knights. They want knights focused on war, not what they have waiting on them” he explained with a frown

“But knowing you thought about me means more than anything” he says and hugged you, you wrap your arms around him and he kissed your head

“Will you let me be your boyfriend? Will you let me finally look at you without trying to hide it, or visit you anytime without making Chris punch me?” He asked. A smile grew on your face and warmth spread through you

“I’d be stupid to say no” you say as Luke nodded

“you’ll regret it” he joked

Trying to sleep that night was worse than any injury he had suffered. He wrote in his journal the exact bouquet he had brought that night, the assortment of flowers and the wrapping. This would be the bouquet he would use for you, the bouquet was a reminder of what brought you two to reconnect after the battle.

Healing took a lot of time, but it went smoothly with you on his side. Washing his hair for him, lecturing him for trying to cook you food while his arm wasn’t even healed, and allowing him in your personal space at all times since he was “still in pain”

“Y/n” he said from the small room, sitting you down between his legs

“Now we get to make a vase for us” he smiled

“I’ve gotten one every single day for three years and it stops now?” You joke

“You still get flowers” he smiled, kissing your cheek from behind, he tied your hair for you and guided your hands along the clay

When you finished the vase you sigh and felt fingers run along your back, you laugh and try to brush off his finger but he only laughed and continued.

“I. L. O. V. E. Y. O. U” he spelled out along your back and you smiled, shaking your head

“And I’ll remind you everyday” he smiled, picking you up as you laughed at his fingers tickling your sides, the vase left to dry

And everyday he reminded you, he never let you forget. Especially now. He held your shaky hand as you read your vows through tears and he traced in your palm “I. L. O . V. E. Y. O. U”, using his other hand to wipe away his tears that fell quickly

You threw the bouquet into the crowd, the same looking one he brought back the night he kissed you, once you threw it he greedily took you into his arms and kissed your cheek as you laughed.

“You were my one selfish act” he smiled, tracing the ring on your finger. You smiled and couldn’t say anything, tears blocking your throat

“What, you want me to spell that for you Mrs. Castellan?” He joked, trailing his fingers on your back before tickling your side just to hear the laugh that was worth more than his entire existence

“Luke come on! The weddings going to start!” You yelled, the shared house between you and Luke was a comfy place to be in, too comfy that Luke had fallen asleep.

“Luke I’m leaving without you” you called out and began walking but you heard rushing heavy footsteps following behind you, you attempted to run but he laughed and brought you into his arms, his tie still untied and his eyes barely up

“Hand the keys over” he demanded without letting you go, you and him joked and laughed while making your way out the door, he grabbed the key from the table that was laid right next to the vase you two made after he finished healing.

————————————————————————

So cute! I did not read over this I was just writing and zoning out trying to think of what to write next. I did a lot of time skips because I had no idea how I would go on about filling in the gaps so I apologize for that! I feel like I haven’t posted in awhile besides the one I posted yesterday so this being a post the next day is very rare. Hope you guys enjoyed, kisses kisses!💋

[psychesalcove]

You did such an justice to my first ask forgive me for can't helping and asking for another.

Can I get ֶָ֢ "you can call me whenever you want..even if you don't have a reason to," for Percy Jackson please.

✧.* percy jackson x gn reader

my blog is completely race & body type friendly!!

part of psyches, 'in memory of those who chose the sea' event

-> want to participate?

percy sighed; not in annoyance (at least you hope) as he finished bandaging your arm. you were sitting on the counter in sally's apartment, as percy stood in-between your legs. a monster had surprised you in a nearby area, and your best bet to get help was percy's home, hence why you're here now.

'you feel any better, pretty girl?' he asked. you don't really know how he could think of you as pretty right now; an injured arm and wet splotches of tears on your face, but whatever.

'yeah,' you mumbled lightly. 'thank you,' you said. you didn't want him to think you were unappreciative of what he did. you weren't, you were just out of it.

'of course,' he said, ducking his head down so he could press a quick kiss to your cheek. 'im glad you're okay. that monster got a pretty good hit, yeah?' he mused, but not really asking you. 'thank you,' he said as he pulled you into an embrace.

you raised your eyebrows as you took in his words. 'why are you saying that?' you asked as you put your arms around him in a returning embrace. 'you're the one who saved my ass,'

you felt percy smile lightly into your hair. 'yeah, but you called me.' he said. 'that means a lot,' he counited, pulling out of the hug so he could start cleaning up.

'how?' you asked as you watched him pile a bunch on medical things back into the first aid bag.

'because you asked for help.' he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 'i want you to know that you can call me whever you want...' he said as he pushed the first aid bag into a cramped drawer. 'even if you don't have a reason to, i want to be there for you.'

you smiled lightly as you watched him. 'thank you,' you returned. 'you are always there percy, you're the person i trust you the most in this world,' you said.

you saw a pink tint coat percys cheek from his position. 'i'm glad,' he mumbled.