── .✦ summary rafe loves to spoil his woman, if she wanted something, of course he’d buy it for her
── .✦ wc 868
── .✦ an if you would like to be added to my rafe cameron taglist, comment or reblog. if you reblog, i will assume you want to be added to my taglist. (likes not included, only comments & reblogs) thanks!! enjoy reading 🕊️
it was a warm, sunny day in figure eight. the kooks were enjoying a nice day on the water in topper’s yacht. y/n was tanning with ruthie, her eyes closed as she soaked up the sun’s warmth that shone down on the small deck. suddenly, it felt as if the sun’s warmth had gone behind a cloud. y/n opened her eyes and saw her boyfriend, rafe, looking down at her.
“enjoying the sun, babe?” he asked.
“i was until you blocked it,” y/n responded jokingly.
rafe huffed a small laugh and took a step back, allowed the sun to shine on y/n again.
“what’s up, rafey?” she asked as she closed her eyes again. rafe pulled a chair up beside the tanning chair.
“nothin’, just bored…” he murmured.
y/n hummed. go hang out with the other boys then,” she said simply.
“nah, they’re pissing me off,” rafe said.
y/n peeked up at him. “what do you want to do then?” she asked as she opened her eyes fully. rafe looked down at her and studied her bikini.
“we could take you shopping,” he suggested and looked back up at her face. y/n smiled.
“aw, really? i guess there was a cute dress i saw the other day…”
rafe smirked a little. “then finish up and we’ll go. anything to make you happy, baby.” he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before straightening and standing up. “don’t take too long, i want to make sure you have plenty of time to get what you want,” he said before walking away.
the boutique was quiet as y/n and rafe walked in, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. y/n walked around a little, looking at the beachwear and clothing. rafe watched her, looking for a reaction that might be able to tell him exactly what to get for her.
“see anything you like, baby?” he asked.
“hm…” y/n touched a cute shirt on the rack, “this top is nice.”
a smile tugged at the corners of rafe’s lips. “perfect. we’ll get it then.” he took the shirt off the rack and hooked it on his arm. “anything else?”
“yeah. this sundress,” y/n said and showed him a pretty, light sundress. “do you think it would look good on me?” she asked.
rafe looked at the dress then her. “you would look gorgeous wearing that, darling,” he said as he admired her.
“thanks, rafey,” y/n said sweetly. “can we get it?”
“i can get it. you just wear it and look pretty,” rafe said and hooked the dress on his arm with the shirt. “let’s take a look at the jewellery; we can find a nice necklace to go with the dress, maybe?”
y/n smiled and nodded. “yes! i have an idea of the perfect one,” she said and walked to the jewellery section.
rafe followed her, perfectly content. y/n bit her lip as she looked over the choice of necklaces. “i like this one,” she said and showed rafe a nice necklace with a small, real diamond dangling from the chain.
“it’s perfect for you, baby. if you want it, i’ll buy it,” rafe said, watching her with an adoring gaze.
“but it’s $1000,” y/n pointed out as she looked at the price. “i know that’s not a lot, but still, for one necklace-“
“stop. if you want something, you’ll have it. i don’t care about prices, i care about making sure you have everything you want. don’t bring up the price of something again, but it doesn’t matter,” rafe interrupted firmly.
y/n softened and nodded. “okay. thank you, rafey.”
“don’t thank me, i’m just giving you the treatment you deserve, baby. now come on, let’s buy these things, and if you’re done we can go home and watch a movie or something,” rafe said and leaned down to kiss her temple.
“i love you,” y/n said to him.
“i love you, too, baby.”
rafe carefully placed the many full, plastic shopping bags down on the floor of y/n’s bedroom. y/n sat on her bed and waited for rafe to join her.
“rafeyyyyy,” she whined a little. rafe hummed. “can we watch a disney movie?”
rafe looked up at her. “a disney movie? seriously? those are for kid-“ he cut himself off when he saw the look in her eyes. he sighed. “okay, fine. a disney movie. we’ll watch whatever you want, darling.”
rafe came and joined y/n on the bed, getting them both comfortable and holding her close to him. he picked up the remote and turned on the tv in her bedroom on. he opened disney and played the movie y/n had chosen.
“are you happy?” rafe asked her.
y/n smiled at him softly. “more than happy.”
“good. that’s all i want, is for you to be happy.”
they share a soft, loving kiss as the movie started before pulling apart. y/n watched the movie, but rafe watched her, attuned to all her emotions and expressions.
♡. 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐬 : Percy lives with his mother and works part-time, hoping one day he can give her a better life. It all starts to change a rainy day, when he meets you, a girl who lives in a world completely different from his own.
Percy Jackson had never thought much about what he didn’t have.
The apartment he lived in was small. The radiator clanked like it was fighting for it's life every winter. The wallpaper in the kitchen peeled near the sink, and the couch had a dip in the middle where he and his mom always ended up during movie nights.
It was home with those blue plastic tablecloths and pancakes on Sundays or his mom dancing with him in the kitchen to old songs on the radio, her hugging him before every shift and saying, “You and me, Percy. We’re doing just fine.”
And they were! There was laughter everyday and for the boy seeing his mom laugh was top tier importance.
Sally Jackson worked long shifts— café mornings and afternoons, working in a restaurant at night when she could get it— but she never let it show at home. She’d come in tired, her black hair slipping out of the clips, the apron wrinkled, and still smile like Percy was the best thing she’d ever seen.
Because to her, he was.
And to Percy? She was everything.
He learned early how to stretch things, to fix the cabinet door with a screwdriver or to make boxed mac and cheese taste gourmet with some extra pepper and a splash of milk. He also tried to pretend he didn’t notice when his mom skipped showers so he could have more.
He couldn't pretend anyway because he loved his mom too much.
So he got a part-time job as soon as he could— shelving books at a tiny independent shop a few blocks away. It didn’t pay much, but it helped. And he liked the smell of paper and ink and talking to the old man that ran it.
Their Friday tradition was sacred.
No matter how chaotic the week had been, Friday nights meant cheap takeout— usually pizza, sometimes Chinese if tips had been good— and a movie they’d already seen at least five times.
They’d sit cross-legged on the floor because the coffee table doubled as storage, and Sally would narrate scenes like she was in the film herself.
“Percy,” she’d say in an exaggerated tone, pointing at the screen, “if you ever fall in love, I hope she laughs at your jokes.”
“What if they’re not funny?”
“Oh honey,” she’d grin, “then she’s the one.”
The boy always rolled his eyes, but his cheeks would go pink.
He didn’t dream about mansions or sports cars or having a penthouse.
He just dreamed about stability. About one day buying his mom a place where the windows didn’t rattle, surprising her with a stove that didn’t need a match to light.
About maybe, someday, having enough that she wouldn’t have to work double shifts.
He also wasn’t bitter. He didn’t look at rich neighborhoods with envy. He just looked at them like they were another world— really shiny, distant, a life not built for people like him.
And that was fine.
Because he had Saturday mornings where he and his mom would walk to the farmer’s market before closing so vendors would sell produce cheaper. She’d squeeze peaches and hand him strawberries to taste, laughing when his cheek was stained.
He had love— unwavering, unembarrassed love.
The kind of love that didn’t need money.
Sometimes, when he lay in bed listening to the cars outside, Percy would think about how small their place was. Then he’d hear his mom moving around in the kitchen, singing to herself while she packed tomorrow’s lunch.
And he’d think: We’re okay. More than okay.
He didn’t know that somewhere across the city, in a house with marble floors and many empty rooms, a girl with everything would be wishing for exactly what he already had.
The first time Percy sees her, it’s raining.
Not the romantic kind of rain that's movie-like. More of an aggressive, strong wind, umbrella-flipping kind of rain.
He’s just finished his shift at the bookstore, with the hoodie pulled over his head, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s debating whether he can outrun the storm to the subway when he hears it—
A sharp, frustrated gasp.
He turns and there you are. Standing under the useless shelter of a bus stop sign holding an umbrella that has completely inverted, metal spokes sticking out like a spider. Your shoes— expensive-looking, cream-colored, not built for puddles— are soaked. Well, all you is soaked.
And you look… stunned, even a bit confused.
Percy shouldn’t stare but he does anyway because you don't look like someone who would walk around this part of the city.
You're dressed in soft, tailored clothes— not flashy, but they are the type of clothes that obviously cost more than his entire closet. Your hair is pinned back neatly, though the rain is slowly winning that battle. A leather bag hangs from your shoulder— real leather. He can tell.
And yet you're standing there alone with no driver, friends or someone rushing to the rescue as you mutter a curse under your breath, poking the broken umbrella as if it might fix itself.
Percy hesitates.
He doesn’t belong in your world... That much is obvious. You probably live in one of those buildings with doormen and polished brass handles and a lobby that smells like expensive candles!
But you looks so… lost.
And his mom didn’t raise him to ignore a lady in the rain.
So he jogs over.
“Uh,” he says, pushing his hood back, the rain instantly soaking into his curls. “You know you’re kind of fighting a losing battle there, right?”
You blink at him. Your eyes are bright and curious.
“Oh,” you say, looking at the umbrella somewhat embarrassed. “Is it that obvious?”
Percy grins. “I’d say once it turns into modern art, yeah.”
You look at him surprised but laugh like you found it hilarious. He feels his chest doing a flip.
“I didn’t check the weather,” you admit, glancing up at the sky. “I thought it would just be… light.”
“It’s never light,” Percy replies, trying to be calm and failing the next second. “This city's weather is like those London crime books.”
Another laugh comes out of you.
God, okay. He needs to calm down. “You waiting for the bus?” he asks.
“Yes, I didn’t know it only comes every thirty minutes.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Welcome to public transport.”
You tilt your head. “You say that like you’re the mayor of it.”
“I might be.”
He pulls his backpack off and digs around before pulling out a slightly dented but functional blue umbrella.
He opens it and holds it over both without really thinking about it and you step closer automatically. Suddenly you're standing under this small circle of dry space, shoulders nearly touching.
Up close, Percy notices you smell good too— not overpowering but likely those expensive colognes that are the perfect type of smell.
“You don’t have to—” you start when he pushes the umbrella for you to grab.
“It’s fine,” he shrugs. “I live like three blocks that way. The bus is probably more important for you.”
There’s something thoughtful in your expression at that.
“And where do you live?” you ask with curiosity.
He jerks his chin vaguely downtown. “Over the laundromat on 104th.”
He expects something to change in your face. Maybe pity, discomfort or even disgust. It would be normal since you look like a rich kid.
But it doesn't, instead you nod like he just said something important.
“That’s close to the little bookstore on the corner, right? With the crooked sign?”
He blinks. “Yeah. I work there.”
Your eyes light up. “You do? I love that place!”
He laughs. “You love that place?”
“Yes!! I like the smell of book paper and ink, but I never have time to go...”
He doesn’t know why his stomach mimics the flip his chest did 5 minutes ago. Were you hiding under a rock your whole life and have now decided to come out?
The bus headlights appear in the distance, cutting through the rain. You look at it and back at him.
“I’m glad it rained,” you say suddenly.
He raises an eyebrow. “Most people aren’t.”
“I wouldn’t have met you otherwise, funny guy.”
And Percy— who has faced broken radiators, overdue bills, and a lifetime of making do— finds himself utterly unprepared for one sweet girl in the rain.
The bus pulls up with a hiss. You hesitate before stepping on and then you turn around to give him your name.
“Percy,” he says.
“I know,” you reply with a small smile, glancing at the bookstore logo on his hoodie.
The doors close with the bus pulling away. And Percy stands there in the rain, without umbrella, heart doing wild things in his chest.
When he gets home, dripping wet and dazed, his mom looks up from the stove.
“You look like you saw a mythical creature,” she says.
The boy pauses next to the bathroom door. Maybe he did.
He sees you again three days later. He’s not expecting to but he's happy when your eyes find his. It’s Saturday afternoon, and the bookstore is slow. The bell above the door jingles, and Percy looks up automatically, opening his mouth to greet the customer.
There you are. Dry this time by the way.
Dressed in a soft and pale sweater with a neat skirt, some jewelry that probably costs a fortune... But you're smiling happily as if just walked into somewhere you love.
“Hi,” you say, moving a bit your hand.
Oh man, he forgets how to speak.
“You—” He clears his throat. “I see you survived the bus.”
“I did,” you reply gravely. “But it was harrowing.”
As you step further inside, you look around, getting some mystery books and pausing to read the back covers of those that did catch your attention before you talk once more.
“You really work here,” your eyes are still on the book as you put it back in place.
“Yep, I wasn’t lying.”
“I didn’t think you were.” You say while picking up a copy of Pride and Prejudice from Jane Austen, flipping it open.
“My mom used to read to me from this,” you say. “When she had time.”
“Mine reads everything out loud,” he says. “Even takeout menus. She loves making people laugh.”
Why was he talking to a pretty girl about his mom? Gods, he might be the worst on flirtin—.
Your smile widens, “I like her already,” you settle into the worn armchair by the window.
You talk between customers. About books at first, then the rainy day 3 days ago and where were you going and how you didn’t realize the bus schedule could ruin completely a day.
He finds out you live uptown, like, really uptown. He was right about thinking of you living in the kind of building with a lobby attendant and marble floors.
He tries not to picture it too clearly. For some reason he thinks for the first time ever in his life he might look like a homeless person to people like you.
He hates that the thought even crosses his mind.
He’s never been ashamed of where he lives, about the laundromat downstairs or the way the stairwell smells faintly like detergent and metal. He’s never cared that his sneakers are worn or that most of his clothes are secondhand.
But you’re standing there in really nice clothes and brand jewelry, talking about books, and suddenly he’s aware of how he might be looking like he cannot afford even some roses.
A customer wanders in, and Percy moves to help them, but he keeps glancing back at you like you might go if he doesn’t check. You don’t, you’re flipping through pages, legs tucked beneath you.
When the customer leaves, you look up.
“So,” you say casually, “what time do you get off?”
He hesitates. “Six.”
You nod. “Okay.”
“Okay…?”
You glance at your watch for a moment before looking up at the boy again. “I have to leave in a little while today, but I'd like to walk you home tomorrow.”
“What?”
You come back the next day.
Percy tells himself it’s more of a coincidence than a premeditated idea.. People find places they like and return to them. That doesn’t have to mean anything! The bookstore is quiet, tucked away and easy to miss unless you’re looking for it. Maybe he's falling in love with a performative rich girl !?
Then you come back the day after that.
And the day after that.
At first, you browse like any other customer. You look for a book, settle into the worn armchair by the window, knees tucked up slightly with the afternoon sunlight catching in your hair while you read. Every so often, you look up and ask him something— about a title, about an author, even why he shelved books by their color.
He answers every time since you have been walking with him back home.
Then one afternoon, you walk in holding two coffees. You just step up to the counter and place one near his elbow while he’s sorting receipts.
He glances at it, then at you before drinking.
It’s exactly how he likes it! Balanced, but sweet at the same time, with blue syrup. He doesn’t remember ever telling you that and he doesn’t ask how you knew because he doesn’t want to look like an idiot that forgets your conversations.
Another day, you bring a pastry folded in blue paper. You break it in half without asking and slide part of it toward him while he’s helping a customer. When he looks up, you’re already pretending to read the back cover of Journey to the Center of the Earth from Jules Verne, as if you haven’t been watching him the entire time.
He thinks you’re blushing behind the book but maybe it’s just hot inside. Perhaps he should turn the heating down a bit.
The third time, you bring nothing at all.
You sit on the counter while he reorganizes a display, careful not to knock anything over, your feet swinging slightly above the floor. You ask him why certain books are always moved to the front. You listen when he explains about how the sales and visibility and what customers gravitate toward.
Some afternoons you read for hours, only looking up when the bell above the door rings. Other days you talk about long dinners you’re expected to attend, about the rooms full of people who only know each other’s last names.
Percy likes to listen and he starts to expect you.
Around 15:50p.m, his focus shifts toward the door without meaning to. When the bell rings, his head lifts. When it isn’t you, something small inside him settles back down again.
When it is you, the entire room explodes in colors for the boy.
Even when you’re not speaking to him, he’s aware of you— the soft sound of a page turning where you sit, the way you lean your cheek against your hand when you’re thinking, or the faint tap of your shoe against the counter when you’re bored.
He really enjoys your company.
The bell above the bookstore door jingles at exactly 15:17 p.m.
Percy knows the time because he’s been checking the clock every five minutes since two. Not that he’s been waiting for you, buuut he's been waiting...
He’s reorganizing the mythology section for the third time this week when the door opens and even before he looks up, he knows it's you by the sound of those boots with heels you usually wear.
“Hi,” you say.
“Hey,” he says, trying for casual and landing somewhere around in love.
Still, today you seem a bit nervous. You don’t head for a book and the armchair but walk straight up to him.
Percy immediately becomes aware of everything— the way he’s holding the Odyssey book upside down, the dust on his clothes from cleaning and the fact that his hair is looking terrible today.
“You’re early,” he blurts out.
You blink. “Early?”
“For— I mean. You usually come closer to four.”
“Oh,” you say slowly. “So you do notice when I come in.”
He wants the floor to swallow him whole. Please, just let a black hole appear and swallow him whole!
“Well, you're a regular” he mutters weakly.
You step closer, and suddenly the space between you feels very small. The bookstore is quiet since there's no customers and the owner is out running errands.
You study him for a second like you’re working up to something.
“Percy,” you say.
The way you say his name should be illegal.
“Yeah?” “Are you ever going to ask me out?”
He blinks. “I— what?”
You cross your arms, not annoyed but definitely amused. “I very obviously like you.”
His brain short-circuits. “You— you do???”
You stare at him.
“Yes.” “Oh.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Can his mouth just work???
You sigh softly, but you have a little smile on your lips.
“Okay,” you say with decision. “Let’s make this easier.”
You step even closer— close enough that he can see the tiny gold flecks in your eyes.
“Do you want to go on a date with me?” Direct and clear question with no games in between.
Percy’s face goes red instantly.
“A date?” he repeats, that word is foreign, he has NEVER gone to a date. He dedicates himself to studying and working to help his mother have it easier; he doesn't date.
“Yes. A date.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “You. Me. Intentionally spending time together with romantic implications.”
He makes a strangled sound and you can't help yourself but laugh.
“Perce.”
“I— I just didn’t think you’d want—” “Why wouldn’t I?”
He hesitates. The words hovering in his mind: You're rich and pretty and sweet and I’m a guy living on top of a laundromat.
Even if he doesn't say anything you can see it on his face.
“I don’t care about your status,” you reply even if he didn't open his mouth. “I like you.”
“You’re serious?” he asks.
“Yes.” “Like… really serious?”
You lean in slightly. “Perseus Jackson, I have been flirting with you for two weeks.”
His eyes widen. “That was flirting?”
You laugh again, shaking your head. “Yes. That was flirting.”
He runs a hand through his hair, still flushed. “I thought you were just…well, being nice?”
“I am nice,” you respond. “And I’m also asking you on a date.”
He looks at you and for once, instead of seeing the distance between your worlds, he just sees you waiting for an answer, you seem determined and bold, but your hands are also playing with each other and a slight blush is growing on your cheeks.
“I’d like that,” he says finally. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
Your smile is slow and bright and victorious in the gentlest way.
“Good,” you say. “Saturday. You pick somewhere you like.”
“Somewhere I like?” “Yes. I want to see your world.”
“Okay,” he says, voice softer now. “I know a place.”
You nod, satisfied and then you lean forward and press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
Percy freezes, basically, you just made his whole system to shutdown. When you pull back, his face is glowing red.
“That,” you say lightly, “is motivation.”
You grab your leather bag and head for the door like you didn’t alter the chemical makeup of his entire being.
Percy spends all of Saturday morning pretending he’s not nervous. He cleans the apartment even though you’re not coming inside. He reorganizes the bookshelf and changes shirts three times before his mom finally leans against his bedroom door and says: “If you change one more time, I’m picking for you.”
He freezes mid-button. “I’m not nervous.”
“Of course you’re not,” Sally says sweetly. “You’ve only been pacing for twenty minutes.”
She walks over, fixing his collar gently, and smoothing his hair like she used to when he was little. “She likes you,” she keeps going. “You don’t have to impress her. Just be you.”
By the time he reaches the bookstore, you're there. Leaning against the brick wall outside, dressed simply— not in anything flashy or intimidating. A soft blue sundress and sneakers. You planned for walking.
When you spot him, your entire face lights up and Percy forgets every anxious thought he’s had all morning.
“You clean up nicely,” you start, pushing off the wall and walking toward him.
His brain malfunctions briefly. “I— uh. You look— I mean.. You always look—”
You smile and save him. “Thank you.”
There’s no awkward hovering or guessing. You step into his space and nudge his arm with yours. “So, where are you taking me?”
He swallows. “There’s this place by the river. It’s not fancy or anything... Just a food truck park and a walking path. But the view’s good.”
Your smile softens. “That sounds perfect.”
You start walking. At first, there’s that slight hyper-awareness— the knowledge that this is different. This is a date.
But it doesn’t take long before it feels like all the evenings you walked with him home after work, just… lighter.
You guys pass corner stores and street vendors. A man playing saxophone on the sidewalk. Kids chasing each other through a spray of water from a busted hydrant.
At one point Percy stops to buy a small teddy bear as a gift for you.
“You really like it here,” you mention as you hug the plushie.
“Yeah,” Percy admits. “It’s loud and kind of messy and sometimes smells weird, but… it’s nice.”
When you reach the food trucks, he relaxes a bit more. This is practically his territory! He knows which stand has the best fries and which one overloads the tacos in the best way.
He orders for them after checking what you like and sit on a low stone wall facing the river, city skyline stretching across the water. The breeze is warm, tugging at your hair a bit, and brushing against his collar.
For a while, you just eat and talk. About stupid things. About how Percy's mom was screaming like crazy about him having a date. About how your building has a lobby pianist on Thursdays and you've always found it vaguely unsettling.
“You have a lobby pianist?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Like… just sitting there?” “Yes!”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”
You grin. “You don’t treat me differently,”
He frowns. “How do you mean?”
“You don’t act impressed or intimidated or with respect.”
He snorts softly. “You brought me coffee for two weeks and I do respect you.”
You nudged him with the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
You finish eating and wander down the river path, slow and unhurried. The sun is dipping lower now, painting everything in gold and purple.
Your hands brush once. Then twice. The third time, you don't pull away. Instead, you lace your fingers through his and don’t let go. You've been waiting to be able to hold his hand. It’s really warm.
He looks down at your joined hands like he’s dreaming.
“You okay?” you ask, amused.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah. Just— wow.”
“You’re very red.” “I’m aware.”
You laugh softly and squeeze his hand.
You walk like that for a while, fingers still intertwined, the warmth of his hand against your own. The path along the river is calmer now, the late afternoon drifting gently toward evening and the sun hangs lower, spilling molten gold across the water, the boats that pass leave ripples that shimmer and dissolve behind them.
There's silence— not heavy, it's more like you both are waiting for something and any can make it happen— watching a small rowboat drift lazily across the water. The person inside rows unevenly, splashing more than gliding.
You tilt your head. “Have you ever done that?”
“Fallen in?” he replies.
“No. Gone out on one.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ve thought about it, though.”
There’s a small dock ahead where rentals are offered. A wooden sign, a bored teenager behind a folding table, and a few rowboats bobbing gently against their ropes.
“Let’s do it,” you say suddenly.
He looks at you. “Do what?” “Get in a boat!”
He laughs softly, thinking you're joking, but you're turning toward the dock already, tugging him lightly along with you.
“Wait,” he says, stumbling a little. “Right now?”
“Why not?” your eyes bright in the fading light. “It’s still warm, it’s pretty and since we’re already here..”
He hesitates only for a second— not because he doesn’t want to, but because this feels spontaneous in a way he’s not used to. He’s always thinking about the money, calculating the costs of this things, weighing their practicality.
You step up to the folding table and asks for a boat. When the price is mentioned, Percy instinctively reaches for his wallet, but you're faster.
“I’ve got it,”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you say. “Next time you can.”
Next time.
The words warm him more than the sunset.
A few minutes later, both of you are climbing carefully into a small rowboat that rocks slightly under the weight. Percy nearly loses his balance, and you laugh softly, steadying yourself with one hand on his arm.
“Okay,” he mutters, trying to look competent as he takes the oars. “I may have overestimated my boating abilities.”
“I have full faith in you,” you reply, settling onto the wooden seat across from him, knees brushing his.
He pushes off from the dock, and for a moment the boat wobbles uncertainly before gliding outward. The river opens around with the sounds of the city dulling and water reflecting streaks of orange and violet, the sky melting slowly into dusk. The gentle dip and pull of the oars create soft ripples that spread.
You just watch him row for a while, chin resting lightly in your hand, a small smile playing at the lips.
“What?” he asks eventually, self-conscious.
“Nothing, I just like looking at you when you’re focused.”
He nearly rows sideways and you grab his arm to steady you both.
Percy shakes his head, smiling despite himself, and slows once far enough from shore that the dock is just a small shape behind. He lets the oars rest and the boat drifts.
You reach out, fingers lightly tracing along the inside of his wrist, following the faint line of a vein there. It’s an absent gesture, thoughtful rather than bold.
“It’s peaceful out here,” you say softly.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The boat rocks gently beneath them, the water lapping faintly against the wood.
You look up at him then. “I’ve wanted to do this since the rain,”
“Get in a boat?” he asks.
You smile faintly. “No.”
Then you're leaning forward, close that he can feel her breath warm against his cheek.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” you say quietly, matching his voice.
He lifts his hand slowly, cupping your cheek with a touch so reverent it feels like he's touching a pearl. You lean into it immediately, your eyes softening.
The first brush of lips is tentative, like you both are confirming it’s real.
Then it deepens— not rushed or desperate — your lips are pressing with certainty and your hand slides into his hair, gentle as the boat rocks slightly with the shift in weight, but neither pulls away.
When you finally part, it's not far. Your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling, the river drifting quietly around with the sky darker now, the first city lights reflecting in broken lines across the water.
You smile against his mouth. “Worth it?”
He exhales softly, thumb brushing along your cheek.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low and sure. “More than worth it.”
♡ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
♡ 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⸝⸝ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
💭 : Repost time as I work on my new fics! I got scared thinking I lost this oneshot request.
Did you notice that several books are mentioned throughout the one-shot? (Pride and Prejudice, Journey to the Center of the Earth, The Odyssey)
Random fact, those are some of my favorite books from when I was little, I wanted to add The Neverending Story but ended up choosing Pride and Prejudice. x) Also, the first idea was to make a reader who loves Jules Verne's stories because they're some of my favorite books lmaoo.
so you know how Luke is hot. like canonically. yeah? well here's my headcanon: he isn't just hot, he's the hottest. like, Adonis hot. Helen of Sparta hot. Apollo-and-Aphrodite-almost-got-in-a-fistfight-over-him hot. I mean, this isn't completely unfounded. in the books, people do things for him/pay extra attention to him just because of his looks (Silena, Juniper), everyone at camp had a crush on him, Percy mistakes Apollo (one of the hottest gods, supposedly) for him. he has Kelli the empousa basically begging to fuck him. cmon guys, see my vision
Comparing Haymitch and Katniss' narrative styles is so funny to me because he's a yapper and she's a gatekeeper. He drops more lore on D12 in the first two chapters of SOTR than she does in the entire trilogy.
Haymitch is like "Yeah, so this person is related to this person who's related to this person and things are this way because of this and this thing actually came from here and this person is actually my best friend and also here's this extra tidbit of random info cause all my lore dropping comes with it's own additional bonus content and all my unnecessary commentary."
And Katniss is over here like "Tf do I care for if y'all know all the lore of District 12? I'm talking about my beautiful husband's beautiful eyelashes."
