Girl dad ! percy jackson ! ( blue mornings )
⋆♆.˚ ㅤ| percy jackson x fem!reader
— about. Percy and your baby wake up early to make breakfast, blue pancakes and matching clothes!
The sun wasn’t even up yet when a soft thump-thump-thump against his chest stirred Percy from sleep.
Tiny fists.
He blinked one eye open to see her — wide awake, perched on his stomach with her hair sticking out in five different directions, and a gummy grin that said “good morning.”
“Oh, you’re up early,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep as he brushed a hand over her curls. “Let me guess. You were bored, so you decided to beat me up?”
She responded with another determined pat to his chest.
“Okay, okay. I surrender,” he laughed, sitting up slowly and scooping her into his arms. “Let’s get you changed, huh?”
The nursery was dim and quiet, full of sea-themed pastels and plush toys she barely used because she almost always ended up between them in bed. Percy laid her down gently, humming some nonsense melody as he reached for a clean onesie.
“How do we feel about matching today?” he asked, holding up a tiny blue shirt with a cartoon sea turtle and then glancing down at his own blue tee. “Close enough, right?”
She gurgled like she approved. Or at least didn’t object.
He wriggled her into the shirt, fastened the buttons with expert hands, and pulled on her tiniest shoes—more for cuteness than practicality. Then came a brave attempt at taming her hair with a little water and his fingers, followed by a small navy bow he clipped to the side.
“There,” he said proudly. “Presentable enough for breakfast.”
She slapped both hands on his cheeks in response.
Percy kissed her forehead, slung her up on his hip, and padded toward the kitchen with a whisper. “Let’s let Mama sleep. If she’s lucky, we’ll even have pancakes ready when she wakes up.”
He set her gently on the counter in her usual spot—nestled against a rolled towel and surrounded by strategically placed fruit to keep her from launching herself over the edge. She immediately started reaching for the bananas.
“Whoa, whoa, that’s for the pancakes,” Percy said, catching the fruit just in time. “You gotta let me do the slicing part, okay? Your job is moral support.”
She blew a raspberry. He took it as agreement.
While she babbled and kicked her socked feet, he started mixing the batter—adding a few drops of blue food coloring, because of course—and tossing in some chocolate chips just to see her eyes light up. He glanced over every few seconds to check she was still secure, occasionally using his elbow to nudge her away from the edge.
“Hey. Can you do me a favor?” he asked her mid-stir. “Try not to die before breakfast. That’s your only job.”
She squealed and smacked the counter.
“Absolutely agree,” he chuckled.
Once the batter was ready, he poured careful circles onto the skillet. Then, with a grin, he tried a few shaped ones—stars, hearts, a kind-of-horse-but-mostly-blobby pegasus. She clapped for each one, even when they looked nothing like what he intended.
“See that one? That’s a dolphin. Kind of,” he said, poking its tail. “Okay, you know what, let’s just say it’s a…very round heart.”
It was in the middle of flipping a pancake that he heard the familiar creak of the stairs and looked up to see you—still in pajamas, hair a mess, rubbing sleep from your eyes with a crooked smile on your face.
“Morning,” he said, grinning like the sun had just risen.
You blinked at the sight in front of you: your daughter sitting happily on the counter, babbling nonsense at her father, who was flipping blue pancakes while talking to her like she was a judge on a cooking show.
“I leave you two alone for an hour and you’ve started your own restaurant,” you teased, settling into the chair across from the counter. “What’s on the menu, Chef Jackson?”
“Blue pancakes and mushy bananas,” he replied, lifting your daughter into your arms once he turned the stove off. “With extra kisses if you’re lucky.”
He leaned in as he passed her to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek with a soft “Good morning, angel.”
Your daughter squealed between the two of you, like she approved of the affection, her tiny hands patting your collarbone as you settled her on your hip
You kissed the baby’s cheek, letting her press her face into your shoulder with a happy sigh. “Best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“It already wins.”
Percy set the plates down—his shapes proudly intact—and gave the kitchen a glance. It was a bit messy: a splash of batter here, a banana peel there, a trail of sock fuzz by the counter where your daughter had kicked hers off. But it looked lived in. Warm.
You strapped the baby into her booster seat at the regular kitchen table (not quite a high chair yet, but close enough for today), and Percy helped slide her tray in place while she waved her arms like she knew what came next.
“Okay, okay,” he said, cutting a mini pancake into tiny bites. “Let’s not act like we’ve never eaten before.”
She opened her mouth before he even reached her tray, like a baby bird, and you both laughed.
The three of you sat down properly this time—no eating on the floor today—and passed around syrup and fruit and little bites of breakfast. Percy handed you your coffee exactly the way you liked it, stealing a blueberry off your plate and pretending it hadn’t happened when you looked at him.
“She seems happy,” you smirked, watching your daughter smear blue across her face with wild glee.
“Perfect,” Percy grinned. “Our little food critic approves.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder for a second, your daughter babbling between spoonfuls.
And in that quiet, domestic morning, with the sun finally rising through the kitchen window and a family breakfast in full swing, you figured there wasn’t anything else you needed.
Not when you had this.
