So Cooley, what if older brother wb! Reader got a partner? I was thinking Percy Jackson or Annabeth Chase or preferably both cause I do indeed need BOAF. But it’s always up to you
"I LOVE YOU" "I LOVE YOU TOO" "I DON'T CONSET"
Percy and Annabeth always thought they were endgame until the goddess of love had another ship in mind. (PercAbeth x older brother wb!reader)
WB!reader. thought Camp Half-Blood was just another summer camp one of those “character-building” places his father insisted on. A few weeks of discipline, teamwork, and maybe some hiking. Nothing too strange. Except, of course, for the fact that the camp wasn’t normal at all.
The moment you stepped through the barrier, the world shifted. The man in the wheelchair wasn’t a man at all but a centaur. The trees whispered with voices that belonged to nymphs, and the lake shimmered with something far older than sunlight. The Mist didn’t touch you; it never had. You saw everything exactly as it was.
Most mortals would have gone insane. But you wasn’t most mortals. Living with all the weird, wacky shenanigans of Gotham, yeah, a little bit of Greek magic never scared you. That's just another day downtown, if anything.
Chiron didn’t know what to do with you. A mortal who could walk through the barrier without issue? Impossible. Unless, of course, a god had meddled. And meddled she had. Aphrodite, in all her divine mischief, had decided that Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase were never meant to be a duo. They were meant to be a trio. And the missing piece was Wb!reader.
“Honestly,” Annabeth muttered, leaning her head against Percy’s shoulder, “at least she didn’t curse someone this time.”
“Bless the gods for that,” Percy grumbled, rolling his eyes at the word gods.
But now that they knew the story, both of them refused to let you anywhere near them. Not out of hatred, but out of sheer confusion. How were they supposed to handle a mortal in their demigod relationship, and why a third now when everything felt so fixed?
The problem was, you had that Wayne charm. It was in his blood. Even when he tried to stay out of the spotlight, people gravitated toward yiu. The girls adored you, the guys respected you, and the younger campers followed him like ducklings. He had that older-brother aura calm, cool, protective without even trying.
Percy couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He was used to being the center of attention, the hero everyone looked up to. But now, you were the talk of the camp.
And somewhere, far above, Aphrodite laughed. Because sometimes, love wasn’t about romance it was about connection. And she had decided that this trio, strange as it was, was destined to change everything.
Character(s): Luke Castellan, Reader (fem. pronouns)
Requested by anon
Summary: Wherever you were, Luke was, even in your room filled with flowers, pink plushies, and frills. While watching you get ready one morning, the best swordsman at Camp Half-Blood starts to glare a little too hard at your... teddy bear?
Warnings: luke is a little weirdo lowkey higkey, a brief mention of "monster guts" (nothing detailed), slightly suggestive (kissing/making out?), perhaps a bit of crack fic energy?? it's also implied that the reader is not a child of Hermes, NOT PROOFREAD!!
Word Count: 2.8k
Luke’s known you since before you were claimed. He knew you when you showed up at the Big House, covered in rain and monster guts with your satyr protector. You had looked so… scared, so vulnerable. You weren’t like the other campers that Luke had met, and you certainly were not like him. You were soft.
But he never complained.
You were pleasant to be around, and somehow, after only a few days of showing you camp, you managed to be his favorite reason to smile.
It took a few months for your godly parent to claim you, so you spent that time making your corner of Cabin 11 so very you, and Luke loved it. He absolutely loved every second of every minute that he spent watching you tie little ribbons around the frame of your bunk bed. He loved seeing the way that your eyes twinkled each time you taped a newly dried flower to the wall your bunk was pushed up against.
He still remembered the way that you smiled at him when he complimented how you had even changed the sheets of your bunk from the plain camp-issued set to a light pink one. It had frills on the edges and little white flowers. They were softer, too, he found out after the two of you had skipped the campfire to talk to each other in Cabin 11. You ended up having a surprisingly deep conversation about the nymphs that lived in the lake.
But then you got claimed.
You had to move out of Cabin 11, pack up all of the little bits of lace and fluff and all the scraps that had screamed you, and move them into your new cabin.
Luke helped you, of course. He was the one who would hold all of your clothes as you piled them over his arms so high that he could barely see where he was going. But he eventually got it all to your cabin, and he helped you put everything in your dresser. By then, Luke had to go back to sword training and make sure the Stolls didn’t set something on fire again.
It only took a week for Luke to realize that he didn’t smile as much without seeing you almost every second of every day. So it only took a week for Luke to ask you to be his girlfriend.
-_-
It was early. The sun had risen above the horizon about thirty minutes ago.
And Luke was already climbing through the window of your cabin, smiling to himself as he remembered that the other three girls you shared your room with had left camp for the weekend. One had said something about the beach with her mortal family, another about seeing a long-distance girlfriend back home, and Luke didn’t bother remembering why the third one was gone once he realized that he could have you all to himself this weekend.
The second he lifted the window, Luke could smell you. He smelt the flowers he stole from the Demeter Cabin’s garden, he could pick out whatever perfume you had sprayed last. If he was remembering right, it was the one that he had given you. It was a light pink, heart-shaped, and made you smell like a bakery.
You didn’t wake up right away when Luke managed to wriggle in through the window. Not yet, anyway.
Luke turned to face you, looking at the way your face looked so… relaxed when you were asleep. So vulnerable. Something only he got to see.
Luke was going to climb into your bed with you, be there when you woke up, but when he tried to figure out the best way to squeeze between you and the wall that your bed was pushed up against, he realized that he couldn’t.
There wasn’t enough room.
Your bed was lined with them. Like a barricade of plush little protectors to watch over you while you slept.
This wasn’t new. Luke had gotten used to your many stuffed animals quickly after you moved out of Cabin 11 and into this one. You finally had enough room for them here, and you didn’t have to worry about one of the Stoll brothers stashing them away to mess with you, so you spread them out all over your bed.
But Luke was always able to fit into your bed. Regardless of how he felt about your surplus of plushies—he didn’t like how it felt like they were watching him whenever he was in your room—he could always fit in your bed with you.
Right now, Luke was scrunching his nose, trying to figure out the best way to climb over you without smushing your stuffed animals.
Before you started dating, Luke would have brushed the stuffed animals off your bed, or just lain on top of them, but he knew you. You would be upset if he were to do something so callous to your things, especially since they were your stuffed animals. And if you were upset with him, then that would stifle his plans to make you late for breakfast this morning.
Sometimes he thought that you loved them more than him, and he was tempted to hide them from you, so that way if you wanted to hold on to something when you slept, it would have to be him.
But Luke had seen what had happened when one of your stuffed animals went missing. Travis Stoll had taken one as a prank when you were still in the Hermes Cabin. It was a little pink bunny that your mortal grandmother had given to you. When you finally realized that it was gone, you had torn apart your beautifully decorated corner of the Hermes Cabin looking for it, assuming that it had just fallen under your bed or had gotten tucked under your covers.
When you couldn’t find it, you went to Luke, on the verge of tears.
So, yeah. Moving your stuffed animals off your bed to make room for him was not in the cards for him at the moment.
Luke looked closer at the stuffed animals you had on your bed, trying to figure out why all of a sudden he couldn’t fit in your bed.
There was the white weighted dinosaur plushie from one of your older half-sisters, the hamster with a bow on its ear from your cousin, and the cat with a frilly collar that you had had since you were two.
The cream colored bear had embroidered eyelashes around its acrylic bead eyes were there too, as usual, and next to her was an out-of-place alpaca that a friend from your mortal school thought that you would have liked. He kept scanning your bed, taking inventory of all the usual suspects that took up his space on your bed.
That’s when his eyes settled on it.
A pink teddy bear.
He had never seen that one before. And it was that one who was taking up the last bit of space that kept him from fitting next to you on your bed without waking you up.
It was almost taunting him. Its eyes unblinking and unmoving. Completely devoid of any life or purpose, taking up room on your bed that could be given to him. He wondered what you named it, maybe something to do with who gave it to you? Or was it one of the ones that you had named for its appearance? Either way, it felt like the stuffed bear had it out for him, taking up Luke’sspace on your bed.
If only Luke could tolerate a few of your tears, then maybe he could toss the bear aside and make room for himself. But he couldn’t stand to see you cry, not when it would be because of him.
So, Luke settled for plopping down at your vanity, fidgeting with all of the lip gloss tubes and eyeshadow palettes you had out. They were shiny and had intricate designs that were meant to be enticing, but Luke couldn’t help but find them a bit gaudy. But they made you happy, so he never said much about them.
And not to mention what you looked like when you used them… Yeah, Luke wouldn’t complain about the packaging of your makeup when it looked like that on you.
He went through the drawers of your vanity while he waited for you to wake up, not daring to be the reason you missed out on a few extra minutes of beauty sleep. The top drawers were filled to the brim with different eyeshadow palettes and tubes of mascara that all looked the same, but he was sure you would tell him they were somehow different.
He had gotten to the bottom drawers (filled with makeup remover and cotton rounds) when you finally, finally woke up.
“Morning, Luke.”
Your voice was raspy from sleep, and your eyes were blinking away the fuzziness of the morning, but that didn’t stop Luke from getting pulled to you. He was kneeling by your face and planting a kiss on your temple the second he heard your voice.
If anyone ever saw him like this for you, he wouldn’t show his face around camp ever again. But no one was here, so he decided to play with your hair between his fingertips.
“Look who finally woke up,” Luke murmured against your skin, unable to help the smile that grew across his face, “how’d you sleep?”
He backed away enough so that you could sit up in your bed and do your little morning stretch that made your pajama shirt rise just enough to see a sliver of your skin. Luke couldn’t help but enjoy it.
“Good, it was nice to have the room to myself,” you sighed, tossing aside your comforter and rolling out of your bed.
Luke quickly stepped out of his sneakers and took your spot on your bed as you took a seat at your vanity. He didn’t mind the pink and white theme of your room, it was very you, so how could he not enjoy it? Even if it wasn’t really his style, he couldn’t deny that your bed was much cozier than his own. Maybe it was the softer sheets? The way your pillows seemed to call his name much louder than his own ever could? It was probably you, in all honesty.
Luke did know that it wasn’t your stuffed animals, though.
He sat up on your bed, folding his legs, leaning on his knees so that he could watch you get ready. Luke liked to see the process that was you. He liked to see you put on your face for the day, watching you put on a meticulously planned outfit, makeup to match, and making sure your hair looked just right. It was an extra layer between the girl Luke loved and the harsh world that didn’t love demigods back.
Luke relished the comfortable silence between the two of you as you got to work on your morning skincare routine. Just listening to the sounds of the world waking up on the other side of your window and the rustling of your things as you went through them on your vanity.
He couldn’t help but focus on that teddy bear. The pink one. The new one. The one that had taken up the room on your bed that was for him.
-_-
You could see Luke behind you in the reflection of your vanity mirror. He had that look about him this morning. It was the face he made when he was hiding something from you, but tried his best to seem pleasant despite it.
Through the reflection of the mirror, you could see Luke looking at one of your stuffed animals as if they had personally wronged him. He was never a big fan of your stuffed animals, something about having too many eyes on him while he was in your room, but they were your companions. Each one had a name, a backstory, a person behind it. You only ever had to explain that to Luke once.
So, once you see Luke pick up your new pink teddy bear, holding her in one hand and narrowing his eyes at her, you open your mouth to say something about it.
But he beats you to it.
“This one’s new,” he murmurs. His voice is a bit rough, like it usually is in the morning. Luke looks up and at your reflection in the mirror. He raises an eyebrow, as if to say explain.
“Oh, that’s Cherry,” you smiled, continuing your morning routine, “my brother gave it to me as a belated birthday present!”
You were rather enthusiastic for it being so early in the morning, but how could you be grumpy when the first thing you saw in the morning was Luke’s face? That was a pretty good trade-off. Waking up ridiculously early and getting to see your lovely boyfriend’s face after he snuck into your cabin.
“Hm,” Luke hummed as he processed the information, his brows furrowing like he was about to ask Cherry the pink teddy bear if she knew how the gods managed to keep Olympus from toppling over after all these years.
“D’you think that there’s a better place to put all of your… friends?”
“No?” You turned around, quirking your eyebrows at Luke, not understanding his distaste for where you put your stuffed animals, “where else am I supposed to put them if not on my bed?”
Luke didn’t respond right away, he took a few moments to look from Cherry the teddy bear to your half-made-up face and back to Cherry, scrunching up his face in a way that made the scar that ran down the side of his face beg to be stained with your lip gloss even though it was seven in the morning. Arguably too early for Luke’s face to be stained with lip gloss, though he would never complain.
A quiet hum, then:
“You have too many.”
Your eyes narrowed accusingly at Luke, like simply saying that you had too many stuffed animals was the same as saying that you suddenly had to burn them all. The gasp that left your mouth was so grating that Luke flinched.
“Luke—“
“I didn’t mean it like that!” He claimed, raising his hands in defense of his seemingly unforgivable self. “There’s just… not enough room for me on your bed anymore.”
Oh.
“Your bed is at like, maximum capacity right now, and you’re not even in it with me,” Luke continued, waving his hands at the many, many stuffed animals piled high on your twin bed with him as if he was trying to prove his point even further.
Now that made you frown.
“Luke,” you finally turned all the way around on your vanity chair, so you could face him without having to crane your neck. You leaned forward, towards Luke, where he held your newest addition to your fuzzy army captive in his grip, and true to his word, there really wasn’t enough room on your bed anymore for the both of you plus your plushies. “… Okay, I can move some of them, I guess.”
You stand up from your vanity bench and place your hands on your hips, reassessing your bed like it’s the scene of a crime, trying to figure out how you could possibly decide which stuffed animals to move from your bed to maybe sit on top of your dresser to make room for you and your boyfriend.
After a grueling twenty minutes of Luke looking at you with puppy dog eyes and an internal debate—which could have turned into one of the longest run-on sentences you would’ve ever had if you tried to verbalize your inner monologue—it’s done.
You managed to move a few plushies that were gifted to you by old mortal schoolmates you don’t necessarily like anymore to various places in your room. Four on the top of your dresser, three smaller ones on your windowsill, and two on the corner of your vanity right next to your perfume collection.
It was hard, but at least you can cuddle up to your boyfriend in the early morning light before breakfast starts at the dining pavilion.
Once it’s all said and done, Luke decides that you can wait a little bit longer to finish your morning routine.
With a mumbled “c’mere,” and a hand around your hip, he pulls you down onto your bed.
And if anything, this is him being considerate because he’s trying to make out with you before you can put on makeup that has to potential to be smeared by his own slightly chapped lips.
Luke would prefer if he didn’t have all the embroidered eyes staring at him as he kissed you, but soon enough, your hands are in his hair, and he doesn’t care anymore.
Liv Yaps: hey guys so i fear that this entire fic is just one run on sentance lmao and i fear that i may or may not have gone in a completely different direction than i intended to when i started this fic so oops but this is super fun to have a fic that has a little pink theme so woooo cause all of the other one's that i've done like this so far have been like beige... but anyway i hope that this is cool :) i also wrote this entire fanfic while listening to telomeres by sleep token on repeat so if its not good i will be blaiming it on that 😀🧍♀️ i'm also realizing that i can only write luke if he's a little freak weirdo man... like that's the only version of him that exists in my head i fear 😬 it's also super duper short because i fear this has been in my inbox since June...
romantic ramblings of percy jackson <3 | masterlist
constant contact. hugs are superior in his opinion, but he can definitely settle for hand holding or resting his head on your shoulder(/head, or vice versa). even just the brushing of your knees when you sit next to him is enough for him.
he doesn’t exactly have a way with words, but he tries to whisper loving things to you. this usually happens when he feels like you need to feel loved, out of embarrassment of being too “cringey” in his words. but it’s so awkward when he does it that sometimes you crack a smile. it wasn’t the intended effect but at least you feel better and that’s all he wants.
His instincts and reflexes are something he's always been able to rely on and that was only confirmed as the River Styx's curse protected him. Achilles' mark was unpredictable and dangerous there was no doubt, but Percy found it a whole lot easier to focus on the fight when he wasn't worrying about being killed. For the most part.
He finds himself on the other side of Manhattan, crossed paths with a demigod on the opposite side of the war – a child of Hermes, ironically enough, and Percy would be lying if his familiar sandy blonde hair didn't cause equal parts hesitance and resentment to stir up inside him. He doesn't know his name, doesn't recognize him from if he went to camp before, but that wasn't all that surprising. Most of the demigods on the other side Percy didn't recognize.
He's a good sword fighter. Percy knows he's good himself, taught by Luke, the best swordsmen in hundreds of years – he swallows down the hesitance and resentment that rises once again at the reminder – but this kid's been able to hold his own for a good while now. Kid, not just because it was Percy's default nickname to call other people, but also because he really was a kid. He looked maybe fifteen, if he was stretching it, but probably younger. Definitely younger than Percy.
It's a bitter reminder of where they are. In the center of Manhattan, Percy stresses about disarming this kid so he can run and get back to the main fight. Everything is stock still frozen, a time capsule city, and it still feels unreal. It was easy to get lost in the illusion that none of this was actually happening.
"Give it up," the kid grits out as Percy loses his footing.
He slips back a bit and the son of Hermes brings his sword back up. Percy does the same and they meet with a clang that echoes in the silent landscape. There's no one and nothing around, aside from a smashed car that's on fire. It's a few feet away, not close enough to be of help if Percy loses Riptide, but not far enough to be a completely useless asset. Percy uses his other hand as leverage as he places at the other end of his blade and pushes. His foot catches on a rock and it helps him gain traction.
"No," he says, and the kid falls back.
He lands on his backside, taking breath after breath. There's soot and smoke surrounding them and it tastes like fire, like Mt. St. Helens, like scars in his skin that reappeared after Calypso's magic wore off, like he was fourteen then and didn't know how to control his powers and now he's sixteen and destined to die and about to kill a kid a year younger than him. His eyes are brown and round and he's staring at him with the look of a wild animal.
Percy lifts Riptide and points at his throat, feeling the way it trembles in his hands. The blade meets the kid's skin and he closes his eyes, preparing for what he believes is the inevitable. He almost looks like Nico di Angelo. Like Ethan Nakamura. Like Luke Castellan. Like any other camper who was scared shitless and rightfully angry at the Gods. Like Percy.
He swallows down the regret of this whole situation. He swallows down the nausea in his gut. He swallows down his dwindling will to live and the none of this would've happened if you'd never been born. Take a look at the damage around you, Luke has taunted in his dream, how much of it would still be here if you didn't exist? How much of it would go away if you just died?
Percy's eyes unexpectedly sting. He tries to become apathetic, but – this isn't the first demigod he's killed, even if he tries to avoid it like nothing else. It was inevitable, or so he told himself. That was his excuse. But it felt weak now, in the middle of a war with no end in sight.
No end in sight, except for this demigod who was about to die. By Percy's hands.
One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths.
He can't do it.
His eyes squeeze shut and he pulls Riptide back towards himself. He caps it. He puts it back in his pocket. The kid's eyes open. There's a strange look on his face, a combination of terror and confusion and relief.
"Go." Percy says, voice tense. He takes a step back in a weak white flag and looks to the side, "I didn't see you. Just go."
He stares at him for another second in presumably shock before he splutters and nods. He mutters as he scrambles up, a series of okays and oh Gods and other relieved words Percy doesn't catch. When he's found his balance, he frowns at Percy.
"Why would you –,"
He doesn't get to finish the sentence.
Percy doesn't even see it coming.
There's a loud noise, a noise of a deep, familiar noise. It's exponentially loud, so, so loud, and Percy's ears are ringing before he hits the concrete. He's weightless as his body flies. After half a second and forty years, he slams his head against the pavement as he hits the road a few feet from where he's been standing. His ears are ringing and he doesn't know the logistics of the Achilles' heel, but his head is pounding like a motherfucker and when he touches his ear, his fingers come back bleeding.
What the fuck. What the fuck just happened? What – an explosion. The familiar noise. Charles Beckendorf's final salute. The Princess Andromeda. The Titan War. It was all the same, it was – where was he? There was an explosion. What caused it? Bomb. Bomb? No, that – where did bombs come from? What was happening – definitely bomb. But no. Fire. Car. The car. Oh, shit. No, no, no. The car had been on fire.
Damnit.
He lets out a groan and curls in on himself. He's not in pain, physically, but he's off put and his ears aren't recovered yet and –
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The kid.
There was a kid, wasn't there? A son of Hermes. Luke? No. Was it – or maybe Ethan? No, no. God – focus. Son of Hermes. Details unknown. He has to find him.
Percy, ignoring his brain's protests, manages to roll over and get to his feet. His ears are still ringing, but it's low and quieter, and he can hear the crackling of a fire nearby. He stumbles as he takes a step forward, mind not quite registering the damage.
The car is no longer there, replaced by bits of metal and rubber and other bad smelling shit that burns in the air. There's little fires scattered around them, and then a bigger one where the car originally was. The air is hot and the atmosphere is like he's in a bubble with no air. It hurts to breathe and he must've inhaled some smoke or something because everytime he breathes too much, he coughs. It's hard and forceful, rattles his lungs, and he hasn't coughed like this since he was ten and Gabe was chain-smoking in the living room while he had bronchitis.
He can hear shouting in the distance, war cries and battle calls, and as the ringing finally fades, Percy remembers he's in the middle of a war. There are people to help and monsters to fight and when did he get sperated from Annabeth? He doesn't know. He doesn't know and it doesn't matter and he needs to focus because there's a kid that needs him.
He scans the rest of the horizon, ignores the way his mind tells him he's abandoning his post. He's abandoning his post for someone on the enemy's side and what kind of leader was he, standing in the middle of wreckage looking for someone most likely saveless to save.
He sees him, across the street from the crime scene. He's on his side, his back facing Percy, his clothes smouldering. He's not moving, except for a very faint rise and fall of his chest. This time, Percy doesn't hesitate.
He runs to the other side of him, crashes into the ground so hard he can feel the skin on his knees break. He turns him over carefully, so his face is towards the sky. His skin is covered in soot and there's burn holes in his shirt and he's bleeding in more than one place.
"Hey, hey," Percy murmurs, "get up, kid. Are you okay – you're okay. You're okay. C'mon, kid."
He doesn't say anything. Percy, feeling his panic rise and take over his instincts, rips open the guy's shirt. He assesses the injuries and takes stock of the supplies he doesn't have. He has a gash on his forehead that's bleeding, red crimson running down the side of his face. His ankle is twisted the wrong direction. Minor cuts and burns cover the bigger half of his body.
Percy has nothing. No ambrosia, no nectar, no first aid. He searches the kid's pockets, desperate for a solution, but the only thing he finds is half a square of crushed ambrosia. He shoved it in the kid's mouth, who remains unresponsive. He moves his jaw and hits him in the throat so he chews and swallow it, and then he's left to his own devices.
The only helpful thing he has is own t-shirt and a piece of sturdy wood and arm's length away. He grabs it, rips the end of his shirt off and then rips it in half and creates a makeshift splint for the ankle. He takes the other half piece and wraps his head best he can, but it doesn't even go in a full circle and he doesn't have any tape to hold it in place.
Kronos has risen and he's forever away from any kind of medical equipment and this kid still hasn't fucking moved. His chest isn't moving. Percy flicks around for his wrist, holds his breathe as he checks for a pulse.
Nothing.
No. No, no. He just had him, Percy just had him. He just – he was alive. What the hell happened? The explosion wasn't that bad, he's not bleeding that bad anywhere.
Percy reels back on his heels and let's himself sit on the floor. He stares at the body of a son of Hermes he never knew the name of. He wonders if anyone knew his name.
People die. People have died. People are dying. People will die. Percy's been at the other end of the sword more than once. That doesn't change the guilt that grows into a parasite and eats his insides. That doesn't change the tears still burning in his eyes. It doesn't change the prophecy, the hero's sould cursed blade shall reap. It doesn't change Annabeth taking a knife for him.
It feels like a cruel, cosmic joke. Like his whole life, everything he's suffered through and sacrificed, all the shit others have suffered through and sacrificed, has been leading up to the fact that he and his friends and the only safe place for people like them was going to be destroyed.
There's nothing left, at the end of the world, except for Kronos and his goons.
If there was any justice in the world, Percy thinks – he leans over and closes the kid's eyes, crosses his arms over his chest, and makes sure he'll tell others to make him a shroud – Gods hope that they've put their trust in the right people.
If there's any justice in the world, this war will not end in chaos. This war will not cater to those who started it for their own benefit.
“For once in your life, do what you want! Be selfish!"
perhaps 👀
I changed the quote slightly for reasons but the same general idea
“So do what you want. Be selfish for once in your life Perce.”
“What if I don’t know what I want?”
“Well what don’t you want?” Annabeth asked. She watched his jaw clench, his hands flexing in and out of fists. He knew the answer to her question, they both did, but she wanted to hear him say it. They both knew that too, and it was clearly what was irritating Percy now.
“I don’t want to do school anymore, alright?” he said. It had clearly been hard to get out, but if Annabeth wasn’t mistaken she saw the tiniest bit of relief in his eyes now that it was out in the open.
“Then don’t do school anymore,” she said gently.
“It’s not that simple,” he insisted. He had already been frustrated and the conversation didn’t seem to be helping, but Annabeth couldn’t help herself.
“Isn’t it?” she asked. He gave her a look that plainly said it is, but she ignored it and forged ahead. “You saved the world twice. You survived literal hell. You’re allowed to take a break to figure out what you actually want to do, not what you think you’re supposed to be doing.”
He looked at her for a long moment. She was an expert at reading his body language, his expression, but she couldn’t quite parse out what he was thinking now.
At least, until he sighed, his limbs relaxing, the smallest smile breaking through his previously stormy expression.
“I don’t know why I bother arguing with you,” he said, shaking his head.
“Shut up.”
“Never,” he smirked. It only lasted a second before his expression morphed into something a little more seriously. “But you’re right. Maybe… maybe taking a break wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
“Maybe?” Annabeth asked, unable to completely smother her smile.
“Shut up,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t quite hide his either.
"I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."
Percy didn't know how exactly he'd gotten into this situation. They were enemies. Like yeah Iapetus was... well good looking, powerful, cool, intelligent- not that any of that mattered.
They were enemies.
Enemies who currently had to work together because the Titans hated their mom only helping their half-siblings and their mom was pissed that they weren't siding with her and so we were all trapped in Tartarus together but Percy and his best friend Annabeth had gotten separated (Gods he hoped she was okay, he couldn't live with himself if she died down here-) and now he was with Iapetus and Iapetus was very good looking and was very smart and-
And they were enemies.
They were enemies and he was currently pressed against a wall with Iapetus smirking down at him (bastard was tall and damn it if that wasn't hot).
"What?" he managed to squeak out, not focusing on Iapetus' arm pressed above his head or his vicious and very pretty smirk and glittering eyes and-
"I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice," Iapetus repeated, head tilted and practically oozing smugness. "I do have eyes."
"Hadn't noticed," Percy choked out, definitely not looking at his shining silver eyes that seemed brighter than the fucking moon right then.
Iapetus laughed, leaning closer.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Percy snipped. "Here I was thinking you used echolocation to get around."
"Would be a fun method I'm sure," he crooned. "But no, I have eyes and I see how your eyes drift."
"Dunno what you mean," Percy insisted again.
No matter what feelings he had towards Iapetus, they were enemies and Iapetus wasn't exactly known for being nice to his enemies. He was pretty, powerful, intelligent, and oh so dangerous. That was a bad combo. Definitely bad. Percy did not swoon a bit whenever Iapetus did something devastatingly powerful no he did not.
Iapetus' spear tapped the ground and Percy swallowed.
"No idea? Your eyes just lock onto me for fun?"
"We're enemies," Percy said, voicing the thought that he'd been screaming at himself the last three days. "Just have a truce."
Just a truce, Hyperion had said when he'd proposed the team up.
Just a truce, Annabeth had agreed when they'd accepted the assistance.
Just a truce, Iapetus had promised when he'd gutted an enemy trying to take Percy's head off.
Just a truce, Percy had reminded himself when he'd desperately wanted to see if Iapetus' abs were has hard as they looked.
"It is just a truce," Iapetus agreed. "But then, I might be inclined to keep such a pretty little demigod."
Percy did not flush at that. He did not. If he did it was out of anger, not- not something warm and flattered and flustered. He was angry not guilty hopeful.
They were enemies.
"We've still gotta escape Tartarus," he said very solemnly and not in a squeak at all.
"Hmm," Iapetus leaned down, his mouth brushing Percy's ear. "I suppose we do, pretty demigod. But who knows what will happen after."
He pulled back with a positively wolfish smile and then stepped back, gracious and elegant and radiating smugness.
Percy took a long moment to force himself to take deep breaths and to not melt into the ground.
