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also, if reqs are open, can I please request ethan nakamura dating headcanons ? femreader please
of course!
DATING ETHAN NAKAMURA… (HCS)
pair. ing: Ethan Nakamura x fem!reader
dating ethan is soft kisses against your temple after you’ve finished training; whispered “are you okay”s into your ear to make sure he wasn’t too harsh of an instructor. it’s quiet dates by the lake where you both do your own thing, enjoying the presence of the other. it’s sneaking into his cabin late at night to simply lay your head on his chest and talk. it’s an awkward first kiss after a confession that wasn’t planned; your heart beating wildly against your chest, his hands clammy, too nervous to know where to place them.
IT’S not uncommon to find him laid on your bed when he misses you. he doesn’t care if you do or don’t have siblings— you are someone that helps him unwind. he doesn’t get to have his guard down often, leading to him missing you. being in your space— warm, smelling just like that sweet perfume you use that he adores— he loves it. but it’s a treat he only allows himself to have when he misses you. / HE kisses all your scars. traces them too. it’s a subtle reminder that he sees you— understands your pains, won’t let you get hurt again if he can help it. he loves you deeply. / HE teaches you to fight. he spars with you, practicing with different weapons, teaching you offense as well as defense. he’s been in this world of monsters far longer than you, and he wants to make sure you can protect yourself if he’s not there. he knows you have what it takes to do so.
HE calls you out on your mistakes without hesitation, not out of cruelty but because he believes you deserve honesty to grow. he owns up to his own mistakes too— communicating gets easier with time, as he lowers his defenses around you. snaps less when he’s upset. allows himself to trust that you won’t leave him. / HE apologizes— though awkwardly— when he snaps at you. his frustration often masks deeper fears and insecurities that he’s used to having to hide. / YOU two got matching charms once when you snuck out of camp. you both carry them all the time. whenever he feels overwhelmed or insecure his fingers brush against it for reassurance. / HIS love language is gift giving. often during quests or battles he’d take little trinkets to gift to you softly hidden in the privacy of his cabin with a soft “thought you’d like this.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Come here and get some 〃 -- 남갸줘 . on my neck .ᐣ
┈ 네 거란 증거 ╰ just come over and bite me ﾒ
In which, not every jealous mind is rooted from insecurity. Some are just territorial.
bsf!Luke Castellan x f!reader ⸝⸝⸝ jealousy
p.s. loves: reader is implied daughter of aphrodite. we also heavily ignore the canon that is every camper sitting at their parent’s table (unrealistic in my opinion). this may be sort of suggestive (??) but there’s no explicit smut. there IS swearing, you have been warned.
If you’d known your best friend was this easily jealous, you’d have never tempted him. Well, that’s a lie.
You would have, and you’d have enjoyed it more. Reveled in the glory more than you currently are. You really couldn’t help it— this was just so captivating, seeing his jaw clench; his brow arch; his not-so-subtle glares directed at whoever you picked to pretend to listen to.
And to think you’d been unaware of this until just this morning— truly such a waste.
It all started when during your regular walk to breakfast, one of the older male campers stopped you two. He’d come to return your headband that you’d left at the arena the previous night. Your eyes had flickered for just a second to his arms, then his cheek— harmless really, you’d been concerned for the accidental swipes you’d taken at his bicep and face the previous day during training— and once you took your headband again, you and your best friend had been on your way.
It was while getting your food was when he spoke. He gave himself away all too easily, it was cute funny. “So. That yir boyfriend?”
In different circumstances, the question would have sounded harmless. If anything, it could’ve been a joke— it’s not the first time he makes comments like that when people are into you. But this time, it was different. Still, you indulge. “Hm? How come you ask?”
“Couldn’t seem to keep your eyes on one specific part of him. He had little hearts in his eyes too, ‘m pretty sure he got a little flustered.”
You could tell he was trying to remain nonchalant, but gods, the moment really is etched into your mind. You recall the way the edges of his lips tugged downward; the furrow in his brow that looked a little bit too curious. You can’t get the obvious disdain in his voice that he must’ve tried to hide out of your head.
And somehow, you are unaware of how you hadn’t noticed it before. Luke Castellan is jealous, the motherfucker. The absolute bastard. The audacity of him to get jealous. As if he wasn’t quite well-known around camp with ladies and gentlemen. You almost laughed out loud as the thought settled in your mind.
Instead, you gave him a sweet smile, and returned to your food, settling in the seat beside his.
𝜗𝜚
Some time after the first half-hour of the campfire, Chiron and Mr. D were summoned for some important meeting in the big house. The younger campers were led back to their respective cabins due to the late hour and the lack of responsible adults, and one thing led to another— it became a sort of mini party.
There is no alcohol (save for whatever the Hermes kids have), and nothing inappropriate is really happening (without counting the few couples who are making out in their own worlds) but you know that this wouldn’t really be possible if there were adults present.
A brilliant idea pops in your head as you notice the boy from earlier stealing glances you. You can feel Luke’s gaze practically glued to you as you rise from your spot between your siblings, making your way towards the boy from before. And you can almost hear his teeth grit when you sit in front of him.
Your lashes flutter as you nod your head, not having heard a word the brunette in front of you just uttered yet still responding when he paused. You couldn’t help it— you were just too interested in something else.
Someone else.
Someone who couldn’t seem to keep his jaw from clenching or his blue eyes to himself. A sandy-blonde haired, taller, scarred son of Hermes who was so driven by his jealous mind that he didn’t seem to catch on to the fact that you’d been eyeing him up and down much more than you’d been paying attention to the guy in front of you.
Poor guy. He really must’ve thought you cared, the sweetheart. He seemed sweet. You’d explain this whole thing tomorrow, you tell yourself.
You’ve always hated the idea of toying with people’s heart and emotions, yet the godly side of you always brought that out, whether you want to or not. Half the time, you aren’t even aware of it happening. You’re just so in tune with the feelings of the people near you, and it’s so easy for you to tell what they want to hear that you just can’t help yourself. You were a people pleaser through and through.
It takes Luke around ten more minutes to snap. And when he does, your brain malfunctions. Because all it took was his eyes to meet yours. One split second, and his glaring blue eyes flashed with a displeasure— no, pure jealousy that was so raw you almost shivered.
When he stands, your eyes return to the dark haired camper in front of you, who if you heard correctly was trying to coax you into seeing something in his cabin. You opened your moth to reply— as if you knew what to say— when a warm hand was placed at the small of your back. Luke, you recognized. His fingertips were feather-light as they trailed to your hip, before giving you a gentle tug: his chest firm against your back.
“So sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid I need to borrow the lady.” As Luke spoke, you felt his chest rumble. You don’t need to look up at him to know the glare in his eyes, yet you did anyway. Your eyes peer up at him, an innocent smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and he’s leading you away before anyone has the opportunity to complain.
“So.” he speaks once you’ve left the crowd of the campfire. You haven’t the slightest idea of where he’s taking you, yet you let him lead.
“So?” you echo. “Something the matter, Luke?” you hum, the faux concern in your voice making his fingers twitch against your skin. Because he’s just itching to burst, itching to have his hands allover you and his lips on you and— well, you’re being insufferable in his opinion.
When he murmurs your name under his breath, voice gravelly, you almost pity him. Almost. And when he corners you to the side of a building— where in the world are you—, when his eyes piercing and stormy meet yours. Well, you can’t help it. You smile. The corners of your mouth tug upward in an oh so smug manner, lower lip getting caught between your teeth to stifle a laugh.
It seems to click in his mind now, and when he groans his head falls to your shoulder. You kiss the side of his head, fingers tangling in his head massaging his scalp. And when you do speak, it’s a sweet murmur, all giggly. “You should’ve told me you were the jealous type.”
My Camp Half-Blood hc’s that I apply to most (if not all) that I write
p.s. loves: i’m rusty on the book lore & these are lowk based on my experience in a private high school
It’s very few the campers that actually follow the sitting-at-their-designated-table rule. I mean, let’s be real— these are troublesome kids/teens who likely have some resent towards their godly parents for not being present in their lives (resentment that has been building since before they learned the why to it), and with how the gods are, a lot of these kids are also unclaimed. It takes Chiron a while, but he eventually reluctantly lets this happen.
Since those bright orange shirts are a must to wear, the majority of campers have theirs customized. Cutting out collars, cropping them, making them sleeveless, adding embroidery— you name it, they’ve done it. It’s the only way to get them to wear that hideous color.
Satyrs (the ones who are protectors like Grover was) have their own smaller cabin near the big house.
Also the big house is used to house mortal guests.
This is a huge one for me but— the barrier. Certain mortals can enter camp if a god allows it. There are certain exceptions to this rule, as some mortals (those who can see through the mist for example) already have entry on their own. But regular mortals (such as for example Paul Blofis, who has no connections to the gods) would be allowed entry into camp if a god (any god: Olympian, older ones, Titans, etc.) permitted them to. This entails that the gods do keep a close eye on the borders of CHB and their children altogether.
They have nightly campfires. They start just after dinner, and the younger campers stay for around 1-2 hours before they are led back to their cabins by the respective cabin heads. After that, the older campers are allowed a free space where they can simply be teenagers and hang out with their friends up until 10pm-ish.
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You hadn’t expected your— well, you don’t quite know what he is, but you hadn’t expected him to be so tired. Ethan was usually so put together, unable to let things flow naturally. He was what most would call a.. neat freak. He always needed to be in control. Maybe that’s what led him to this point.
The soft splatters of rain echo all throughout the inside of the Zeus cabin, though not a single drop of water is in sight. You sit on the floor right in front of your bed, several loose papers scattered and spread around you. You find peace in the solitude of your cabin, grateful that unlike your half-siblings, you don’t have places to be or people to see. Despite it being later in the day, you remain in your pjs, your hair pulled in the messiest ponytail just to get it out of your face.
The door to your cabin creaks open slowly, and you lift your head. You prepare yourself to be met with blonde hair and questions that in your opinion are too nosy— even though they’re just regular questions— when instead you see a dark figure staggering into your cabin.
The figure is dressed from head to toe in black, hood pulled over their head. They make it hard to recognize, but you have your theory of who it could be. Still, you remain silent, watching from your spot on the ground. The figure shuts the door, taking off the hood of his jacket before removing his shoes, leaving them just by the entrance.
Ethan’s head shoots up once he finishes placing his shoes, and you take in his appearance as he makes his way toward you. He looks almost too pale, and his hair unusually messy. He doesn’t wear the patch over his eye today, but he keeps the eye he usually hides shut. There are circles colored blue-turning-purple under his eyes. You may not have known him for long, but you know that seeing him in this state is unusual.
When he calls out your name, his voice is raspier than usual. He crouches down beside you, and you stack up all your papers, setting them aside.
“Sorry about barging in here.” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. Your eyes are trained on him, while his are staring so intensely at the ground you’d think he found the secret to eternal youth. “Jus’.. needed to get away from people.”
“You look real tired Eth.” you point out, your voice soft. It’s not insulting or rude— at least, that’s not what you intend. But he just looks so exhausted and tired, and you really can’t help but point it out.
“Somethin’ like that.” he mumbles. He settles beside you, his gaze focused on you, head tilted just a little; resting against your bed. “Wanna tell me about what those are for?”
He nods his head towards the papers you’d been working on up until he arrived. Had your half-siblings— or frankly anyone else— asked, and you’d have shook your head, or simply said no. And yet you find yourself inclined— more than that, you find yourself explaining— the latest of your ideas.
You’re not sure when it is exactly that it happens, but you notice it when you get to the third paper. His head drops forward just a little, both his eyes closed. The tension from his shoulders has dissolved. Your lips curl into a faint smile, a sense of something tugging close to pride and relief gnawing at your chest.
Your body moves before the thought even occurs in your mind, scooting closer, one hand on the back of his neck gently moving him closer until his temple is against your shoulder. For a moment, you fear you’ve woken him. His chest rises and falls at a steady beat, his body shifting so slightly just so he can get comfortable before his slumber resumes.
You’d never taken him to be the heavy sleeping type. It shocks you. And seeing his face— his body— so relaxed.. it enthralls you. Your attention is drawn back to the papers you’d been working hard on. Your body remains still as you read and reread, trying to find ways to connect your own ideas, making mental maps and invisible threads from one paper to another; one idea to the other.
Your mind is focused on your ideas as your fingertips absentmindedly twirl the hair at the nape of his neck, the room completely silent save for the synchronized breaths of the boy beside you and yourself, the occasional rustling of papers, and the splattering rain. That evening, you got more work done than you have in plenty sleepless nights.
The words aren’t harsh or reprimanding, simply an observation. There is no malice behind the raven haired man as he sits on the stool beside your seat. You feel his eyes on you for no more than a minute.
“I know.” you reply, your mind pointing out that he was simply making an observation. There was no need for you to worry. If he wanted you to move, he’d have to ask you.
You take your time looking at him. You note how his hair isn’t too long, how it was dark and damp and covering his eyes. You note how even though you can only make out one of his eyes, it looks almost glossy. You note the serious, focused expression on his face as he stares at nothing in particular, and you wonder if he sees something you don’t. You note the way the edges of his lips tug downward, and you can’t help but feel guilt.
This particular spot— a singular chair with a stool and a chair— was indeed his. The only reason you’d really found it was because you’d seen him sit here a few times on his own, doing who knows what. The spot was cozy, close enough to the lake that it wasn’t too warm but hidden enough by the trees that no one lurks around here. Beside him— and now you— no one else comes to this place, making it the calmest, most relaxing spot in all of camp.
“..D’you want me to go somewhere else?” the words tumble past your lips before you can think them through. They seem to catch him off guard, startling him out of his thoughts.
It takes him a few beats to respond. He shakes his head slowly, voice low; gravelly when he says, “No. Yir good there. Don’t worry.”
And all you can do is nod. To yourself, to him— you simply nod. No more words threaten to spill from you because no more words appear in your mind. You sit silently, the air tense with awkwardness for so long that you get antsy.
Your fingers itch to move, your leg bouncing, your mind running too fast with too many songs that you can barely keep up with. Where one lyric ends the next begins but the next isn’t the correct one and your head simply needs to stop.
So you take a marker from your pocket— a pink one— and you begin to draw on your skin. The design itself is abstract, the lines curling and connecting to each other like webs. The tension in the air lessens as you stop focusing on how you could be perceived, getting reduced until there was none. The awkwardness seemed to no longer hanging in the air, both of you doing your own thing.
It was becoming nice, actually, the both of you coexisting. You lost track of how long you both sat there, but when you began to hear the voices of other campers near— likely looking for their own little spot to chill— the sun was beginning to set.
It’s a while before one of you left. He stood first. Took a glance at you, still drawing and doodling on your skin— how much more could you possibly add? There’s barely any room left— and he left. There was no goodbye, no nods, no nothing— he simply leaves.
You stay for another half hour before leaving. The walk to your cabin is quiet and peaceful— and somehow, your thoughts never once seem to escape the passing hours you spent sitting in comfortable silence with Ethan.
In which, Ethan has become your friend, to an extent. He has lowered his guard around you—somewhat— and slowly you are becoming part of his life. You aren’t quite friends yet you aren’t exactly more, but there is too much between you two for you to be strangers. You look for no labels for the oddity that is your relationship, instead content with living in the moment.
tags: slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, forced bonds of trust are made
i. ii. iii. iv. v.
credits to myself (@doeflwr); don’t steal, copy, or translate my works
he is very competitive, and as much as he loves seeing you happy when you win, he loves winning too. game nights are the most intense date nights in your relationship.
his favorite date spots are arcades & the beach. third place is skate parks (he likes to show off there)
⊹ ࣪ ˖
he calls you (his partner) doll
he hesitates to touch his you at first— in fear of hurting you or scared you may stop wanting him: who knows. BUT, after he’s gotten used to it, he tends to initiate physical contact. it’s usually the subtlest of touches too. (hands on your shoulders to guide you somewhere, tucking your hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing against your wrist when walking past him)
he is touch starved.
he adores kissing you. on the lips, cheek, arms, neck— anywhere, he just loves it.
he finds it difficult to express himself due to being alone & emotionally detached for so long. this tends to lead to miscommunication, because even though he trusts you, he doesn’t know how to open up.
he is dense. he won’t recognize subtle flirting (unless he already knows for a fact you like him) but because of how long he was alone he struggled with social cues, leading him to not pick up when people flirt with him.
꒰
he calls you (his partner) angel
he quite literally doesn’t understand pda until you start dating, and he only begins to understand it because he got called out once for being unable to keep his hands off you.
he finds it so annoying having to take off his glasses when you kiss, but you let it slip once that you find glasses overall (especially THAT) attractive and suddenly it was no longer an inconvenience.
꩜ .ᐟ
he calls you (his partner) sweetheart (sweet girl/sweet boy)
he has THE most mocking tone ever. like one moment he’s talking normal, the next he has the most sluttiest condescending mocking voice in the world.
he can’t take his eyes off you when you’re in the same room. it’s impossible for him to not watch you do even the most mundane tasks, because to him, everything you do is formidable.
he is absolutely the jealous type.
he also gets hit on by people all the time when you go out. (he ignores it & pretends to not notice)
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
he calls you (his partner) amor
when exasperated, he says ma/mama (think beast boy)
he doesn’t actually sweet talk you in spanish because it’s cringe & words don’t flow the way he wants them to. (can confirm)
he spends most of his time toying around with little things he’s built, and he gets so wrapped up & hyper-focused in them sometimes that the only way you snap him out of it is by touching him. it’s become a habit of yours to sneak up from behind and wrap your arms around him (he loves it).
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Summary: Remembering Percy comes in waves. You miss him terribly as it is, but it’s days like this that get you truly down.
You can’t seem to catch a break today. You wake up too late and have to rush to classes with no coffee in your system, your lunch break gets totally screwed over by someone bumping into you, your outfit is ruined, you miss your boyfriend, and worst of all— your birthday is tomorrow!
Usually, having a bad day like this would be cured easily by one of his hugs, but because you both chose different colleges, that’s not possible. Not only that, but it seemed all the couples on campus decided to go out tonight, making you feel even lonelier. And this is the first birthday that you haven’t spent together or been able to at least see each other.
So when you finally make it back to your apartment, you flop onto bed exhaustedly and curl up clinging to the hoodie he last gave you. His scent is still on certain parts of it, but it’s fainter now than before. That only makes your heart ache for him more.
“Perc, look! I made a sandcastle!” you call out. The memory of this day is something you hold dearly: it’s one of the sweetest moments you two have had. He’d insisted on taking you to the beach that day, and though you were reluctant, it was the most fun you’d had in a while.
“It’s amazing, sweet girl. I love it.” he chuckles, scooping you up from behind in his arms. He hold you against his chest, his lips sweetly pecking at your cheeks. It melts you into a fit of giggles, and then he says the words that make your heart race and stop simultaneously: “I love you.”
The words take your breath away, and judging by the lack of reaction, he doesn’t seem to notice he’s said them.
“I love you too.” You manage to get out, cheeks warm.
Your face nuzzles into the hoodie as you cover yourself with your blanket, your arms tightening around it. His scent hits you and—
You feel his lips softly trailing down the side of your neck, both of your breaths ragged. His hands are on your hips, his calloused fingers having a gentle hold on you.
He bites down at the crook of your neck, not too harshly but enough to make you gasp softly, and he murmurs against your skin. “Is this okay, sweet girl? You can always tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
And you nod, assuring him that it’s okay— that it’s more than okay as you breathe him in, feeling lighter than ever.
Your hands are holding the back of his neck, nails beginning to dig into his flesh as soft sounds slip past your lips; pleads and swears and simple whines. And he simply murmurs softly the words ‘I know’ and ‘You’re okay’ and ‘Shh, I’ve got you’ making your fingers tangle in his hair as your body tense before it ultimately relaxes against him. And he hold you close because he always does, petting your hair and murmuring on about how amazingly you did.
A tear slips past your eye and lands on the bed bellow your body, a frown forming on your lips as you realize just how hard it is not having your boyfriend around.
Your boyfriend who always carries hair-ties on his wrists for you, and who insists on kissing you five times instead of once, and who smells salty like the sea but sweet like cinnamon, and who cannot ever keep his hands off you when he’s near is off at college elsewhere while you’re stuck in your bed in your own apartment, missing him. You miss him so, so much. It physically hurts you.
“Rise and shine sea-star.” you feel the rumbling Percy’s voice against your cheek as his thumb strokes your cheek. You groan, not opening your eyes and instead nuzzling your face into his neck, making him chuckle.
“C’mon, we gotta get up. You need to get dressed and pretend you didn’t sleep in here before anyone catches on.” he speaks softly but firmly, and you know he’s right. Still, all you want to do is remain in his arms. Reluctantly— and after like five minutes— you finally peel away from him, rubbing your eyes as you begin to dress yourself with your own clothing.
“Promise you’ll make it up to me? Kicking me out of here, I mean.” you ask with a dramatic pout once you’re dressed, leaning over to him for a final kiss before you leave.
“Always. I promise I will.” he brings your lips together for just one more moment together before you’re sneaking out.
You’re not sure when it is that you fell asleep, but as you regain consciousness you’re hit by a migraine and soreness in your eyes. You figure you must’ve passed out crying. Still, you groggily force your eyes to pry open as you hear the door creek open.
It’s too dark for you to make anything out— when did you even turn off all the lights?— except your alarm clock. It reads 2:18am. You check your phone, expecting to find at least a message from Percy, only to be met with nothing. Your heart drops, and you try to remind yourself that Timezones are different, and Maybe he’s asleep, or It’s not past midnight for him, and just as tears begin whelming in your eyes, the door creeks again and a figure slowly walks into your room holding a cupcake with a candle, and a familiar low rumbly voice sings happy birthday.
He’s here, you realize. And you feel as though you might start crying allover again.
This hadn’t quite been his plan— he’d expected you to be asleep and he would’ve surprised you in the morning. With breakfast. But he noticed you woke up when he was leaving after making sure you were asleep— he turned off the lights too because how were you even asleep?— and he improvised.
Still, you don’t care. What matters is that he’s here now.
When he finally stops singing, he sits beside you on the bed, softly kissing the top of your head as he holds out the plated cupcake for you.
“Happy birthday sea-star. Make a wish.”
♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧
౨ৎ˖ ࣪⊹ authors note:
this was supposed to have an angstier ending to it, but i couldn’t bring myself to do it. but if anyone wants an angstier version, i’d be more than happy to write it.
some fluff, some are js about the boys & some are for dating.
꒰ Jason is a huge astronomy nerd.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Ethan isn’t big on “showy” physical contact— except when he’s physically hurt or sleep deprived (like almost hallucinating sleep deprived) bc his mind puts down it’s defenses (only if he trusts you obvi)
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Percy has an obsession with turtles. Stickers, pins, plushies, keychains— any type of turtle merch, he owns.
꒰ Jason doesn’t find it easy to express his feelings— he’s repressed them for so long that sometimes he doesn’t even know what the emotions are.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Ethan isn’t a loud lover— however, he doesn’t hide his relationship. He’s a private type of guy in general.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Ethan is also extremely protective of his things— He cannot stand sharing things.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Ethan has a deadpan/sarcastic voice 24/7. He also sounds like he hasn’t slept in forever or just woke up— there’s no in between.
꒰ Jason has a heightened sensed of smell. It isn’t natural— he trained himself when he was living with the wolves to fit in more.
꒰ Jason absolutely despises contacts. And it isn’t because he likes his glasses— but once, he got an allergic reaction to a pair of contacts he tried, and he has personal beef with all of them.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Ethan loves slasher films. He has watched every single one he has gotten his hands on ever since he learned what it was.
꒰ Jason’s cabin was so big and echoey— he hated it. Leo found out about this and he somehow— and don’t ask how, no one knows— made it so that there’s always the sound of rain falling.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Speaking of cabins— Ethan always keeps his neat. It’s always dark: the curtains are always shut, the big lights are never on, and the walls are already a dark color (deep purple!)— it’s unnerving to most people.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ The moment Percy is around any body of water, he has the urge to dive in. It’s like a voice whispers at the back of his mind, clawing and begging for him to get in the water. He manages to ignore it 7/10 times.
꒰ Jason has a bit of a baby face. It isn’t anything extreme (& he grows out of it eventually) but my guy looks so much younger than he is for so long. The only reason people don’t ask questions is his height.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Leo’s skin is really warm always, but he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t even notice it until someone tries to touch him and they tell him.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Piggybacking off the last one— he gets even warmer when he’s feeling things more intensely than usual. If he’s really really angry, sometimes even metal melts.
꒰ Opposite to Leo, Jason’s body temperature is quite cold. He’s not outright cold either— somehow, he’s always warm when it’s too cold and cool when it’s too warm.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Percy is the one that tends to be the coldest.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Percy is just like the sea. He is like the sea in the sense that he is unpredictable. He is calm one moment and then not. He is restless when the sky darkens, and during the winter he gets snappier. practically freezing over. It’s not something he does consciously— it’s just a burden he carries.
Summary: In which Jason’s perfect idea of a date is watching a meteor shower, and you chose to surprise him for your anniversary.
｡ ﾟ ☁︎ daughter of Athena x son of Zeus
You and Jason have been dating for almost an entire year now— a year in a few days— and you can’t figure what to get him. He always gives you the best gives— it makes you smile, knowing how attentive he is— but you can never figure out what to get him.
It’s not that you don’t pay attention, it’s just that you had the amazing luck that your boyfriend doesn’t quite talk about his own wants and needs— ever. Which makes gift giving even more impossible than it would be if he talked about things he likes as much as you did.
It isn’t his fault that he’s like that, you know that— he was in the Roman legion, after all. He was raised to be a soldier, unlike you. And you had your theories on how he was treated as a child.
He didn’t talk nearly as much as you did. While you could go on and on for hours about your childhood or retelling the books you last read, he prefers to sit in silence, listening with a smile. Even before you started dating, you could always tell he wasn’t one to share what was on his mind just because.
Still, the least he could do is drop hints, you think to yourself, sprawled on your bed as you try to figure out what to get him for the millionth time. And it hits you.
You’d overheard one of the younger campers excitedly mention how there’s supposed to be a meteor shower in a few nights, and you cross your fingers, you pray—
It takes you a few moments to look it for it, but you end up finding an article talking about it. You only scan through it, only wanting to find the date and a breath of relief leaves you when you find it. The memory of a night from not too long ago resurfaced in your mind as you began to plan the night.
“Tell me something about yourself Jace. You never tell me things.” you pout.
Your arms are around him and your legs tangled in his as you lay in his bed, the comforting sounds of rain in the background. It was something you found magical, how the sound of rain pouring echoed around his cabin.
“There isn’t much to tell, sweet girl.” he laughs softly. You shift in his arms, supporting yourself on your elbows as you peer at him. Still, he says: “What do you want to know?”
“Anything.” you reply. His fingers lazily trace shapes on your lower back, his gaze so enamored that you struggle to think. You pause, thinking for a moment, before you speak again.
“What’s something you’ve never seen before, that you really want to?”
He doesn’t reply, and for a moment you think he won’t answer. It was late after all, and getting him to open up was even less likely than usual when he gets tired— it’s like he goes into survival mode. You lay your head on his chest and he pulls you closer.
“A meteor shower.” his reply surprises you. “I’ve heard they’re beautiful, but I’ve never seen one before. It makes me curious. Besides, they seem to like perfect dates from what I’ve heard.”
You giggle at the last part, and he kisses the top of your head.
The day of your anniversary finally arrived, and you’d been correct. Your boyfriend had given you the best gift you could’ve wished for. He refused to tell you how, but he managed to get you copies of your favorite book series signed by the author.
And for once, you couldn’t help but feel like your gift idea wasn’t horrible compared to his. Still, you had to wait till past nightfall. The day went by way too slowly for both of your likings, but he hid it much better than you did. By the time it was time, you were too antsy to sit down.
You spent the better part of the evening preparing the roof of his cabin (with the help of your best friends) while you had Leo distract your boyfriend. You had snacks, blankets, pillows— everything was set. All that was missing was the man of the hour.
You awaited for Leo to finally free him at his cabin. You could barely contain your excitement as you led him up to the roof just moments before the shower started. And when you finally made it up— well, the words tumbled past your lips before you could help it.
“Surprise! We get to watch a meteor shower!” you grinned proudly, gesturing to the blankets you’d prepared for them. The best part about this, in your eyes at least, was that the shower started before curfew— meaning that you didn’t exactly have to worry for another few hours.
You’d get to see your boyfriend happy, spend time with him, and all the other campers would be too busy at the campfire to interrupt. Your plan was perfect.
The blonde’s lips curled into a fond smile, his eyes holding warmth as he walked closer to you. His hands cupped your face, brought his lips to yours— his way of saying thank you.
“Do you like it?” you whispered softly against his lips, hopefulness creeping into your voice.
“Absolutely,” he nodded. “It’s perfect, my love.” And he kissed you again, soft and sweet, yet so intimate it was dizzying. Your excited giggles were what broke the kiss. You felt so proud of yourself for finally giving him an amazing gift.
But in reality, what made this gift special to him was your happiness for it. Yes, he did want to see a meteor shower, but nothing competes with your glee and joy. The light in your eyes when you revealed the secret that you’d been itching to say, the adorable smile on your lips, the excitement you held over it— that was what made it the perfect gift.
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Summary: In which James is a hopeless romantic, and Peter is sick of his moping and pining.
Extra: modern au, muggle au, fluff, so so sweet, childhood friends to lovers, neighbors (you live across the street from each other.)
𝒥ames Potter has loved romantic comedies since he was five years old. His mother would always play them on the tv, retelling stories of her and his father’s early love. It was the sweetest stories, and they were what made James the person he is.
However, his all time favorite was one that helped him cope with those overwhelming romantic feelings he felt for you most— To All the Boys I’ve Ever Loved.
Like Lara Jean, whenever James had a crush, it consumed his mind and heart. It was almost overwhelming how intensely he felt. And just like her, he wrote unsent letters to his crushes— well, crush. It was only one. Several letters, but all for you, written at different stages of his life. No one knew about this, except one of his best friends and neighbor— Peter.
Peter had found them during a game of hide and seek years ago— but he made a promise to never tell anyone, especially you. However, he was getting tired of the hopeless flirting between you two. He already had enough with Remus and Sirius doing this— Why did James have to do it too?
Early October was when he reached his limit. You’d all been hanging out together, and don’t ask how since Peter zoned out but he heard you and James ended up picking matching costumes for the McKinnon’s annual Halloween party. It was a couple, if he remembered correctly.
It was just after breakfast when the letters arrived. You went to check the mailbox for your parents, and were shocked to find a handful of letters addressed to you, written with handwriting that was a little too familiar. You could tell they’d been written during different times but they all were by the same person.
Your closest friend, and the guy you’ve liked for the past 3 years.
You tried to act normally as you made your way to your bedroom, though you felt too curious to wait. You opened the first letter— the oldest from what you could tell— and your cheeks warmed up.
The handwriting was quite messy, and it seemed to be written out in a rush, but the message it had was obvious: this was a confession letter. From the moment James had realized he liked you.
James Potter. He liked you. You. It felt like a dream, dizzying you. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt it might beat out of your chest. Still, you continued reading through all the letters, recalling moments from the years of your friendship that made him fall deeper and deeper into those feelings. As you reached the last one, you noted that it seemed to be written quite recently. The envelope didn’t look as worn out as the others, and the penmanship looked closest to his current one.
It was dated just a few days ago— the day you’d chosen your costumes. The entire letter brought warmth to your entire body, and it made you all too aware of your own feelings for him. You could almost hear his voice— low and raspy, whispering in your ear— as you read it.
When your eyes landed on the final line, your breath caught. Ps, I think I might love you, it read. It felt as if though the entire world had stopped and you were in heaven.
You placed all the letters back into their envelopes as gently as you could, placing them on your nightstand before you rushed out of your room, down the stairs, and out of your house. You walked over to the Potter household, cheeks flushed, and knocked on the door. You almost stopped breathing as your eyes met with James. And before you could help yourself, the words tumbled out of your mouth.
“I think I might love you too.”
They were far too airy and far too soft for your liking. Still, you needed to get them off your chest. For a moment, he looked so utterly lost, then embarrassed, and finally he seemed to understand what you said. You loved him.
His warm hands landed on your hips and he pulled you inside the house, shutting the door before his lips brushed against yours. He whispered out your name as if it were a prayer, resting his forehead against yours.
“Would it be okay if I kiss you?” he asked, his voice almost as airy as yours had been. And you nodded. You nodded your head, unable to produce words, and he kissed you.
His lips were soft, and he tasted like cinnamon and chocolate. Your arms wrapped around his neck, humming sweetly into the kiss. It felt like time stopped and had sped up all at once. The kiss ended quicker than you would’ve wanted, but then again you didn’t want to stop kissing him at all.
Somewhere in his house, Peter felt like his worries had finally left him. And he knew he made the right choice mailing those letters.
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