#dialdrcnk

spencer reid was a man of science, logic, facts, patterns.

so nothing, absolutely nothing, would’ve prepared him for the walking contradiction that waltzed into bau’s briefing room. also known as you, in a sleek blazer, ponytail and a stack of case filed you’d clearly read and partially memorized.

“this is our new consultant,” hotch stated, referencing to you “dr y/n l/n.”

dr? spencer’s brain flatlined.

you gave him a small wave, smiled at him. directly at him. he would’ve sworn the temperature in quantico went up by ten degrees.

“i’ve read some of your essays, dr reid.” you said sliding into the seat beside him. just close enough for him to smell the cinnamon-bun flavored perfume you wore. “your work on geographic profiling was.. revolutionary.”

oh gosh. his ears turned pink. “oh- uh thank you! that means a-alot coming from someone such as yourself. i mean i didn’t know it was coming from you but now that i do it- uh- means alot.”

you raised a brow, amused. “you okay there genius?” he definitely blacked out there for a second.

by the end of that briefing spencer had

- spilled his coffee (onto his own notes, of course.)

- dropped his pen twice

- said “uh” more times that was socially acceptable for someone with three PhD’s.

and you? you just leaned back in your chair, perfectly composed.

you had casually corrected morgan’s behavioral assumptions, without even glancing at your notes.

“damn” morgan muttered “seems like we have another baby genius on our hands?” he said, looking at you up and down. you hummed.

“yeah” emily agreed “except this one wears eyeliner and doesn’t hyperventilate in front of hot people” she glanced between the two of us, before picking up her files and leaving.

“i don’t hyperventilate.” spencer said defensively

you looked at him; tilted your head.

he inhaled way too fast and choked on nothing. dammit.

by lunch break, spencer was hiding working in the file room. surrounded by boxes, because that’s what professionals did, hide behind paper to avoid women who were smarter and hotter than statistically fair.

so of course, you found him. “whatcha doin reid?” “not hiding”

nailed it.

you stepped further inside, arms crossed casually leaning against a wall. “you usually act like a squirrel on redbull with your co workers, or is it just me?”

“it’s not- it’s not you.” he sighed “i mean it is, but- not in a bad way. i just, you’re” (don’t say hot don’t say hot don’t say hot) “..intimidating.”

you blinked, probably disbelief. “intimidating?”

spencer nodded, very seriously. “yes. and statistically speaking that’s very rare for me, i don’t usually- um- experience this level of intellectual paralysis.”

you stepped further. he stepped backwards.

you tilted your head again “well you’re kinda cute when you’re intellectually paralyzed.” you reach out and straighten his tie. just slightly, but enough to ‘accidentally’ touch his chest through his dull, thin, sweater.

“see you in the next briefing pretty boy”

he was still staring at the spot where you stood long after you’d left, lips slightly parted.

(a/n : small drabble :p, wrote this at 3am while i was highkey sleep deprived😭 here’s a cute bonus scene i wanted to make come to life but i was too lazy to)

derek : “hey pretty boy, you’ve been short circuiting all day.. you good?”

spencer (mumbling) : “define good”

emily : “oh he’s so smitten”

jj : “ouuhhh yea”

garcia : “the wonders a hot girl with a doctorate does”

leo valdez has a strong love-hate relationship with your cabin. emphasis on love. and hate. mostly because it seems like every time he shows up he leaves with glitter in his hair, new rumors about the two of you and his heartbeat doing something extremely inconvenient whenever you smile at him.

tonight though, it was your fault. you caught him after dinner, wrench in hand, shirt streaked with oil and said “you, me, my bunk. don’t make it weird” and skipped off.

it’s not weird. totally not weird. it’s only weird because now he was on your way too fluffy pink comforter now, with his back against your knees as you run your hands through his wild curls.

“hold still” you murmur, combing out a knot near the back of his head. “when was the last time you brushed through this?”

“uhh.. never?” he offered. “you know this is deeply un-hephaestus behavior. we care about fire and tools.. not haircaire.”

“mmhm?” you tug a little harder than necessary, he yelps, you smile. “keep complaining and see what happens valdez”

from across the cabin, one of your siblings snicker. there’s whispers, there always are whenever you two are together. the resident forge boy and the aphrodite kid who can get him to do anything with one look. the way he follows you around like a lovesick puppy.

“so” you say, twisting a small section of hair between your fingers. “how’s that flame brain of yours tonight?”

“still flaming” he mutters “ hey does this mean i’m like officially pretty now?”

you lean down until your lips graze his ear. “leo, you’ve always been pretty. just been a little bit of a mess about it”

you swear you feel his shoulders tense, a little clearing of his throat. the tips of his ears turn bright red, the same shade as the sunset painting your curtains. you hum, pleased, and begin braiding. gentle, fingers weaving through his thick curls, pausing every so often to brush your nails through his scalp. each time, he shivers like you have him under some spell. who knows? maybe you do.

“can’t believe you roped me into this.” he grumbles, pretending to be annoyed but can’t help the way his voice naturally softens. “if my cabin finds out i’m toast.”

“oh please, they already know.” you tie off one section with a tiny pink elastic. “charles saw you leaving with me. i give it about five minutes before they start asking when the wedding is.”

he groans “worst cabin ever.”

“hey!” you pinch his shoulder “you love my cabin.”

he huffs “ i tolerate your cabin. i love y-“

he stops himself. you go still, stopping near his hairline. close enough to feel the heat radiate off of him.

“what was that?” you grin, trying not to full on laugh. “you love what, valdez?”

he clears his throat. “nothing, just keep going.”

“hmm.” you tug playfully at his braid, then let it go. “always knew you had a soft spot for me.”

he makes a strangled sound. “wha- no, i? yo-”

you laugh, leaning forward until your chin rests on the top of his head. “relax. it suits you.”

there’s a pause, then you feel him reach back. his grease-smudged hand closes around your ankle, he’s warm, solid, gentle. when he tilts his head to glance up at you, his eyes are impossibly soft. that silly, half-broken boy grin is nowhere to be found. instead, there’s just leo, looking at you like you’re the sun and he’s never seen it before.

“you suit me,” he says quietly.

your breathe catches, about to say something, something brave. but then one of your siblings across the rooms shriek interrupts any former plans of that happening. “DREW!!” drew painfully sighs, slapping 5 drachmas in her hand. “i so told you guys, i gave it a week.” she says, pointing to everyone in the cabin.

silena chimes in, “how long do you give it till they kiss? has to be like 3 days, right?” talking about the two of you as if you’re not just two bunks away

leo groans, slaps a hand over his face, and buries it in your blanket. you just giggle and ruffle his freshly braided hair.

“c’mon, valdez,” you whisper, lips brushing his temple. “maybe they’re right.”

he peeks up at you through his fingers. “yeah?”

you grin. “yeah.”

layout inspired by xoxochb!🤍

(a/n : i got so much love on my leo headcannons so i made this & it’s getting so much love as well aaahhh!! thank you guys so much🫶. happy early birthday leo! this is also a universe where silena & charles lived happily ever after together and got married and had cute little half blood babies)

- sleeps in the weirdest positions.. you’ll find him upside down on a couch hugging a wrench like it’s a teddy bear

- always faintly smells of campfire smoke

- uses nicknames for genuinely everyone.. if you’ve ever exchanged more than five words with him you have a dumb nickname

- keeps a stash of hidden snacks in the bunker

- are said snacks expired? probably. will he eat them anyway? probably.

- talks to his tools like they’re his babies

- also holds his tools like their babies, nine times out of ten he’ll be holding his tool with forearm and clean it with his free arm

- will sit up all night to fix something for you, your sword, your shield, maybe even your self esteem

- the first person to make you laugh when you’re down, it’s almost a superpower how he can make anyone laugh in minutes regardless of what happened

- leaves tiny doodles and blueprints everywhere

- immensely touch starved but pretends he’s not

- pretends like he’s too cool for deep talks, he’ll trauma dump at 3am, empty silence, then bounces back with “do you think i’d look cool with a mustache?”

- if you fall asleep near him, he will draw on you

- his adhd is almost worse than percy’s, and it kicks in at the worst times

- need him for battle planning? too bad, he’s fixated on building a robot bunny that lays plastic easter eggs

- when he gets flustered the ends of his hair lightly spark

- always warm, kinda like he always has a fever

layout inspired by @xoxochb

cases like these always made your skin itch. you’d delt with unsubs who’ve had types before, tall brunettes, mothers with kids, women who jogged alone in suburban neighborhoods. but this one? this unsub had a fixation that the profile mapped out with surgical precision.

mid to late twenties, whip-smart, strong willed with a warmth to them he believed he could ‘tame’, aka, you.

which was why, of course, you were currently standing in a safehouse mirror, tugging at the strap of your dress like you could make it less revealing, while your father hovered nearby like he was debating murdering the unsub before you even left the room.

“it’s too dangerous,” hotch muttered, pacing. “he’s escalated too quickly. i don’t like the idea of you being alone with him.”

you snorted softly, catching his reflection in the mirror. “that’s kind of the point, dad. if i’m not alone with him, he won’t show his hand.”

he shot you a sharp look. “this isn’t funny.” “i’m not trying to be funny.” you turned, smoothing the fabric down with a patient calm. “but come on. you raised me to be competent.. enough, didn’t you? i can do this.”

his jaw flexed, you softened, stepping closer and resting a hand on his arm. “hey. it’s okay. i know you’re worried. but i’ll have a wire, a whole team outside, and you breathing down my neck.” you sliently muttered, just enough for you to earn the tiniest huff of amusement.

“besides,” you added, flashing him a cheeky grin, “you just had to make me so pretty and perfect, huh? it’s your fault i’m the unsub’s type.”

hotch actually pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a smile. “god help me. i should’ve encouraged you to be an accountant.”“you wouldn’t last a week without me,” you shot back.

and that was that, his version of surrender. but not before he tugged you into a quick, tight hug. his chin pressed against your hair for a second longer than necessary. “don’t take risks you don’t need to,” he murmured. “please.”

“yes, sir,” you teased, but your chest ached with the knowledge of how much he actually cared.

you left the safehouse and slid into the bar’s booth thirty minutes later, dress catching the low amber lights. your unsub, robert mccarthy, thirty-four, good smile, was already waiting with two drinks.

“you look even better in person,” he said smoothly as you sat down.“thanks,” you replied, keeping your tone light and your eyes warm, precisely as instructed. “you clean up nice yourself.”

what he didn’t see was the tiny black wire nestled at your collarbone, carrying every word back to the surveillance van parked two blocks away.

and what you couldn’t see, but knew without a doubt, was spencer reid hunched over his comms, listening like his life depended on it.

robert was halfway through mansplaining his ideal house when he was interrupted by the sudden scratch of the earpiece.

“remember,” hotch’s voice cut in over comms, “try to get him talking about his past relationships. let him show his patterns.”

spencer leaned forward, mic pressed close. “don’t let him order for you. unsubs like this usually exert control in small ways first.”

you struggled to find the self control to not roll your eyes. you’d been on the job for how many years now?

your voice floated back, nodding at the criminal in front of you while simultaneously delivering a double message. “copy that boy wonder”

robert leaned closer, sliding your glass towards you. “try this, it’s their specialty cocktail.”

you arched a brow. “bold of you to assume i’ll like it?”

he chuckled. “something tells me you’ll like what i pick”

in your ear, spencers whisper was laced with warning “don’t drink it. you don’t know if he-“

“-nailed my taste? guess we’ll see” you cut in smoothly. lifting the glass, but not sipping. thinking it’s a playful game, robert smiled, satisfied.

“what can i say?” he said, leaning back smugly. “i pay attention.”

“good redirect.” spencer murmured. you could almost swear you heard the undertone of jealousy in his voice.

you swirled your drink. “see that’s a dangerous quality. women love it when men pay attention.”

“do you?” robert asked, interest sharpening.

“careful” spencer whispered in your ear.

you tilted your head, letting your smile soften as you found the unsubs gaze. “yeah, i do. especially when the attention feels.. safe.”

spencers inhale crackled slightly over the comms. you’d hoped he understood the message hidden between your words.

the unsub preened under the compliment, launching into a story about his “ex” who never appreciated him. you tuned out the worst of it, nodding at intervals, steering him with light questions that kept him talking.

but spencer on the other hand, wouldn’t stop.

“you’re doing fine, but don’t let him box you in with personal questions. keep it vague.”

“your laugh’s too convincing. don’t let him think you’re invested.”

“he’s staring at your necklace, he’s probably cataloging details. adjust your posture.”

you finally pressed your hand against your cheek to cover the tiniest smile. to the unsub, it looked flirty. to spencer, it was a silent plea.

“robert,” you said sweetly, leaning in. “can i ask you something?”he nodded, eager.

“do you ever feel like someone’s always in your ear?”he frowned. “what do you mean?”

“like… commentary. little voices that won’t let you just… be.” you gave a light laugh, eyes glinting. “it gets exhausting, doesn’t it?”

in your ear, spencer choked. “…are you talking about me right now?” you ignored him, smiling at robert as if it were only for him. “sometimes i just want quiet. someone who doesn’t… hover. you know?”

robert relaxed, buying it wholesale. “exactly! god, my ex was always hovering. it drove me insane.”

“hovering?” spencer muttered indignantly. “i’m keeping you alive.” “see?” you murmured, still smiling at robert. “voices.”

the unsub, thinking it was a shared joke, laughed. the team in the van tried not to.

time ticked on, the conversation stretching thin. eventually, robert reached for your hand across the table. spencer’s voice nearly cracked the comm. “do not let him touch you.”

but you had to. you couldn’t risk suspicion. so you let his fingers brush yours, just briefly, then pulled back with a coy tilt of your head. “patience,” you teased. “good things take time.”

the unsub grinned, reeled in. and spencer? spencer swore under his breath, voice cutting off when hotch shot him a look that could kill.

you let his fingers graze yours across the table just long enough for him to take the bait, then pulled back with a teasing tilt of your head. the unsub grinned like he’d won something.

“maybe we should get out of here,” robert suggested, voice smooth but edged with impatience.

your smile stayed sweet, practiced. “lead the way.” you slid out of the booth, aware of the tiny crackle in your ear as spencer hissed, “don’t go with him, wait for backup.”

but you had to, at least for another block, you had to get enough evidence to charge him. so you let robert guide you outside, into the cooler night air, the bar’s neon buzzing behind you.

“i know a quieter place,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket like he was just fishing for keys. your instincts screamed.

you could tell he was pulling out the laced handkerchief, you acted oblivious though. you both paused near the alleyway trash bins, he started to grab your shoulder, attempting to pin you down.

you reacted before your brain fully caught up, slamming your elbow back into his ribs with enough force to make him stumble.“what the—” he hissed, clutching his side.

you spun, playing it off with a light laugh, covering the move. “oops. heels, you know? i’m clumsy.” you winked, brushing your hair back to disguise the tension in your jaw.

the bust came seconds later. the team drove in with sirens and badges, pulling you free while robert shouted protests.

you stepped out of the dimly lit alley into the cool night, adrenaline still fizzing in your veins.

spencer was the first one there, pulling off his comm and shoving it in his pocket. his eyes scanned you head to toe. “are you okay? did he-”

“i’m fine,” you interrupted gently. “he barely touched me.” his jaw clenched. “he wanted to.” “but he didn’t.” you touched his arm, grounding him. “because i had you in my ear the whole time.”

that softened him, though only slightly. “sorry,” he muttered. “i know i was.. intense.” you laughed softly. “intense is one word.”

before he could respond, hotch strode over, relief hidden under his usual steel. “you handled yourself well,” he said, but his eyes lingered on you with unspoken worry. “both of you.”

“thanks, dad,” you said lightly. “told you i could do it.” you earned a look that screamed never again.

and as the team packed up, spencer lingered by your side, silent but close. you bumped his shoulder with yours, teasing under your breath, “see, spence? sometimes voices in my ear aren’t so bad.”

the apartment door had barely clicked shut before spencer was on you. you could tell the more you guys had talked about it in the car, the more anger he felt. but this was much different.

he wasn’t his usual careful way, no, this was different. this was urgent, magnetic, like every second he’d spent listening to that unsub breathe in your ear had been coiling him tighter and tighter until now, when he could finally snap.

his hands found your waist before you even dropped your go bag, pushing you back against the door, his mouth crushing down on yours.

you laughed into the kiss, breathless, tugging at his hair. “jesus, spence-” “don’t,” he muttered against your lips, voice low and rough. “don’t joke. do you have any idea what it felt like to sit there and hear him talk to you like that? see him touch you?”

you tilted your head, lips brushing his jaw. “hm. you mean while you were whispering jealous commentary in my ear?”

he groaned, forehead falling against yours. “i wasn’t jealous.”“mm.” your fingers slid down his chest, slow and teasing. “you sure about that?”

his grip tightened on your hips. “i was worried.” “worried, jealous, tomato, tomahto.”

spencer pulled back just far enough to glare at you, though his pupils were blown wide with desire. “you think this is funny?”

you smirked, leaning closer, whispering like it was classified: “huh. maybe i should get almost drugged and killed more often.”

he froze for a heartbeat, and surged forward again, kissing you hard enough that your knees nearly buckled. “don’t say that,” he breathed against your mouth. “don’t you dare. you scared the hell out of me.”

you gasped as his hands roamed, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing hot against your skin. “okay, okay, i’m sorry,” you murmured between kisses, though your grin was wicked. “i’ll stick to boring paperwork from now on.” “don’t tempt me.”

“god,” he muttered, kissing down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks you’d somehow have to explain to your dad later “you have no idea how close i came to ripping that comm out of my ear and storming in there.”

you arched under him, half-laughing, half-melting. “what would’ve been your excuse? ‘sorry team, couldn’t take it, she was being too hot’?”

“yes,” he said, dead serious, and you burst out laughing until he silenced you with another bruising kiss.

his hand skimmed up your thigh, dragging your dress higher. “you think you can just sit there looking like that, letting him touch you, and i wouldn’t” his words cut off in a groan as you rolled your hips against his.

“it was an act, spence. i was in control the whole time, you know this.” “doesn’t matter,” he muttered, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. “he wanted you. he wanted what’s mine.”

the possessiveness in his tone made your breath hitch.“yours, huh?” you teased softly, though your pulse raced.

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, pupils dark and serious. “yes. mine.”

(a/n : hi guys long time no see, schools been kicking my ass icl.. we started on monday😣. anyway we got kinda 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎 in this one. uhhh leave requests cs i have no ideas, bye babes!!)

he always gives you the bigger half of his sandwiches. it started as a joke, he’d hold up the halves, as if he was weighing them before giving you the bigger half. “you could use a little more meat on your bones” before he gave you the biggest half. “okay asshole” you said, giggling a bit.

it became a routine. now, everytime you’re sitting on a bench or sprawled out on the grass, you hold your hand out, resting it on his lap and automatically the weight of the sandwich fills your hand. he teases you about it every time, smirking when you glare at him. you call him an ass, shove him with your shoulder, but you still eat it.

sometimes he’d peel the crust off, because he knows you won’t eat it anyway. it’s almost infuriating how sweet it is. one time, he tried trading with you, giving you the smaller half and you practically growled at him. you both laughed so hard you practically dropped your lunch in the dirt. he told you to shut up, you said something quippy back. but the grin didn’t leave either of your faces for the rest of the afternoon.

he picks the lint off of your shirts, hoodies, sweats. but it’s not a one time thing, it’s almost every time you see eachother. waiting for drills to start, standing around after sparring, leaning against the fence before dinner, he’ll reach out and grab your sleeve, collar, hood. it’d be fine if he didn’t let his hands drop slightly lower than they needed to, he’s so casual about it too, as if it’s no big deal that he’s feeling you up in broad daylight. “you had something there” he says, all innocent, flicking off imaginary fuzz. you tell him to knock it off but you never actually step away and he never actually stops.

early morning trainings are the worst, cold, foggy, too early for your brain to function. until you see luke, trudging towards you with two coffees in hand. “you’re my favorite” you mumble as he nudges the coffee cup into your chest. he always makes sure yours has more sugar, makes sure it’s piping hot. sometimes you catch him watching you sip it, like he’s making sure it’s good enough. “y’know i could’ve gotten it myself” “yeah, but you wouldn’t have gotten out of bed if the promise of coffee wasn’t on the table.” he’s not wrong, you hate that he knows that.

so you’re standing there, half a pb&j in your hand, half drunken coffee into your other, wearing his hoodie zipped over you camp tee after an early morning training because he “thought you looked cold”. you’re bickering about absolutely nothing, like who forgot to refill who’s water bottle or who’s fault it was you lost your pen when a camper wanders up to you guys.

“are you guys like.. dating?” he asks, genuinely curious. you and luke tense up, the kid squints. you can feel how warm luke’s arm is as his is brushing yours. “no!” you both blurt out. the kid shrugs, muttering something oddly sounding like “weird” under his breathe. you stare off into space, looking at your sandwich. luke’s looking at you, but your too busy pretending your not looking at him too.

you clear your throat. “we’re not dating.. right?” “right. just friends.” he says, nodding way too quick. “absolutely platonic.” “right?” “right.” you both nod again, but for some reason it feels like your hearts are doing the exact opposite.

(a/n : yay another luke fic, i actually don’t know wether or not to call it a fic or a blurb but yk! have fun gooners)

you’re the best prophecy interpreter in cabin seven, so when chiron calls you to the big house, you can only assume it’s not for anything good. cabin sevens out by the archery range, practicing trick shots. you’d rather be there than anywhere else; archery is simple, precise. clear lines, straight targets, calculated, the exact opposite of this.

inside, percy’s already slumped in the armchair, tapping his foot, you could be imagining it, but you find that he perks up the minute you walk in.

“hey golden girl” “hey seaweed brain” you both smirk at the encounter, the nicknames coming from years of childhood teasing. you’d both hated eachother when you had first come to camp but now? you’d learn to tolerate him.

chiron emerges. had he always been there? he cleared his throat, like an old chello string. “good, your both here. you two are going to start working more closely.”

“what?” my eyes immediately widen, they would’ve buldged out of my head if they could’ve. sure, i’ve worked with campers in the past before, but they were never.. percy jackson.

“wow, don’t be too excited.” percy added with a not so enthusiastic snark.

“sorry..” i gave percy a sympathetic tight lipped smile. “not that im not ecstatic to say the least about this, but do you mind telling us why?”

“because, if anyone can interpret the next prophecy, it’s going to be you, our best apollo child.” he gestured to the both of us with one big hand. “and if anyone’s going to be caught up in said prophecy, it’d be you, percy.”

percy snorts “lucky me.” you close your eyes, trying to prevent your eyes from rolling into the very back of your head.

and you don’t show it, but suddenly your hands go clammy. you’d been seeing the threads for weeks now. golden lines that knot around percy’s heart, tangling with storm clouds and shifting tides. i mean, cmon, who else was it going to be?

chiron looks at you, kind but heavy-eyed. “he trusts you, you trust him. stay close, figure out what’s coming.”

percy grins at you, all teethy. “guess you’re stuck with me goldie?” and you laugh. but inside your stomach is a nest of snakes.

at first, it’s almost easy.

you pretend you don’t see the signs. the two of you cramped up in the big house, half buried in dusty scrolls and cracked tablets.

“hey, hey!” he snaps in your face “golden girl? you good?”

truth was, you weren’t. ever since you’d gotten closer the visions, they’d gotten worse, more vivid, more real.

“dude. i’m fine. worry about yourself and that chicken scratch you call handwriting.” you mutter, squinting at the page he scrawled on.

“hey! my handwriting is heroic!” he shoots back, leaning over to snatch the pen from your hand. “you’re one to talk? yours looks like a dyslexic chicken.”

“i am dyslexic, and you are too seaweed brain? does your idiocy run in greek genetics too though?” you look at him, all doe eyed while simultaneously insulting him.

“yeah well.. you’re also a chicken!”

you scoff. gods, this was really the boy you were supposed to decode a prophecy and possibly save the world with? good luck.

“we’re not gonna get anything done, y’know?” he said, while maneuvering his head into your lap.

you get a little stiff, feeling his warmth.

“we’ve also been at this for hours, i say, that’s pretty hard work. let’s take a break!”

“oh gods.” you mutter. “percy-“

“c’mon golden girl.” and he’s up, standing within seconds and tugging your arm to pull you up. was he always that strong?

you don’t even protest when he pulls you outside, the big house steps creek under you, then grass on your bare feet. you couldn’t lie, this wasn’t bad.

the smell of the ocean, soft and salty made percy’s ‘dragging’ less of dragging and more you voluntarily going with him. though you’d never admit that to a soul who asked.

he keeps glancing behind you, like he’s making sure you’re still there. like you might ghost away in the moonlight.

“gosh, the waters freezing.” you say, when the water finally hits your ankles.

“good. it’ll keep you awake, and hopefully less of a pain in my ass.” he mumbles that last bit, but you decide it was too much of a nice moment to argue with him.

you roll your eyes and follow him into the water, the chills bite your skin, and it makes you yelp.

“the sun and water don’t.. typically mix either?” i stand there with a tight lipped smile with the water around my hips. “shush, just enjoy it.”

he flicks water at your face. you growl. he gives you that boyish smirk that unconvincingly makes your heart flutter. you almost believe it. believe him, believe that for once, just once the fates, the gods would all go away and allow you two to be kids.

conveniently, the visions find themselves clawing back.

the most intense one hits during a bonfire. everyone’s laughing, your cabins leading the sing-a-long, they’re off key but somehow perfect at the same time. percy sits beside you, knee bumping into yours as if he hadn’t been inching closer for weeks. he smells like the ocean, campfires, salt and a future that feels so bright it might burn. he smells like.. home?

then you’re vision flickers, the bonfire being replaced by small black circles clawing their way into intoxicating themselves into being all you can see.

white foam, blood, so so much blood, his mangled body half buried in the sand, the sea slowly carrying him away. the same sea you two were just playing in two weeks ago.

you jolt back to reality, so hard your drink almost spilled. will gives you a worrying, realizing then pitying look within a matter of seconds. but percy’s staring at you with so much concern, taking your hand before you had the chance to even get up.

and he’s gentle, gods he’s so gentle with you.

you can’t do it.

“goldie?” “fine. just tired”

you can tell he doesn’t believe the load of bullshit you told him.

you start to pull back. he can tell immediately. had he always been able to read you like that? seriously, it was like second nature to him.

naturally, you do what any self respecting prophecy kid does. you run, tell him your busy with teaching archery, dodge him by helping will out in the infirmary and even making your siblings care for him when he does end up in there.

but it’s percy jackson for the gods sake. he’s relentless. he corners you by the climbing wall. “why are you avoiding me?” “i’m not. been busy, you’re not my only priority. you know that, right?” you hated this. you hated the lying, the sneaking, the hiding. because right now? he was the only thing you cared about. you hoped he knew you were only doing this to protect him. “stop lying to me, to be the child of the god of truth & prophecy you kind of suck at it.”

you wish you could open up to the one person you can’t about it to. but everytime you open your mouth, it’s like fishhooks in your throat. so instead you say nothing, you pick up your bow and arrow and walk away.

and slightly, in the distance, you hear percy’s voice, rough around the edges “i’m not going anywhere golden girl.”

but you keep your distance. you swap bunks with will so he can’t sneak in during thunderstorms, spend all your time training, you stop humming ancient lullabies, he always said they made him feel better. but now they’re too close, too dangerous.

because every time you let yourself lean into him, the visions sharpen. not just his death, but your grief. his seashell bracelet in your palm like a curse.

better to hurt him now than kill him later. better to keep him safe by staying away.

it’s a late night in the amphitheater, you don’t want to go to sleep but you don’t want to face your thoughts either. so you sit there, hunched over old prophecy scraps, your fingers pressed to your temples as if your going to squeeze the future out.

you hear heavy footsteps, gods does that boy ever give it up?

“go to bed, percy.” you say still facing the scraps, you don’t have it in you to turn around and face the one boy who you’ve been avoiding the whole time. “goldie, ta-“ “don’t call me that.”

you finally turn around to face him and you see a boy. you don’t see percy jackson, the hero to beat the minotaur at twelve and win a fight up to the literal god of war, but a tired and destroyed boy with bags under his eyes. you hated that what you were doing was destroying him like this.

“what’s been with you lately? and don’t push me away and give me that bullshit ‘nothing’ answer. please, just be honest with me. is it the visions again?” you flinch. he sees it.

storms. waves high as mountains, you kneeling on a rocky shore, salt in your hair, screaming his name into the dark. his body drifting like drift wood. he will die in his own domain and you are damned if you let it happen. but like always, your voice can’t reach him. the sun flickers out and reality back in.

you immediately pull back from him, from whatever you guys are. he noticed immediately. percy’s never been subtle and he doesn’t like when you are either.

“please. percy, leave me alone.” you look at him, tears in your eyes. your not even asking at this point. you’re begging.

“no, i’m not leaving y-“ “why don’t you just, gods you just don’t get it.” you snap. “i see how this ends. i see you. dead. over and over, if i push you away i can deter this from happening.”

his hand closes over yours, so warm it burns. “stop it percy.”

“i see you percy. i see you dead, i see you on a shore somewhere. i don’t know where and the waves just take you, take your body and i’m screaming and you don’t wake up” you voice cracks and suddenly so does the facade you’ve been putting on. “and it’s so real. it’s so real i can’t-“

his face insantly softens and fills with.. something you don’t recognize? it’s not pity, but its not anger. your hands shake so violently you have to shove them under your thighs. tears drop onto your knees. “everytime you touch me, every time you smile at me, like i’m- like i’m something good it just gets worse. the threads get tighter. you dead, you gone. and i can’t.. i can’t do it. percy i can’t watch it happen.”

“no listen to me golden girl.” his eyes shine like the ocean under moonlight. angry, stubborn, stupidly alive. “i don’t care about what you see, hear me? i’d rather drown every day then watch you shove me away like i don’t- like we don’t matter.”

he’s already there, one hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your tears away as they fall faster than you can stop them. you’re babbling, words slurring together like a prayer.

“i don’t know how to stop it. i don’t know how, i don’t want to loose you. i don’t want you to die because.. because of me?”

“hey, hey.” he presses his forehead to yours, he’s so close to you, you can feel every shaky breath you shudder through him too. “breathe, please just breathe.”

you choke out a sob. “percy-“

his voice is raw, breaking like the tide on rocks. “listen to me, golden girl. im right here, i’m alive. and i’ll be damned if some prophecy says i’m leaving you. i don’t care about what those stupid threads say. we’ll fight it, we always have.”

your shoulders shake as he pulls you closer, your tears smearing the collar of his camp half blood t shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. he smells like pine, bonfire smoke and brine. like summer. and every safe place you’ve ever known.

layout inspired by xoxochb🤍

(a/n : whew this took me FOREVERRRR to write. she’s been in the drafts for a while. this was also inspired by the song ‘you were mine’ by esha tewari!! go listen! i spent a lot of time on this fic though (so she also not proof read..) but i hope you enjoy it!🫶 i also actually gave you guys angst WITH comfort wow how spectacular🥰)

you’re sitting on the edge of the camp’s strawberry fields, the sun dipping behind half-finished cabins and the warm breeze sticking the hair to your tear-streaked cheeks. you’ve been here every evening for weeks, since leo flew off in that stupid bronze dragon, with that stupid hero grin, promising “i’ll come back for you, babe. i promise.”

your friends tried to pull you away. piper brought you food. nico sat with you in silence. even chiron told you to rest. but how could you rest when your boyfriend was out there alone? when you replayed that moment over and over again: his smudged cheek, the smell of fire and metal on his jacket, the warmth of his mouth on your forehead right before he left you standing in the fire of everything you thought you’d build together.

it was stupid, waiting. pathetic, even. you told yourself that some nights. that you were foolish for believing in promises made by a boy who burns everything he touches. but still, every sunset found you here. just in case. just in case he needed you like you needed him. just in case you mattered enough for him to keep his word.

and when you hear the roar of festus on the horizon, that familiar clatter of gears and bronze wings beating the sky apart, you feel your lungs collapse. hope is cruel like that. it gives you the impossible and makes you think it’s just within your grasp.

you stand. you run. the sun sinks behind you as you trip down the hill, half crying half laughing. your breath burning in your throat. you picture how it’ll feel when he jumps off that dragon, how his arms will wrap around you, how he’ll smell like campfire smoke and safety and the home you built in the lines of his palms.

you can already feel his arms around you, smell the grease and engine oil on his shirt. you want to bury you’re face in his neck and tell him how much it hurt, not knowing if he was alive or dead. how you’d do it all over again, to wait for forever just to get him back.

but hope is a liar.

festus lands by the fire pit in the middle of camp, with a thunderous clash of metal and earth. dust kicks up, stings your eyes but all that matters is that you’re leo was okay. you squint, hand shading your face, searching for his messy hair, that bright grin. and you see him.

leo jumps off festus’ neck, boots hitting the ground hard. his grin is so wide it almost splits his face. he looks like a hero, your hero. messy curls, cracked goggles pushed up his forehead, and that stupid grin reaching his eyes. relief washes over you, until your eyes slide past him.

there’s a girl beside him, curled into his side like she’s always belonged there. her hair absorbs the sunset like spun gold. her dress looks out of place against the oil stains on his shirt, the dirt under his nails. she doesn’t let go of his hand, not even when they climb off festus together. she looks up at him like he put the stars in the sky just for her. he looks back like he’d do it again.

gods. you know that look. that look used to be yours.

your stomach flips. you don’t want to believe it. the part of you that’s still soft and stupid thinks maybe it’s not what it looks like. maybe she’s someone he rescued? a lost girl, a damsel, nothing more. but then he brushes her hair out of her face and behind her ear, murmurs something you can’t hear, and she laughs. she laughs and leans into his shoulder, and you feel the earth tilt under your feet.

he doesn’t let go of her hand, not even when talking to chiron. the same hand that used to slide across your waist like it belonged there.

piper finds you first. you don’t even realize she’s there until her hand wraps around your wrist, gentle, like she’s trying to anchor you before you float off into the dark. her eyes flick between you and leo, and that girl, and her lips part around your name like an apology and her face fills with empathy.

leo doesn’t see you yet. or maybe he does, and he’s pretending you’re not there. it’s worse when he does look, because when his eyes land on you, they widen for half a second, like you’re a ghost he forgot he’d left behind. he opens his mouth. your name hangs there, a promise half choked.

but he doesn’t let go of her hand. that’s what kills you the most. he doesn’t drop her. doesn’t run to you. doesn’t look sorry enough for the way your heart splinters in your chest like a glass dropped on concrete.

your throat clicks when you swallow. it tastes like metal and salt. your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt the one he used to wear when he slept in your bed, burning hot beside you, mumbling half-dreamed words about the future you’d build together.

so you do the only thing you can, you turn. you walk back through the circle of campers, each step pulling at the seams of your heart, unraveling everything you tried to stitch together while he was gone. you don’t run. you won’t give him that. you won’t let him see you break.

when you reach your cabin, you shut the door and lock it behind you. you stand there, forehead pressed to the wood, fists balled so tight your nails cut crescent moons into your palms. you try to hate him. you try to hate her. you try to hate yourself for waiting.

but in the end was it really his fault? because promises are just words, and words burn out. especially when the boy the you love is made of fire.

layout inspired by xoxochb !🤍