Work Text:
1 —
The night was quiet everywhere except Cabin 3.
The ocean-salt lamps that lined the walls flickered with an almost living pulse, casting a soft blue glow across the room. It smelled faintly of sea breeze and cedar—Percy Jackson’s unmistakable signature. His bed was unmade, his floor was a battlefield of clothes, and his desk was covered in homework he absolutely had no intention of ever finishing. It was late, nearly midnight, and he was debating whether to eat a second dinner or pass out on top of the blanket.
He didn’t get the chance to decide.
The cabin door slammed open so violently one of the hanging seashells cracked against the wall.
Annabeth Chase stumbled inside, looking like a fury had tried to murder her and failed only because her hair got in the way.
She was short with long curly blonde hair and sharp grey eyes—at least, normally sharp. Right now they were narrowed in absolute fury. Her curls were a tangled, frizzy, knot-infested mess, half-tied into something that could only be described as a dead octopus glued to her head.
She pointed at it, outrage vibrating off her.
“Fix it,” she snapped.
Percy blinked twice from his spot on the floor where he’d been sorting through laundry. “Uh… hi?”
“Percy,” she growled, stalking toward him like a tiny, furious storm goddess, “if you say one word that is not ‘okay’ or ‘yes, Annabeth,’ I swear to the gods—”
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked anyway, standing up.
Her eyes flared. “My hair.”
“No, yeah, I got that part,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “But, Wise Girl, Jesus. It looks like a sea monster tried to adopt you.”
“Exactly!” she snapped. “I was training, and then it got humid, and someone’s sword got too close, and then Connor tried to help—”
“Oh gods,” Percy muttered. “That was your first mistake.”
Annabeth tugged aggressively at a chunk of her curls and winced. “It’s pulling on everything. I hate this. I can’t even think straight. Just—please. Help.”
The last word came out small.
And that was it. Percy melted instantly.
She wasn’t the pleading type. She wasn’t the “I need help” type. She was the “I built Athens, get out of my way” type.
So when she actually asked? He would’ve fought a hydra barefoot.
“C’mere,” he said softly.
Annabeth sighed like the entire universe had exhausted her and trudged over.
Percy guided her down to sit on the floor in front of him. The cabin’s wooden planks were cool under her, and she leaned back automatically, settling against his chest with a familiarity that still stunned him sometimes—even after all they’d been through.
He wrapped his arms loosely around her waist at first, just to anchor her, his chin brushing the top of her head.
“You good?” he murmured.
“No,” she muttered. “My hair is trying to kill me.”
Percy snorted. “It looks like it’s winning.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. He pretended it hurt more than it did.
Then he summoned water with a flick of his wrist.
A sphere of warm, shimmering blue lifted from the bathroom sink’s direction, water hovering perfectly controlled above his palm. He tapped it, adjusting the temperature like he had a built-in faucet dial. Warm. Warmer. Perfect.
Still holding her against him, he lowered the water into her curls. It drenched them instantly, soaking through the knots, dripping down her back in a warm cascade.
Annabeth let out a long breath. “Oh gods… that’s perfect.”
Percy grinned. “I know. I’m like a walking spa. But hotter.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he teased, “you’re in my cabin at midnight letting me touch your head like I’m your personal hair butler.”
Annabeth rolled her eyes, leaning more fully against him. “You’re the only person I trust to not make it worse.”
Translation: she trusted him more than she trusted anyone.
He didn’t say it aloud, but she felt the way his grip on her tightened.
Percy dipped his fingers into the soaked curls and began separating them with gentle, practiced motions. He’d done this before—more times than she realized. He knew exactly where the worst knots formed, the spot behind her left ear where the curls clumped, the section at the base of her skull that always tangled when she was stressed.
And he took his time.
Every time she tensed, he murmured something ridiculous under his breath.
“Wise Girl, this knot looks like it’s hiding a declaration of war.”
“Did a harpy braid this? Tell the truth.”
“If this curl were a person, it’d get arrested for assault.”
Annabeth snorted, each time relaxing more against him.
She thought his jokes were meant to distract her. He knew they were meant to make her breathe easier.
He guided more water through her hair, heating it again with a flick. Warmth soaked down her neck and shoulders, easing knots in her muscles that had nothing to do with her hair.
His voice dropped lower. “You seriously worked yourself stupid again, didn’t you?”
“No…”
“Annabeth,” he said, shifting a curl between his fingers. “This thing is a cry for help. So are you.”
She huffed. “I’m just tired.”
“You’re exhausted,” he corrected, rinsing her curls again with soft strokes. “You came in here ready to fistfight your own head.”
“It deserved it,” she muttered.
Percy laughed, deep and warm, and she felt the sound vibrate through his chest against her back.
He kept working, detangling every curl with a tenderness that would’ve shocked anyone else. Percy Jackson was not known for gentleness. He had one mode in battle: violent ocean wrath. One mode with everyone else: chaotic menace. But with Annabeth?
He was water at its softest—warm, steady, protective.
Halfway through, her breathing slowed. Her head tilted back against him. Percy glanced down and saw her eyes drooping.
“You falling asleep on me?” he asked.
“No,” she murmured, definitely falling asleep.
“You’re literally unconscious right now.”
“Not… unconscious…” she whispered, slumping more into him. “Just… resting.”
He smiled so softly it was almost painful.
Her wet curls slid through his fingers, the water keeping everything perfectly warm as he combed through. She was completely limp against him, trusting every part of her weight to his chest, his arms, his hands.
Annabeth Chase didn’t do that with anyone else. Ever.
He rinsed the last bits of foam away, drawing the water back into a globe with a swirl of his fingers. The warm sphere hovered, glowing faintly in the dim light, then dissipated with a flick of his hand.
Her hair lay heavy and wet across his forearm, golden curls darkened to honey in the low light.
She was asleep.
Like fully, deeply, adorably passed out.
Percy swallowed, something tender blooming painfully in his chest.
He reached for a towel and wrapped it gently around her hair, blotting the water with slow, careful movements. He didn’t want to wake her—he loved seeing her like this. Relaxed. Peaceful. Unburdened.
When he was finished, he shifted, scooping her up in his arms. She stirred only long enough to curl closer into his chest, her hands gripping his shirt.
Percy carried her to his bed, lying down with her still tucked securely against him. She fit into him so easily, like some missing piece he hadn’t known he needed until she’d slammed into his life all those years ago.
Annabeth mumbled something into his shirt. He brushed her curls away from her face.
“You’re good, Wise Girl,” he whispered. “Go to sleep.”
She didn’t answer. She was already gone.
Percy exhaled, settling back, one arm around her waist and the other curved protectively around her shoulders.
He knew he wouldn’t sleep much—her hair was still damp, and she tended to steal all the blankets—but he didn’t care.
She trusted him this deeply. This easily.
She had no idea what that meant to him.
Annabeth shifted, tucking her face closer into his neck.
She thought he didn’t mind being used as furniture.
Percy pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
Furniture didn’t love like this.
———
2–
The Athena cabin workbench looked like a war zone.
Blueprints were spread across every inch of the table, overlapping like battle plans in the middle of a siege. Pencils, rulers, erasers, scrap parchment, a compass someone had definitely stolen from the Hephaestus cabin—everything was a mess. Oil lanterns burned low, casting flickering gold across Annabeth Chase’s face as she hunched over her sketches.
She was short with long curly blonde hair and grey eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes now dull with exhaustion. Her curls were pulled back in a messy ponytail that had given up halfway through the night and frizzed out in every direction. Her posture was rigid, her jaw clenched, her shoulders tight as stone.
It was past midnight.
Way past midnight.
Annabeth didn’t notice.
Her pencil scratched across the paper, stopping only when she blinked too slowly, eyes burning. She rubbed them, muttered something about angles and foundations, and bent back over the plans.
Outside, the camp had fallen mostly silent. Only a few night creatures chirped in the distance. Even the wind seemed to whisper, Please stop working, but Annabeth ignored it.
She muttered, “If I just adjust the west support—no, the overhang needs at least two more inches, otherwise—”
The door creaked open.
She didn’t look up.
It closed softly—not the usual slam of a camper entering, but deliberately quiet. Then footsteps padded across the cabin floor.
A hoodie landed on her shoulders.
Annabeth blinked and finally turned.
Percy Jackson stood behind her, sea-green eyes soft in the dim light. He was tall with dark black curly hair falling into his face, and right now he looked half-annoyed, half-concerned, and mostly like he’d just come from sneaking snacks out of the dining pavilion.
Because he had.
He held a water bottle in one hand, a bag of chips in the other, and something wrapped in foil wedged under his arm.
“You’re still up,” Percy said, his voice rough with disbelief. “What the hell, Wise Girl?”
Annabeth scowled. “I’m working.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He shoved the chips onto the table, pushing aside six sketch sheets in the process. “I can also see your eyes doing that twitchy thing you get right before you pass out face-first onto a ruler.”
“My eyes are fine.”
“They look like you lost a fight with a sandstorm.”
She glared at him. He grinned back, boyishly unbothered.
Percy nudged the hoodie closer to her. “You forgot this.”
She glanced at it. “That’s yours.”
“No,” he said, leaning over her shoulder. “That’s yours. You left it in Cabin 3 after you stole it. Again.”
His lips quirked. “Just reclaiming stolen property.”
Annabeth huffed but pulled the oversized hoodie on anyway. It drowned her, sleeves covering her hands, hem almost reaching her knees.
It smelled like the ocean.
Percy’s gaze softened so obviously she missed it entirely as she bent back over her blueprint.
“Percy, I need to finish this wall design tonight—”
“No, you need sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m done.”
“You’ll be done when you’re ninety at this rate.”
She threw an eraser at him.
He dodged it easily. “Rude.”
“Stop bothering me.”
“I brought snacks,” he said, waving the foil-wrapped object in front of her face. “Blueberry muffin.”
Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.
“I don’t need food,” she insisted.
“Sure, you don’t.” Percy rolled his eyes. “And I don’t need to breathe. Gods forbid we actually take care of ourselves.”
“You don’t take care of yourself.”
“That’s not the point.”
She tried to go back to her blueprint.
Percy sighed, leaned down, and planted a hand on the table beside her, caging her in just enough that she stilled.
He lowered his voice. “Annabeth. You’ve been in here since dinner.”
“I’m behind.”
“You’re human.”
“Debatable.”
He laughed, and it was soft, warm, the kind of laugh that made something in him unclench when she leaned into the sound without even realizing.
They sat like that for a while—Annabeth working, Percy snacking noisily beside her to remind her he existed. She rambled about support beams and structural integrity, her words getting less and less coherent as the minutes dragged on.
“And if the north wall—mmm—uses steel reinforcement, we can integrate—uh—Percy—are you listening?”
He blinked. “Not a fucking clue what you’re talking about. But yeah, sure.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” He smirked. “You’re adorable when you start saying words that sound like Ikea furniture instructions.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Neither does staying awake until your brain melts out your ears.”
She yawned.
Huge. Slow. Unmistakable.
Annabeth slapped a hand over her mouth like she could hide it.
Percy raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, grabbing her pencil again.
The pencil slid right out of her fingers.
She blinked down at her empty hand.
Percy stood up.
“Okay,” he said, tone shifting—still gentle, but firm in that I’m the son of Poseidon and also your personal problem-solver whether you like it or not way. “That’s it. Come on.”
“I said I’m—”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re fine.” Percy stepped around the table and without a single warning—not even a dramatic sigh or a teasing remark—scooped her up bridal-style.
Annabeth squeaked, immediately curling into him like a sleepy cat, arms winding around his neck.
“Percy!” she complained weakly. “Put me down!”
“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ like he made executive decisions now. “You’ve officially hit the ‘talking nonsense and dropping shit’ stage. That means bedtime.”
“That’s not—bedtime is for children—”
“You’re literally drooling on my shoulder right now.”
“I am not—” She wiped her mouth against his hoodie. “Shut up.”
He laughed, holding her closer so she wouldn’t slip. She tucked her head against his chest, the warmth and solid strength of him pulling her further into exhaustion.
Percy nudged the door open with his foot and stepped into the cold night air. Instantly, wind brushed across Annabeth’s face.
She shivered.
Percy muttered a curse and pulled his jacket off with one hand, awkwardly but determined. He draped it over her, tucking the edges around her body.
“There,” he murmured. “All burrito’d up. You’re welcome.”
“You’re being stupidly dramatic.”
“And you’re being stupidly awake.”
She had no argument for that.
He carried her across camp, boots crunching softly on the gravel path. Every light in the cabins was out except for a few in Cabin 6—her siblings also working too late. Percy gave the cabin a dark look, as if they were responsible for enabling her.
Annabeth blinked up at his jawline. “Percy…”
“Don’t even say it,” he said. “You’re going to bed.”
“I was working—”
“Annabeth, you were mumbling about load-bearing waffles.”
“…oh.”
“Yeah. ‘Oh.’”
She groaned and hid her face in his collarbone.
Percy’s arms tightened around her instantly, protective and warm.
He pushed open the door to Cabin 3 with his shoulder. Inside, the room glowed softly with drifting blue light, calm and quiet like the inside of a seashell. The air smelled like salt and wind and the faint scent of his cologne.
Percy lowered her onto his bed—the only neat thing in the entire cabin, mostly because Annabeth always fixed it whenever she visited.
She made a sleepy noise as he pulled the blankets up around her.
He slid in beside her, tugging her onto his chest like it was muscle memory. Her head found its place over his heartbeat, her fingers fisting lightly in his shirt.
Annabeth sighed. Deep. Content. Out cold.
Percy felt his smile bloom helplessly, uncontrollably.
“Thanks, Seaweed Brain,” she mumbled before sleep finally dragged her under.
Percy froze.
His heart actually skipped.
Then—
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Anytime.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, letting his fingers trace slow circles on her back as she breathed deeper and deeper into sleep.
Outside, someone passed by the cabin and whispered, “He’s so gone for her.”
Another voice whispered, “He’s been gone.”
Inside, Annabeth slept peacefully.
Percy stayed awake another hour, just holding her.
She assumed he carried her because it was efficient.
He knew he carried her because he couldn’t stand to see her break herself.
And because he loved her in quiet ways she’d never notice.
———
3 —
Late afternoon sunlight stretched across the training field, bright enough to gild every blade of grass but not hot enough to be miserable. The clang of swords echoed from several practice rings, campers sparring in carefully contained chaos. Annabeth Chase stood near the center circle, sweat at her temples and curls pulled into a barely functional ponytail. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, assessing her opponent with sharp grey eyes.
Her opponent—Elias, a visiting demigod from another camp—was broad-shouldered, clearly strong, and carrying the cockiness of someone who had won too many fights without real consequences. Annabeth didn’t mind the confidence. She minded the lack of discipline.
Percy Jackson lounged a few yards away, leaning against the fence with the bored restlessness of someone who’d much rather be in the ocean. His dark black curly hair stuck up in that permanent just-got-out-of-bed mess, and his sea green eyes tracked Annabeth constantly, like a tide refusing to retreat.
He wasn’t supposed to hover. She’d told him that. Multiple times.
Naturally, he ignored her every single time.
Annabeth spun her dagger once between her fingers. “Ready?”
Elias smirked. “Try not to cry when you lose.”
“Try not to trip on your own ego,” she said sweetly.
Percy snorted a laugh, loud enough that several other campers glanced over. Annabeth didn’t look at him—not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew the second she did he would grin like she’d just awarded him a medal.
They began.
Annabeth was quick. She always had been. Years of training, monsters, quests, heartbreak, near-death—she was sharp in ways most demigods couldn’t dream of. She ducked under a swing, darted left, aimed for Elias’s ribs. He blocked, too slow, too big. She could already see holes in his form.
But then he adjusted. His swings sharpened. The wood of the practice sword whistled as it cut the air near her ear.
Percy’s posture shifted. His foot tapped once against the dirt—a habit he’d developed whenever he was trying not to interfere.
She didn’t notice. Not yet.
Annabeth launched forward, aiming to knock the wind out of Elias with the hilt of her dagger. He blocked again, stumbling, and frustration flickered across his face. He wasn’t used to losing to someone smaller. Someone faster. Someone better.
He swung hard.
Too hard.
Annabeth stepped back, but not fast enough. The tip of the wooden blade slammed into the curve of her shoulder, just below the collarbone. Pain burst through her like fire.
She hissed and stumbled.
Percy moved.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t run dramatically across the field. He simply appeared, like a storm rolling over the horizon with no warning. One second he was leaning against the fence; the next he was between Annabeth and Elias, his tall frame shielded around hers.
His sea green eyes were no longer calm.
They were dark. Furious.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Percy said quietly—too quietly. “Can you hit her any fucking harder?”
The temperature around them dipped. Annabeth felt it from behind him, even while she clutched her shoulder. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with pressure, like the sky before a hurricane.
Elias paled beneath his tan. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean?” Percy echoed. “What, you thought she was a training dummy? You swing like that again and I swear to god—”
“Percy,” Annabeth murmured, but her voice was too soft, too tired to cut through the storm rising in him.
He didn’t lift his sword. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to make every camper in a fifteen-foot radius freeze. Percy Jackson wasn’t the type to handle threats with subtlety. He was the type to drown monsters in their own bloodstream.
But right now? He was calculating the exact number of ways he could remove Elias’s arms without breaking camp rules.
Annabeth touched his back. Just her fingertips.
Percy exhaled, the tension draining only a fraction. “Don’t spar with her again,” he said, not yelling—no, this was worse. Cold. Razor-sharp. “Not until you learn how to control your strength.”
Elias nodded quickly, retreating like Percy’s shadow might rise up and strangle him.
When he was gone, the training field exploded into whispers.
“Did you see—”
“Percy practically murdered him with his eyes—”
“Bro was ready to summon the fucking Kraken—”
Annabeth ignored all of them. She stepped around Percy and pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek.
It worked like magic.
His jaw unclenched. His shoulders lowered. His eyes softened—not entirely, but enough that she could see him again under all that fury.
“You okay?” she asked.
Percy blinked. “You were hit.” It wasn’t an answer. It was an accusation directed at the universe.
“It was an accident.”
“He hit you like he was trying to knock you into next week.”
“It happens,” she said, brushing her curls off her face with her good arm. “It’s training.”
“It’s bullshit,” Percy muttered, voice thick with leftover adrenaline. “He swung at you like he was trying to prove something. And you—you just tanked it like it was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” she admitted. “It hurt.”
Percy’s hands shook.
He shoved them into his pockets like he didn’t trust what they’d do if he left them out.
Annabeth tilted her head at him. “You know I can take care of myself, right?”
“Yeah,” Percy said. “Yeah, I know.” He paused a beat. “Don’t mean I like watching you get hurt.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
Barely. But she heard it.
Annabeth, oblivious to the depth behind it, simply smiled and looped her arm through his waist as they started walking back toward the cabins. She leaned into his side, curls bouncing lightly, her shoulder throbbing but manageable.
Percy moved stiffly at first, body still wired for violence, but when she rested her head lightly against his bicep—as casually and absentmindedly as breathing—his entire posture softened.
“Seaweed Brain,” she murmured. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he said. “You got hit.”
“Minor injury.”
“Your shoulder’s already turning purple.”
“Occupational hazard.”
Percy let out a shaky laugh, burying his face for a moment in the top of her head. “Gods, Wise Girl, you drive me fucking insane.”
She didn’t understand he meant it in the most terrifying, vulnerable way possible.
To her, it was just Percy being dramatic.
They walked the dirt path slowly, her arm around his waist, his draped protectively around her shoulders, shielding her from the breeze even though it wasn’t cold. Every few steps he glanced down at her, like checking she was still there.
Annabeth didn’t catch that part either.
She was too busy discussing where they should get dinner.
Percy nodded along, but the whole time his thumb brushed over her far shoulder, grounding himself with the confirmation that she wasn’t broken. That she was breathing. That she was touching him willingly and not because she needed support.
And even though she didn’t notice how tightly he held her, how his heart kept skipping every time she stumbled, everyone else at camp noticed.
They whispered as the pair disappeared down the path:
Percy Jackson would burn the entire world for Annabeth Chase.
And Annabeth Chase had absolutely no idea.
———
4 —
The lake glittered under a relentless summer sun, waves lapping the shoreline with lazy rhythm. Campers sprawled across towels, splashed in the water, and launched beach balls with the kind of reckless joy only demigods on a sanctioned day off could manage. The air smelled of sunscreen, grilled food, and the faintest trace of lake salt that always accompanied Percy Jackson’s presence.
Annabeth Chase sat on a towel near the shore, long curly blonde hair piled in a messy bun, grey eyes narrowed at the clipboard balanced on her knees. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, toes digging into warm sand. She was supposed to be relaxing. She had promised she would relax.
So naturally she had brought three forms, a pencil, and a draft of an updated camp layout.
Percy Jackson noticed the exact second she flipped to page two.
He groaned dramatically, flopping onto the towel beside her like his spirit had left his body. “Babe,” he said, voice dripping incredulous suffering, “it’s a lake day. A day. For the lake. What the hell is that?”
“A blueprint,” Annabeth said. “A necessary one.”
“It looks like tax paperwork and nightmares had a baby.”
“It’s for the new climbing wall.”
“Annabeth.” Percy dragged out every syllable. “It’s literally illegal for you to be this lame on purpose.”
She elbowed him without looking up. “Some of us have responsibilities, Seaweed Brain.”
“And some of us,” he countered, rolling onto his stomach, chin propped on his hands, sea green eyes gleaming, “have sworn a sacred oath to annoy their girlfriend until she stops acting like a sixty-year-old senator.”
“I am not—hey.”
Percy plucked the pencil right out of her fingers.
Annabeth blinked. “Give it back.”
“Nope.”
“Percy.”
He twirled it between his fingers with insulting ease. “Nah. It belongs to the lake now.”
“The lake doesn’t need my pencil.”
“I dunno.” Percy squinted at the water. “It’s seen some shit. Probably needs emotional support.”
Annabeth reached for it, and Percy leaned back like he’d practiced evasive maneuvers for this exact moment. She lunged again. He dodged. She huffed, strands of hair falling out of her bun.
“Seaweed Brain,” she warned.
“That’s me,” he said proudly.
She grabbed for the clipboard instead.
He took that too.
“Percy!” She struggled not to laugh. “I’m trying to work.”
“And I’m trying to save you from dying of boredom at age seventeen.”
“Give. It. Back.”
But Percy Jackson had already committed to the bit. He grinned, hopped to his feet, and held her clipboard behind his back like it was a hostage negotiation.
Annabeth stood as well, brushing sand from her legs. “Percy.”
“Yes?”
“Give it.”
“No.”
She took one threatening step forward.
He immediately sprinted down the shoreline.
Annabeth groaned loudly but chased after him, curls coming loose, feet kicking up sand. Campers craned their heads to watch the chase, already laughing.
“Jackson!” she shouted.
“Architect!” he called back, voice full New Yorker, full smug. “You’re gonna have to catch me, sweetheart!”
She absolutely did.
Annabeth lunged, tackling him halfway into the wet sand. Percy let out a startled laugh as they tumbled, the clipboard flying out of his hand and landing safely a few feet away.
Annabeth straddled his waist, pinning him.
Percy blinked up at her, entirely dazed, like she’d just punched all the thoughts out of his head. “Hi.”
“You’re impossible,” she said, breathless.
He looked thrilled. “Thanks.”
She reached for the clipboard.
He rolled fast—son of Poseidon fast—flipping her beneath him in one smooth movement so she squeaked in surprise. His palms bracketed her head in the sand, dark hair falling into his eyes.
“That’s cheating,” she accused.
“That’s love,” he said without thinking.
Annabeth flushed instantly.
Percy realized what he’d said a beat too late. His whole face went red, then stubbornly determined, as if he’d decided not to take it back.
Before she could respond, he snatched the clipboard again, scrambled to his feet, and bolted toward the water.
Annabeth’s indignant shout echoed across the lake.
“You’re dead, Percy!”
“I’ve been dead before!” he yelled back. “It’s not that bad!”
She sprinted after him.
Campers immediately began yelling encouragement.
“Get him, Annabeth!”
“Bet ten drachma on Percy dying!”
“Oh my gods, they’re ridiculous,” someone groaned. “Just kiss already!”
Percy hit the water first, splashing knee-deep, clipboard held above his head like a flag. Annabeth reached him at full force, launching herself into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He caught her automatically—of course he did—and the momentum shoved them both deeper into the lake.
Annabeth’s laughter rang bright and unrestrained, her legs instinctively tightening around his waist. Percy’s hands slid to her thighs, steadying her, lifting her slightly even as waves rolled around them.
“Give me my clipboard,” she demanded between giggles.
“No.”
“Percy—”
He tossed the clipboard gently onto a floating dock and grinned down at her—and then he dunked them both.
Annabeth shrieked, grabbing fistfuls of his wet curls as the world went underwater. Bubbles roared around them; sunlight fractured into drifting pieces. Percy surfaced first, hauling her up with him, hands warm and sure against her back.
“You—” she gasped, dripping and outraged.
“Yes, babe?”
“You menace!”
He looked delighted. “Correct.”
She shoved his shoulder. He didn’t budge.
Then she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Percy melted.
Completely.
It was visible—how his entire body softened, how his breathing steadied, how the line of his shoulders relaxed like she’d whispered a spell. Water curled around them lazily, responding to Percy’s emotions without him realizing.
Annabeth didn’t see any of that.
She only saw her boyfriend being smug.
“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, forehead pressing to his jaw.
He closed his eyes, breathing her in. “And somehow you still cling to me like a koala. Wild how that works.”
She flicked water in his face. “Shut up.”
“Never,” he said, looping an arm more firmly around her waist, holding her against him like she belonged there—which she did.
Around them, several campers groaned loudly.
“Guys, please, it’s a public lake!”
“They’re doing it again—look at them—how are they always touching?”
“I swear Percy’s gonna dissolve into a puddle if she keeps hanging on him like that.”
Annabeth ignored all the comments. She was used to the teasing, used to the constant attention, used to the way Percy always kept her close enough that their legs tangled underwater.
She thought that was normal couple stuff.
That everyone did this.
That every boyfriend looked at his girlfriend like she held the tides in her palms.
Percy brushed wet curls from her face, fingertips gentle. “You done working for the day?”
“I wasn’t working.”
“You brought a clipboard. That’s work.”
“That’s preparation.”
“That’s boring,” he said, leaning forward to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Come swim with me.”
“I’m already swimming.”
“I mean real swimming,” Percy said. “Underwater stuff. Fish-level stuff.”
“Percy, I can’t breathe underwater.”
“You can hold my hand. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Annabeth rolled her eyes but smiled. “Fine.”
He beamed—absolutely radiant—and tugged her slightly closer, legs still locked around his waist. The sun hit his dark curls, turning the tips gold. His eyes softened in ways no one else ever saw. Not for anyone else. Ever.
Annabeth didn’t realize the whole lake had gone quiet watching them.
She didn’t realize Percy hadn’t stopped touching her wrist since the moment she chased him.
She didn’t realize how impossibly gentle he looked when he cupped the back of her head.
She only realized she was happy.
And Percy?
Percy looked like the entire goddamn world had righted itself.
———
5 —
The forest was deceptively calm after the skirmish, shafts of sunlight cutting through the canopy in quiet beams, birds returning hesitantly to their branches. The monster had disintegrated into dust minutes ago, the quest objective safely retrieved, and Grover was already rummaging through his pack for snacks like the apocalypse hadn’t almost just happened.
Annabeth Chase sat on a flat rock, blonde curls sticking to her temples, grey eyes steady as she examined the gash along her upper arm. It was long, ugly, and bleeding freely—but not deep. She’d had worse in training, let alone during quests.
Percy Jackson, however, was pacing in front of her like she’d just been stabbed through the chest.
“Sit down,” Annabeth said, exasperated amusement in her voice. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“No,” Percy said immediately, hands in his hair, tugging at the curls like he might rip them out. “No, because if I sit down, I’m gonna start yelling, and if I start yelling, Grover’s gonna cry, and Piper’s gonna judge me, and you’re gonna tell me I’m being dramatic when you are literally—bleeding.”
Grover glanced up weakly from his granola bar. “I wouldn’t cry.”
“Bro, you cried at a YouTube ad last week,” Percy shot back.
“That squirrel was saying goodbye to his family,” Grover sniffed.
Piper, leaning against a tree with crossed arms, sighed. “Percy, it’s a cut.”
“It’s not a cut,” Percy snapped. “It’s—it’s a fucking—slice. A—gouge. A—knife wound from a flying lizard thing that smelled like rotten socks and resentment.”
Annabeth deadpanned, “So, a normal Tuesday for us.”
“Annabeth.” Percy finally stopped pacing and stared at her like she’d personally offended the gods by existing in danger. “You are actively leaking.”
“It’s blood, Percy, not engine fluid.”
“It’s too much blood!”
“This is not too much blood.”
“Annabeth, I can see inside your arm!”
“No, you can’t,” she countered calmly.
“Not the point!”
He finally dropped to his knees in front of her, movements jerky with adrenaline. His face was too pale. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. His sea green eyes were wide and furious, like the entire ocean had decided to revolt at the idea of Annabeth getting hurt.
He grabbed the canteen and first-aid kit like they were holy relics.
Annabeth arched an eyebrow. “You’re very dramatic today.”
“Dramatic?” Percy barked, opening the kit with shaking hands. “A goddamn chupacabra wannabe sliced your arm open like you were a Costco sample.”
Grover choked on his granola. Piper covered her laugh with a cough.
Annabeth chuckled too, because how was she supposed to take him seriously when he talked like that? Percy glared at her, offended that she wasn’t panicking with him.
“I’m fine,” she soothed.
“You’re not fine!” he shot back, voice cracking slightly as he soaked a cloth with water. “This is—this is not a ‘fine’ level injury, this is a ‘Percy is gonna pass out and then probably commit a felony’ level injury.”
She snorted. “Percy—”
“No,” he said sharply, taking her arm with a gentleness that contradicted the roughness of his voice. “No, don’t ‘Percy’ me right now. I’m already fighting God’s strongest heart attack.”
He pressed the wet cloth to the wound.
Annabeth didn’t flinch, but Percy did. His entire body tensed like he’d been stabbed instead.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, forehead dropping briefly to press against hers. His curls brushed her skin. His voice lowered to something raw, something he didn’t let other people hear. “Please be careful, Wise Girl.”
Her breath caught—not because she was swooning, but because Percy sounded like he’d been shoved off a cliff. She laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension. “You act like I got decapitated.”
“You basically did.”
“I really didn’t.”
He looked up, glare half-panicked, half-scolding. “Annabeth, if you lost your arm, do you know what I’d do?”
“Get really annoying about it?”
“I’d go full Poseidon junior rage mode. Like—tsunami, earthquakes, whole-ass ocean tantrum.”
“Percy—”
“I am not kidding. They would write myths about the day Percy Jackson lost his shit because his girlfriend got a papercut.”
“Percy,” she repeated, voice softer, “I’m okay.”
But Percy’s jaw was clenched tight enough to crack. He cleaned the wound with slow, careful movements, like her skin might crumble if he breathed too hard. His hands shook the entire time. He kept stopping to check her expression, to make sure she wasn’t hiding pain, to confirm she was still breathing.
Annabeth sat still, comfortable, letting him fuss.
To her, this was just Percy being Percy.
To Grover and Piper, it was the equivalent of watching a man try not to cry in public.
“You’re doing great,” Annabeth teased quietly.
“Don’t patronize me,” he muttered.
She leaned forward and kissed him lightly—just a small, reassuring peck to the corner of his mouth.
Percy froze.
Absolutely froze.
His entire body went molten in an instant, the ocean calming beneath him. His shoulders dropped from their tense, defensive angle; his breath stuttered. He blinked like she’d hit him with divine intervention.
“Okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “Okay. I—I’m good.”
But he wasn’t good. He was terrified.
He pulled out the bandages, wrapping them around her arm with the kind of precision usually reserved for sacred rituals or bomb defusal. Every move was gentle. Exact. Reverent.
He wasn’t treating a wound.
He was holding her like something holy.
Annabeth didn’t notice. She rested her free hand casually on his knee, relaxed, humming faintly under her breath as he worked.
Percy’s heart probably exploded five separate times.
When he finished, he leaned back slightly. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really.”
“You swear?”
“On the Styx, Percy. It’s fine.”
He still looked ready to fight the entire forest.
Annabeth let out a breath and leaned sideways into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He instantly wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer without hesitation, like it was instinct. His thumb stroked her knee unconsciously.
Percy wasn’t looking at the forest. Or their packs. Or the path. Or the camp they’d return to.
He was looking at her.
Only her.
Piper and Grover exchanged a long, painful look across the clearing.
Grover whispered, “He is so down bad it’s physically painful.”
Piper nodded solemnly. “Like… he’s one injury away from proposing.”
Grover grimaced. “Should we intervene? Or just let them continue being disgustingly in love?”
“Let them,” Piper said. “He looks like he might cry if she lets go.”
Percy didn’t hear them. He was too busy adjusting Annabeth’s hair so it wouldn’t get caught on her bandage.
Too busy brushing his thumb along her arm in slow, grounding strokes.
Too busy hovering like she might slip away the second he blinked.
Annabeth, oblivious, simply closed her eyes and relaxed into him.
Percy held her tighter.
———
6 —
Morning sunlight crept into Cabin Three like it knew it wasn’t welcome. It slipped in anyway, sliding between the half-open blinds and brushing across the rumpled blankets tangled around two demigods who clearly had not moved in hours.
Annabeth lay face-down across Percy’s chest, one arm sprawled uselessly over his ribs, one knee thrown across his hip like she had decided mid-sleep that he was her mattress now. Percy hadn’t minded. At all. He lay there blinking at the ceiling, hair a disaster, eyes half-open and half-dead, every muscle sore in a way that made him feel about fifteen years older—but for entirely pleasant reasons.
Annabeth groaned.
Not the cute, soft groan she made when she stretched. This was the I’ve-been-hit-by-a-freight-train groan. Her whole body tensed, then slumped again as if even gravity was too heavy to deal with.
Percy bit back a smile. “Morning, Wise Girl.”
She made another noise into his sternum, something between a hiss and a whimper. It translated roughly to: You’re talking too loud, the sun is a personal attack, and this is your fault.
Percy snorted. “Yeah, okay, blame me. Like you weren’t the one—”
Her hand slapped over his mouth before he could finish. Eyes still closed. Expression still murderous.
Percy grinned under her palm.
She didn’t bother lifting her head. “You’re too awake,” she mumbled, voice hoarse and muffled. “Stop it.”
“I’m not awake,” Percy said. “I’m just conscious enough to know that if you don’t sit up in the next ten minutes, your spine’s gonna fuse with mine.”
Another groan. Louder.
Percy softened. He brushed his fingers through the wild curls half-covering her face. They were knotted, chaotic, sticking at odd angles like she’d sleep-fought a hurricane—which, knowing her, was possible.
“C’mon,” he murmured, lips brushing her temple. “Up we go.”
She didn’t move.
“Annabeth.”
She burrowed into his chest like he was warm sand and she was a very small, very moody crab.
Percy laughed under his breath. Gods, he adored her.
“Look,” he said, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder, right where her skin was warm and soft and still marked lightly from the night before. “I know everything hurts, but if you stay like this, you’re gonna regret it.”
She made the tiniest grumbling sound that might’ve been, “Don’t care.”
“Yeah, no, you do,” he murmured. He shifted, sliding an arm around her back, coaxing her gently upward. “Sit up, Wise Girl.”
She slowly, slowly lifted her head—hair everywhere, curls in her mouth, eyes only half-cracked open. She looked like she’d been resurrected against her will.
Percy swallowed a laugh because he was not suicidal.
Annabeth blinked blearily. “Why is it morning?”
“You know how time works,” he said, brushing a strand of blonde hair off her cheek. “The sun rises, birds chirp, the whole tragic cycle happens again.”
“I hate mornings.”
“I’m aware.”
She sagged sideways into him. Percy steadied her with a hand on her arm, thumb rubbing slow circles over her skin.
Her voice came out like gravel. “My back hurts.”
“You don’t say,” Percy said, absolutely unable to stop the smirk. “Any theories why?”
She slanted him a glare—weak, unfocused, adorable.
“Shut up,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He pressed another soft kiss to her shoulder. Her muscles eased under the warmth of his mouth, the tension melting slightly. Annabeth sighed, leaning fully into him.
She hadn’t even noticed she was shaking from the effort of sitting upright.
Percy had.
He helped her swing her legs over the edge of the bed. She immediately tipped sideways again, landing against his chest with the trust of someone who knew he would catch her every single time.
Percy used his free hand to tuck her curls behind her ear, voice low. “Tea?”
She nodded slowly, like moving her head required monumental strength.
“Okay,” he said. “Don’t fall over. I’m serious, Annabeth. I will never emotionally recover if you face-plant.”
She didn’t respond. She was already half-asleep again, knees drawn up, curls falling into her eyes.
Percy kissed the top of her head and slid out of bed.
He winced when his feet hit the floor—yeah, okay, he was sore too; heroes paid taxes in pain—but moved anyway, shuffling to make her tea. Cabin Three was quiet except for the soft boiling of the kettle and the distant waves outside, humming against the shoreline like they were checking in on him.
He brought her favorite mug—blue with little owl doodles she pretended she didn’t find cute—back to the bedside and crouched in front of her.
“Hey,” he whispered, touching her knee. “Wise Girl. Drink.”
Her eyes cracked open again. Barely. She accepted the mug like a baby bird being handed its first meal. Percy held his hands around hers to steady the cup as she sipped.
She made a soft sound of appreciation.
“Good?” he asked.
She nodded.
Percy sat beside her, tugging gently until she leaned her head onto his shoulder. He didn’t rush her. He didn’t talk. He just held her until the tea was gone and her brain was finally functioning at one-percent capacity.
Then she lifted a hand to her hair, grimaced, and muttered, “Why do my curls hate me?”
Percy snorted. “Because you slept like a tornado victim.”
She elbowed him. Weakly.
“Hold still,” he said.
She barely blinked before his fingers were combing through her tangles, patient and careful. He pinned back the front strands with the little clips she kept on his nightstand because she lost hers weekly. He gathered the rest into a loose twist so it wouldn’t fall in her eyes.
Annabeth sighed, eyes drifting shut again. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Percy’s chest tightened. “Anytime.”
He handed her her Camp Half-Blood hoodie—oversized, faded, stolen from him originally. She didn’t even shrug it on; she just raised her arms, trusting him to help. Percy slid it over her shoulders, guiding her hands through the sleeves.
Then he knelt to tie her shoelaces.
Annabeth blinked down at him. “Percy…”
He didn’t look up. “Don’t. Let me.”
She hesitated. Only for a moment.
Then she let him.
He tied each lace carefully, double-knotting them the way she liked, hands gentle, fingers brushing the tops of her socks. When he finished, he rested his forehead lightly against her knee.
“You good?” he asked.
Annabeth hummed. It was her version of yes, but also no, but also thank you, but also hold me again.
Percy stood and helped her get to her feet. She stepped directly into his chest, arms sliding around his waist, face pressed into his shirt.
He froze.
Then melted.
He held her tight, chin resting in her curls. “You sure you’re awake?”
“No,” she mumbled.
“You wanna go back to sleep?”
“No.”
“You wanna stay like this for a while?”
“…Yes.”
He smiled into her hair. “Cool. Because I wasn’t planning on moving anyway.”
She tipped her head back enough to kiss him—soft, sleepy, barely there. A brush of lips, a warm exhale, a tiny sigh.
Percy’s heart did a full somersault.
“Oh,” he said softly, dazed. “Okay. Yeah. I can function off that for the next decade.”
She gave him one unimpressed, sleepy blink.
He shook his head quickly. “Nothing. I said nothing.”
She leaned into him again, arms snug around his middle, face turned into the crook of his neck. It was instinct for her. Automatic. Effortless.
For Percy, it was a miracle.
He kissed her hairline, voice low and a little unsteady. “You have no idea what you do to me, Wise Girl.”
She didn’t respond.
She was already drifting back to sleep against him, trusting him to hold her up.
He did.
Because of course he did.
Because he always would.
Percy glanced down at her peaceful face, her curled fingers holding the fabric of his shirt, her breathing soft and deep as she swayed lightly against him.
And he looked like a man who had been handed the sun and was terrified to drop it.
———
7
Camp Half-Blood glowed under lanternlight.
The bonfire in the center of the clearing roared bright gold, sending sparks spiraling into the cooling night air. Music thrummed from a borrowed speaker, demigods shouting lyrics half a beat late, laughing too loudly, arguing over whose turn it was to toast marshmallows. It was one of those warm, easy nights where everyone actually relaxed—no quests, no looming threats, just teenagers pretending the world wasn’t always falling apart.
Annabeth walked in with Percy behind her, hair braided loosely, curls escaping everywhere like they had a mind of their own. Percy wasn’t even pretending not to stare at her. He hadn’t stopped staring since she met up with him earlier, warm from training and still smelling faintly of lemons and campfire ash.
She didn’t notice the staring.
Of course she didn’t.
She was too busy scanning the seating, fully prepared to sit somewhere reasonable, like a normal person.
Percy, however, had other plans.
He dropped directly onto a log bench near the fire, legs parted casually, hands ready at his thighs like he was waiting.
Annabeth didn’t even question it.
She just sat down on his lap. Smoothly. Naturally. Like she’d been gravity-drawn into place.
Her back rested against his chest, her legs curling sideways across his, one hand automatically reaching up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck. She was already biting into a marshmallow before she even registered her own position.
Percy exhaled sharply behind her—as if sitting with her on his lap in front of all of Camp Half-Blood was somehow a survivable event.
He wrapped both arms around her waist, pulling her just a bit closer, chin resting on her shoulder. His eyes half-lidded, mouth softening into an expression nobody else ever got from him.
Half the younger campers froze mid-s’more creation.
Connor elbowed Travis so hard the older Stoll choked on his cocoa. Grover stared like she was watching the final act of a rom-com she’d been waiting YEARS for. Piper gave Percy a knowing, too-sympathetic look.
Annabeth had no idea.
She just kept eating her marshmallows, swinging her feet like a bored toddler, playing with Percy’s hair between bites.
Percy might as well have been having a religious experience.
“Y’alright there, Seaweed Brain?” Annabeth mumbled, distracted by her treat.
Percy’s voice came out low and unbelievably soft. “Mhm. Perfect.”
She didn’t even hear it.
But everyone else did.
———
The night air dipped colder as the fire crackled, wind moving across the camp from the shoreline. Annabeth shivered once—barely—and Percy reacted like someone had fired an arrow through his chest.
He tugged his hoodie over her shoulders instantly, wrapping it around her with the speed of a man who’d been preparing for this moment all evening. The sleeves swallowed her arms; the hem hung halfway down her thighs; she tugged the hood up unconsciously.
Percy’s arms came right back around her waist afterward, tugging her snug against him like she was something precious.
She blinked. “Oh… thanks.”
“Yeah, of course,” he murmured into her hair, voice rough with unspoken affection. “You were cold.”
“Barely.”
“I noticed.”
She shrugged in confusion, then leaned back into him, satisfied. Percy tightened his hold without even thinking about it.
Across the fire pit, Jason mouthed, Oh my gods.
Reyna smirked behind the rim of her cup.
Clarisse muttered, “He’s whipped,” earning several nods.
Annabeth remained blissfully unaware, too occupied roasting another marshmallow to observe the collective meltdown around her.
———
A little while later, she sighed and pushed lightly at Percy’s wrist. “I’m thirsty.”
Percy was on his feet before she even finished the sentence.
Annabeth blinked at the sudden loss of warmth. “What—”
“Stay there,” he said, already jogging toward the drink table. “Don’t move.”
She frowned after him, confused. “I wasn’t going anywhere?”
But by the time she’d fully processed her own confusion, Percy was back, handing her a cold bottle of water with all the triumphant pride of a knight returning from battle.
She took it with a mildly puzzled thank you and resumed her place on his lap, curling back into his chest as if he were just… furniture. Comfortable, warm, loyal furniture.
Percy held her like she was the one keeping him warm.
Campers watched every second unfold like it was a particularly dramatic prophecy.
———
By the time the stars thickened overhead and the fire lowered to embers, Annabeth’s head had gradually drooped onto Percy’s shoulder. Her fingers had slowed in his hair, eventually resting against the curls she’d been playing with all night. Her breathing evened out, deeper, softer.
Percy looked down at her.
And melted. Absolutely fucking melted.
He brushed his nose against her temple, whispering, “Hey. You tired?”
She made a small, sleepy noise. The kind that cracked Percy’s heart clean in half.
“Okay,” he breathed. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”
He slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly. Annabeth tucked herself into his chest without even waking fully, arms looping around his shoulders, face pressed into the warm spot between his neck and collarbone. Her hoodie sleeves dangled past her hands. Her curls brushed against his jaw.
Percy adjusted his grip automatically, carrying her like she weighed nothing, like she belonged exactly there.
Conversation around the fire stopped.
Even the crackling embers seemed to hush.
Percy didn’t notice. His entire world was the girl half-asleep in his arms.
But everyone else noticed.
Whispers rose immediately:
“He’s gone for her.”
“He looks like he’d fight a god for her.”
“He already has.”
“Oh my gods, he’s carrying her like she’s made of starlight.”
“Annabeth has no idea, does she?”
“She thinks this is just normal?”
“Someone tell her—”
“Nope. Let her figure it out at their wedding.”
Percy ignored them all, walking steadily toward Cabin Three, careful not to jostle her. Every few steps he dropped a tiny kiss to her forehead, or the top of her hair, or the side of her temple—barely-there touches he probably didn’t even realize he was giving.
Annabeth mumbled something unintelligible against his throat.
“Yeah, I got you,” Percy whispered, voice warm and unbearably gentle. “Almost home.”
Almost home.
He meant the cabin.
He meant her.
He meant both at once.
———
Inside Cabin Three, the soft blue glow of the seashell lamps flickered across the walls. Percy nudged the door shut with his foot and carried her straight to his bed.
She stirred slightly as he lowered her onto the mattress, her hands finding the fabric of his shirt like she was trying to follow him.
Percy leaned over, brushing curls away from her face, adjusting the hoodie so she wouldn’t get cold, tucking the blankets around her with ridiculous care.
His fingers lingered at her jaw.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead—slow, reverent.
“You’ll never know how soft I am for you,” he whispered, voice barely audible.
Annabeth’s eyes didn’t open. She just shifted under the blankets, reaching blindly until she found his shirt again. Percy immediately slid into bed beside her, letting her curl against his chest like she always did.
“Night, Percy,” she murmured, half-asleep.
Percy froze.
Then exhaled shakily, drawing her closer, his chin resting in her hair.
“Night, Wise Girl,” he whispered.
Her breathing was already deep, steady, content.
Percy held her as if the whole world had narrowed to the weight of her curled against him, the warmth of her breath on his collarbone, the steady pulse of her heartbeat under his palm.
He didn’t sleep for a long time.
He was too busy memorizing the miracle of being loved by someone who didn’t even realize she was the center of his universe.