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[g1rld1ary]

The Receptionist - S.R

a/n: i need this man on an astronomical level actually

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x receptionist!bimbo!reader

summary: spencer meets the new receptionist for chief cruz

warnings: fluff

wc: 0.8k

The click-clack of your polished nails on the keys mingled with the sharp pops of bubblegum as you focused on lining up Chief Cruz's appointments in the system. Taking a pause, you pulled out your notebook encased in pink frills from your drawer, and delicately turned its pages to reveal the week's agenda.

With the appointment freshly noted, you let your pen waltz around the margins, leaving behind a trail of doodles. With a subtle shift, you crossed your legs, the shiny pink heels tapping together, their color complementing the delicate fabric of your skirt.

You traced another heart around the date, and just then, a soft voice hesitantly broke the silence, "Excuse me?"

You looked up to find a pair of curious hazel eyes framed by brown curls that almost seemed to be begging to be touched, and his lips, which held a shy smile made your heart do a summersault. I mean, come on, what are these FBI guys made lab-grown or something?

He was draped in a form-fitting vets over a neatly pressed shirt, his sleeves were rolled up just so, in a way that paused your movements freeze and coaxed a heat to spread across your cheeks. Well, hello there.

He seemed briefly caught off-guard, his eyes flickering over your pink-themed workspace, a distinct departure from the former receptionist's subdued setup. He was almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things that now occupied the space.

With an enthusiastic bounce, you popped up from your seat, beaming brightly.

"Oh, hi there! How can I help you?" Gently straightening your skirt, you offered a hand, your name rolling off your tongue, "Are you here for Chief Cruz?"

The man's touch was soft against your palm, his attention caught by the soft clinking of your delicate bracelets, while your nails, painted a meticulous shade of pink that matched the color of your shirt, settled against the back of his hand.

"Spencer Reid," he introduced. "I have an appointment with Chief Cruz regarding a specialized training session for new recruits."

His gaze held yours a tad too long, cataloging the details of your appearance--the brightness of your eyes, the soft curve of your lips, the radiant glow of your skin.

A look of pleasant surprise crossed your face.

"You're the famous Dr. Reid! I've heard a lot about you," you remarked, a giggle accompanying your words as you eased back into your seat, giving a quick, knowing glance at your calendar. "Ah, here you are. I'll let Chief Cruz know you're here. He's currently in a meeting, but it shouldn't be too much longer."

As you pretended to focus on the screen, your mind raced. Dr. Reid--the genius with multiple PhDs, and now, the man who stood before you, unexpectedly  drop-dead handsome.

It was a challenge to maintain professionalism, especially when every fiber of your being yearned to do nothing but drink in his appearance. I mean, you were only human.

"Just Spencer is fine," he offered with an easy smile. "Where's Mrs. Henderson?"

You were beautiful to say the least, not at all what he was expecting to see when he walked in this morning, quite the difference from the former receptionist, whose age had been marked by the hard candies she offered.

"Oh, she retired last month!" you said with a bright smile. "So now, Chief Cruz is stuck with me!" Leaning in, chin cradled by your hands, you gaze at him incredulously. "Three PhDs, huh? That's, like, beyond Einstein-level smarts, isn't it?"

Spencer's cheeks tinged with a hint of color as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

"Well, not quite," he admitted with a modest shrug. He then glanced around the office before his eyes settled back on you. "How are you finding the job here so far?"

"Impressive, yet so modest," you commented. Standing up, you clicked print on the computer. "And it's great, I really love it here. I mean, it's not as thrilling as chasing down bad guys, I'm sure, but I think I'll stick to what I'm good at."

As you made your way to the printer, Spencer interjected. "No, I got it."

He returned with the papers, handing them to you with a gentle smile. 

"Thanks," you said, taking the papers. "So, you do that profiling thing right?" You tapped a finger against your lips, pretending to ponder. "Let's see... I'm guessing you're a Libra, aren't you? Probably born in early October, I'd say."

"What gave it away?"

You flashed a wink, the pop of your bubblegum punctuating the air. "I may have taken a sneak peek at your file."

With a light-hearted laugh, Spencer revealed a smile so grand it seemed to light up the entire space and you couldn't help but smile in response. You liked his smile, a lot. 

Spencer's response was cut short by the ring of the phone. You quickly answered as the great receptionist you are.

"Okie dokie, sir, I'll send him right back!" You listened for a second, then replied with a giggle. "No, thank you, sir!" You turned to Spencer, your smile wide, "He's ready for you!"

"Thanks," Spencer said with a nod, "It was great to meet you." He took a few steps towards Chief Cruz's office before pausing and turning back. "You know, maybe I should give you my number. For work purposes, in case you have questions or need help with anything."

You nodded eagerly, your smile reaching from ear to ear. "Absolutely, for work purposes."

[g1rld1ary]

my frozen coke literally got delivered half full (half empty ig coz i was upset lol) so i went home and to get my worth out of it I was gonna poor actual coke into it bc I thought we had some in the fridge.

anyway we didn't and i had frozen coke mixed with double lemon 196 for my wednesday night dinner :-)

[g1rld1ary]

submitted my assignment guys now it is on to fic writing :))))))

i still have 500 more fucking words to go on this assignment + godawful referencing Why did I start this 3 days before it was due when its 35% of my grade !!!!!!!!!!!!

[g1rld1ary]

Anonymously Yours (series masterlist!¡)

Fem!Reader x Luke Castellan

Summary: after an accidental text that slowly turns into a friendship, you start crushing on your anonymous friend… not knowing you’ve met in real life.

Contains: fluff, angst?, kind of slowburn, au set in the real world, some smau at some point, occ at times.

A/N: hey guys!! I hope you like this series. It’s heavily based on a movie by the same name, check it out it’s on netflix. Taglist is open!! Just comment here or send an ask.

Intro - wc: 489

After receiving a text at 3 am, you can’t help but feel sorry for the sender.

Pt 1: Anonymously Hate You - wc: 2.4k

Maybe texting the random number from the day before can get your mind off the insufferable new student.

[g1rld1ary]

i still have 500 more fucking words to go on this assignment + godawful referencing Why did I start this 3 days before it was due when its 35% of my grade !!!!!!!!!!!!

[g1rld1ary]

just saw this on pinterest and it hit me like a truck

[g1rld1ary]

all i wanna do is write fics alas... 1500 word essay due tomorrow :(

[g1rld1ary]

reckless driving - lizzy mcalpine

locklyle coded or am i tripping?? lockwood's self-destructiveness gets worse because he's literally willing to die for LUCY which also puts lucy and george in danger. as a result, lucy gets mad at lockwood for being so reckless so she LITERALLY lets go by leaving lockwood and co?!??!??!?!? because she thinks by doing this, it'll make him safer "and one day it'll kill us if I don't let go"

[g1rld1ary]

⋆· ༘* god, it's brutal out here !

pairing ★ jock!luke castellan x drum major!reader

synopsis ★ the one where the football team hasn’t won a game in a nearly a decade. luke castellan changes some things. (4k)

content ★ no pronouns used for reader, bad teenager humor, inaccuracies bc i am not a band kid, very vague smau, not proofread, best viewed on mobile

notes ★ when i tell u that i switched writing styles for this, jubi and iss17 r so different. pls enjoy the crack tho, bc frankly, i think im hilarious

series masterlist

Opinion | Football team reaps the rewards it does not deserve

Heralds Vol. 77, Issue 1

Zeus City High School’s VAPA groups have won more championships that the football team ever has. Just last school year, marching band took sweepstakes in nearly every round, placing first in regionals and second in nationals. Other groups such as cheer, choir, and color guard also took competitions by storm, setting the highest win rate in the history of the high school.

However, their efforts aren’t as recognized as the football team, even though ZCHS hasn’t won a single game in a decade. Meanwhile, performing arts struggles with the leftovers of the football team’s funding.

“It’s really unfair and discouraging,” freshman Percy Jackson provided in a statement. “It’s my first year in band and I had to duct tape my broken snare harness because we don’t have money for new ones. Look, the football team got new equipment and a locker room renovation. My recycled uniform smells like […] and they get custom practice jerseys.”

Jackson’s sentiment is shared widely among the student body associated with VAPA. Members such as junior Miranda Gardener feel that their passions are put aside for a sport that contributes nothing to the school other than spirit.

“Being in color guard is stressful, especially because a lot of us take hard classes, too,” said Gardener. “I love performing, but I’ve honestly thought about not trying out again because we work hard for nothing, and the people who barely work get everything.”

The administration office and football team have not reached out in response to inquiries.

It’s around that time of year where you could walk out of the classroom and see four people blowing their nose down the hall and one person pretending to use the bathroom but really just searching up the answers to a test.

Luke Castellan is one of them. Your fingers are picking at the edge of the hall pass, a click click against the plastic that echoes hollow in the hall.

He hears you coming, back curled in the position he’s taken over the water fountain. Castellan gives you a cursory glance, goes back to drinking, and then looks at you again. You walk faster.

Double-take, his spine unfurls to stand upright, wrist wiping away the droplets on his mouth.

“So I read your article,” he says right as you cross tangent paths. He leans against the wall, pseudo-casual, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. “Just wanna let you know that football’s definitely gonna get a win this sea—your pass is a toilet seat?”

Your face burns, heat licking from your neck to forehead. Your eyes flick to a deflated rubber duck sitting atop the fountain’s porcelain edge, the tail of which is punched out and threaded with a tag that reads HALL PASS.

“And yours is a bath toy?”

Red blooms over the high of Castellan’s cheeks, and he snatches the duck off the fountain, hiding it behind his back.

“Shut up,” he grits, the bath toy making an airy sound in his tightening fingers. “Who even let you write that article anyway?”

“I’m the editor-in-chief,” you say, smug-like, shrugging like it’s nothing. You take a look at his face, the downward draw of his brown and the brutal set of his mouth.

Castellan’s exhale comes out from his nostrils in a hiss, jaw feathering.

“We’ll win this season,” he says, low, quiet. He’s so close that you can almost see something wading in the dark, inky pool of his pupil. “I’m making sure of it.”

( How did you go from casual conversation to this? )

“Is that on or off the record?” Your grin could be classified as shit-eating, mouth splitting too wide and eyes curving too crescent. Castellan sneers and pushes off the wall, jostling his tense shoulder with yours.

“So fucking annoying,” you hear him hissing as he walks away. You laugh in a huff, watching his wound-up back shrink in the distance.

What an asshole.

[ IMAGE: A snapshot of Percy Jackson from an up-down angle with the zoom set to 0.5x. The flash is on, washing his skin, hair, and eyes pale. The background is dark, save for a group of teens behind the curve of his cheek in ugly orange band uniforms and black slacks. ]

Liked by majmajmaj and 35 others

perciusjakcsn not even cooked WE R GRILLED 😨 📸 @.travstole

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majmajmaj ur gna be well done xtra crispy if u forget to count those fucking rests again,,, 😒

↳ perciusjakcsn PLZ HAVE MERCY SARGE ↳ majmajmaj DRUM MAJOR NOT DRUM SARGEANT PETER 🖕🖕🖕 ↳ perciusjakcsn JUSTICE 4 PERCY 😞💔

groovewood did u srsly just replace me as cameraman DUDE 😭

“Are we actually incapable—” The band continues to push each other around, the noise of nearly a hundred mouths in motion reaching an all-time high. “—of lining the fuck up?”

Charles’ wide, orange-fitted frame sidles up next to you, a megaphone in hand. You take the device in silent thanks, switching it on and cringing at the feedback.

You raise the megaphone to your mouth. “ATTENTION!”

It’s a mad dash into formation, teens in orange scrambling to their places. Someone yelps when a tuba swings in a wide arc above their head. A flutist trips over a saxophone. Drumline frantically assembles, sliding clumsily into harnesses and setting off more than two cymbal crashes.

“What a goddamn clown show.” Mr. D, absentee band director, walks up behind you and Charles, scowling at the mess. He takes a swig from the Coke can that’s practically glued to his hand before snatching the megaphone. “PETER JOHNSON, YOUR HARNESS IS LOOSE. LEE VASQUEZ, WRONG SECTION. COLE STALIN, IF I HEAR CARELESS WHISPER ONE MORE TIME, I WILL THROTTLE—”

From the crowd, Connor Stoll’s face twists in pseudo-confusion, hands coming up to pat at his ears and shrugging. A laugh ripples through the ranks.

Mr. D looks like he’s going to have a stroke with the way his expression pinches, sour. Mouth crumpled in on itself like the opening of a drawstring bag, eyes glaring narrow and beard bristling.

You take the megaphone back gingerly, dialing down the volume with a grimace. “Alright, first prelim game of the season, we’re against our one-sided rivals, Jupiter High.”

The band groans. Mr. D wanders off elsewhere.

“I’m not supposed to say this, but we are definitely losing. Even so, please do not boo if our team gets a touchdown. Don’t laugh if you hear something demeaning from the other team. And—clarinets—it is absolutely unacceptable to be bribed by Travis and burst into Squidward’s theme mid-play.”

Travis lets out a squawk of indignation, the shriek of it echoing around the side of the field. Charles holds out his hand for the megaphone, which you pass over.

He clears his throat. “Thank you, major. Uh—Jupiter is one hundred percent going to decimate us sports-wise, but we’re better than them in VAPA and test scores. Please don’t tarnish our reputation as regional champions, I don’t think I can survive that.”

Short and sweet, he sets down the device and gestures for the band to start marching around the track for warm-ups. You follow the path of the oval, feet tracing the white running lines, dust running over your shoe prints.

At the far side of the field is a giant inflatable centaur, the breakaway banner held between its feet. It’s a football thing for the players to run out at the beginning of the game. Except, you’re pretty sure that most schools do not run out under the legs of a stupidly expensive, balloon-ified mascot.

The football team is gathered behind the banner, hiding under the shadowed belly of the centaur. Some players are stretching, drinking water, closing their eyes. There are cheerleaders milling around, making small talk with glossy smiles.

Luke Castellan catches your eye over a girl’s shoulder. You recognize her, the slight of her build and the curl to her honeyed hair and most of all, the pep flags in her hands. Charles stiffens from beside you, back going rod-like, chest puffing out.

Silena Beauregard turns, waving cluelessly, innocently. Your fellow drum major nearly stumbles. You—and half the band—give Castellan an downturned thumb when she turns away. Someone from the trombones plays a limp womp-womp.

Castellan looks mortified, like he’s going to dig a hole for himself and die in it.

( If so, good riddance. )

[ VIDEO: A shaky clip from the lit-up bleachers at Zeus City High School’s football field. The camera pans over the heads of the seated marching band, a sea of half-asleep teens in orange, instruments drooping with the nodding of their heads.

The spectators groan, the commentator remarking that Sherman Yang has missed yet another throw. Someone from the rival side hollers loudly—Zeus City? More like Zeus Shitty!—to which their lavender-hued cheerleaders titter, sending a ripple of amusement echoing through the opposite bleachers swathed in purple.

A majority of the ZCHS marching band cackle and jeer. The camera zooms in on the two drum majors standing upfront. You’re shaking your head and thumbing the space between your brows. Charles Beckendorf wears the face of saddened disappointment. ]

Liked by beckydwarf, majmajmaj, and 138 others

travstole 😬😬

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majmajmaj reporting this to d, no phones on the field tf??

↳ travstole snitch much?? ↳ majmajmaj what was it? ah, ‘die graecus scum’ - JHS octavian, most definitely

conmanstole poor becky d,,,

↳ perciusjakcsn ‘poor becky d’ as if ur not the reason y he has premature wrinkles 🫵🤨

The classroom is cold-hued, almost sterile under the cheap incandescent lights. Everything is blueish, backlit by the evening as it rolls over the horizon. You sigh when the ligaments in your neck rub just right to pop the bubbles between your bones. The door creaks, a tall figure, sticky with shadows, stepping in right before you try to move on to cracking you knuckles.

You almost don’t recognize him in that soft-looking sweater, a pair of black frames propped over the bridge of his nose. Castellan settles into the chair at the opposite ledge of the desk, the legs straining against the floor in an ear-itching scrape when he scoots closer.

“Hey there,” he says, borderline breathless, to which you give him a narrow look. He gives you a quick grin in return as he fumbles with his laptop; you catch a deep etch to his smile lines at the corners of his mouth before they disappear. “So, I’m just going to ask you a few questions about stuff like band, Heralds, school life.”

“This feels like an interrogation,” you tell him, unimpressed, “instead of something for yearbook. Are you sure you aren’t trying to get me arrested? If so, I have the right to remain silent.”

“No, just yearbook. Purely professional.” The other boy laughs, the sound of it rattling behind his ribs. It sends something spiraling down your stomach, like a marble run made with your intestines. “About last week, in the hallway—I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through some stuff. So, sorry about that.”

He slides his phone between the two of you, the glossy screen emblazoned with a red button waiting to be pressed. Castellan sweeps out his hand in offering, palm-up.

You click the button, the first waves of sound appearing on the pixels in zig-zags.

“What is your name and the extracurriculars you partake in?” Castellan asks, even though he should know, because you’ve gone to the same school for years. You tell him, and he tests it in his mouth, feeling the weight of it around his tongue like it’s the first time he’s heard of it. The marble run of your insides starts to roll faster. “Cool. I’m Luke—football, volleyball, and obviously yearbook.”

“I know.”

It falls quiet for a moment, the snick of keys pressed into their beds being the only thing filling the silence. “Okay,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “How’s it like being a Heralder? Any notable experiences?”

You keep your answers short and sweet, easy for damage control. “It’s basically a free period. We print every three weeks, so I have plenty of time to write and format the spreads.”

“And off the record?” he asks, a small grin sewn over his face. You think you have an idea of what he’s trying to do.

“It’s peachy.”

He tuts, a snick of the tongue. The laptop he’s typing on is drenched in cold light too, the screen reflecting onto the lenses of his glasses, something blue-gray in the glassiness of them. “And what about band? I remember you wrote something about VAPA kids having a hard time with balancing their schedules.”

“I didn’t write that,” you remind him, a near snap to your words. “It was a quote from Miranda Gardener.”

“But you agreed with her,” Castellan counters. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have put it in your article.”

Conceding, “Fine. The actual band period start at seven-thirty during zero—we use that time to practice songs—and after school, we all head out to the field for drills from five to nine.”

“How do you have time to do homework?”

“I said Heralds was a free period, didn’t I?”

He laughs, the sound of it a little hollow with the way he’s fully concentrated on his laptop. “You did. Okay, moving on—favorite school snack?”

“Cup noodles from the teacher’s room.”

Castellan makes a confused face. “Uh, favorite class?”

“Obviously band.”

“Worst class?”

You think about it for a moment. “Stats.”

He smiles in agreement, eyes going crescent. “First choice of college?”

“Anything but an Ivy.”

Castellan shakes his head, chuckling.

You wait for a minute, watching his screen go by through the surface of his glasses. Castellan’s eyelashes aren’t long, but they’re thick and heavy. His eyes are a mid-toned brown, just darker than hazel. Like fresh-turned dirt. Or milk chocolate brownies. Or—

He hasn’t asked anything in a while. You cough awkwardly. “Am I free to go?”

Castellan looks like there are words fighting on his tongue, fingers carding through his messy curls. His lips are blushed, almost a bruise with the way they’re so damn red. You think about Charles. And then Silena. How Castellan had walked into the classroom breathless.

You know that you shouldn’t assume, but you’re going to assume.

“Never mind, don’t answer that.” You make a show of checking your phone, retinas seared with the sudden brightness of the screen. “Mr. D needs me on the field. Connor might be starting another riot with the saxes.”

“Yea,” he says tightly, “go ahead.”

TO: becky d

(19:35) so. (19:35) not 100 percent sure but i think silena and castellan (19:36) yk what ill ask her during p1 tmrw

FROM: becky d

(21:58) NO?? (22:10) SARGE PLS TURN OFF DND 🙏 (22:11) not even cooked im deep fried 😭

TO: becky d

(08:45) so funny story i was on dnd until p1 and (08:46) LMAOO DID U REALLY JST CALL ME SARGE CHARLES 😐 (08:46) but srsly why didnt you yell at me during 0 we coulda avoided this,,,, (08:47) btw i didnt ask her she was talking to drew tanaka abt some other guy that def wasnt luke 👍

FROM: perciusjakcsn

(11:38) hey sarge do u know how to find annabeth (11:39) i need her to explain the crab cycle. preferably before p5

TO: perciusjaksn

(12:34) * Major, not Sarge (12:34) ** Krebs cycle (12:35) This is Annabeth. To paraphrase Khan Academy, the Krebs cycle describes a chain of reactions in the mitochondria to produce energy in living cells through cellular respiration. I won’t go through the details because the reactants and products are not on the test, and neither is the order in which the reactions proceed. If you have any more questions, my username is ‘anniebethc’.

Annabeth stabs her spork into her bag of salad, the flimsy plastic warping and crinkling as she draws out another mouthful of lettuce.

“So,” you start, idly twirling your own spork as you read the message she sent through your phone, “giving hints about the test? That could be considered cheating.”

Her cheek dips, held captive between her teeth. “It’s nothing.”

You give her a suspicious look. “And when Connor asked you about glucose and you told him to fuck off, that was also nothing?”

The girl’s look is withering as she chews her lunch slowly. You hold up your hands in surrender, letting go of the topic.

Annabeth’s gaze catches something behind you. You follow the line of her sight, tracing it along the lunch shelter and landing on Castellan. He’s got a laugh tremoring in his shoulders, grinning at something a girl—Silena again—is telling him. You whip your head back to see Annabeth’s eyes go fuzzy and sparkling.

“What?” she asks, noticing your twisted face.

“Nothing,” you huff. “But, uh—Percy’s a good guy.”

The girl squints, bewildered. “What—I don’t like Luke. We’re neighbors, so it’s weird.”

Neighbors?

“We’re halfway through the semester and you’re telling me now that Public Enemy Number One lives next to you?”

“He’s only Public Enemy Number One to band.”

Emphatically, “Which you are a flutist of?”

A lunch tray clatters onto your table, Travis sliding onto the bench and joined by Charles. The Stoll boy cracks his wrists, the pop of air loud even over the chatter of the shelter.

Charles peels open his school lunch, cringing at the clumpy mac salad sitting in the bowl. He looks over at your food, eyes tracing the outline of the plastic cup and watching the steam escape over the lip.

“Where the hell did you get instant noodles from?” blurts Travis. You tap a half-empty thermos in the pocket of your backpack.

“Ask Clarisse nicely and her dad’ll get it from the teacher’s lounge.”

Travis gives you a narrow look. It would’ve been almost threatening if his eyes weren’t occasionally glancing at your noodles.

“How nicely?”

“Six dollars.”

The old Stoll turns to Charles, irises sparkling, wide, expectant—a poor attempt to make puppy eyes at your fellow drum major. Charles sighs, fingers digging through his backpack to return with a twenty.

“Ah,” he warns right as Travis reaches for the money. “Two noodles, one for each of us. And then you’ll go to the vending machine for chips and a soda. No more, no less.”

Travis nods eagerly, snatching the bill and running off. You watch his back as he leaves; he nearly topples Luke Castellan in his excited haste.

“You know that’s a scam, right?” Annabeth's voice brings you back to the present. She’s got her brows quirked as Charles shuts the lid to his mac salad.

“It’s better than this.” He holds up a bag of damp baby carrots and cringes. It is at this moment that you know what your next article will be about.

[ IMAGE: Luke Castellan posing in semi-formal dress, standing in a dark classroom. The photo looks like it’s been taken on a digital camera, nostalgic and slightly grainy, bright spots blooming at the center. He’s got a fitted white button up and a pair of neat, pressed slacks on. His tie is black, rumpled, the knot loosened around his neck. Over his shoulders is a slouchy pastel orange cardigan with the equestrian mascot of ZCHS sewn into the breast.

His head is turned, showing his sharp side profile. Luke’s face is pensive, one hand in his pocket and the other at rest, fingers laid over his thigh. There are a pair of computer glasses sliding dangerously down his nose. ]

Liked by anniebethc and 345 others

lukestellans ‘cause we never go out of style

📸 @.luvvbeaus

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luvvbeaus 🔥🔥🔥

↳ tankadreww men who listen to tay >> ↳ conmanstole @.majmajmaj aint no way ppl actually find him hot 🤣🤣

anniebethc You knotted your tie backwards, Luke.

↳ lukestellans ask ur dad to help me pls 🙏

You don’t get to write your article about how shitty the school lunch is. Instead, you get assigned to the homecoming game, scribbling out lede after mediocre lede onto the reporter’s notebook balanced in your palm, the paper of which scrubs uncomfortably against your gloves.

“This is probably the highest score I’ve seen on that board,” comments Charles, fiddling with the seam of his uniform. “Another touchdown and we’d actually win our first game in ten years.”

“There are six seconds left,” you say, glancing at the clock. You’re starting to sound like Annabeth when you say, “It’s pretty close too. The likelihood of an actual win is so low that—”

The rest of your words are swallowed by the commentator.

AND THAT’S LUKE CASTELLAN RUNNING INTO THE END ZONE, HE CATCHES THE BALL—TOUCHDOWN FOR ZEUS CITY!

You jump at the roar that engulfs your side of the bleachers, parents and students and alumni rising in a tidal wave of celebration.

The cheerleaders jump and scream, pep flags dancing in the air, pompoms glittering. People are hugging, cheering. You even see a grandma shed tears and kiss a toddler on the cheek.

“What the fuck.” Nevertheless, you’re compelled to turn and face the music, raising your hands and signaling for your bandmates to play the fight song.

Luke Castellan runs a victory lap, zipping around the field in his ugly, bright orange jersey, arms thrust skyward in celebration. You think that the big, taunting 11 painted on his back will haunt you for the rest of your days.

His pace peters out by the time he reaches the stands, giving sweaty, full-bodied hugs to whoever’s closest to him in his conquest. You frown when he strolls along the stands, helmet pulled off and hanging from his fingers.

He’s all damp, curls plastered to his forehead and sweat beading over his brow. His breaths come out as icy puffs in the mid-October air, an exhausted blush blooming red over his cheeks, eyes glassed over, lips bruised and chest straining for air.

Castellan points at nothing in particular, angling his finger at the bleachers with a winning smile. A number of girls giggle—even color guard—and many pull out their phones to snap pictures of him.

He’s looking straight through you, though. Like he has something vengeful to prove. The floodlights are blinding, a glimmering sheen painted over the player.

You frown, brows drawing together furious, mouth pinched. Castellan sneers back and turns away.

And then, your journalism advisor comes up to Castellan with a dark-haired woman. The teen hugs the woman but ignores the man, bitter.

Frankly, you’ve never been able to put your finger on it until now, why Mr. Hermes had seemed so familiar to you. Now you can see it.

Luke Castellan looks very much like his mother, same eyes and lips. Bony shoulders, full face, straight and dark brows. He’s got the same arrow-like nose as Hermes, however, the same inky black hair.

He turns for one last look at the emptying stands. Behind you, your bandmates begin to pack up, carrying their instruments down the bleachers.

You’re the one offering a sneer now, though you doubt he can see it from this far. Luke tilts his head with a furtive smile and you lose sight of him when he ducks out into the parking lot.

You look down at your reporter’s notebook, the scratched-out ledes and the Heralds logo printed at the top.

You’re fucked.

p.s. ★ i moved around some canon ages to better fit the story if ur wondering why luke is 17/18 while percabeth r like 13/14,,,, also—the inclusion of articles and social media was inspired by phanatics’ big reputations on ao3, aka one of my fav slash fics (pls note that there r some spicy scenes tho)!!

sharing is caring, pls also consider leaving nice thoughts ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᡣ𐭩

luke tags (open); @melllinaa @amortencjja @niktwazny303 @arsonnaire @ma1dita @m00ng4z3r @saltair-and-palemoonlight @witch-lemon

© klineinie 2024 — do not plagiarize, translate, or use ANY works to train ai

[g1rld1ary]

[g1rld1ary]

THIS IS SO CUTE 🫶🫶

Golden Mangos

Aphrodite!Fem!Reader x Travis Stoll

Summary: after a certain incident you can’t help but start liking mangos a bit more, and maybe a certain camper as well.

Contains: fluff, characters can be ooc, usual Stoll sibling antics, some swearing, kind of cringe lines ngl

A/N: I love this small prank the stolls pull on the Aphrodite cabin and it inspired me to write this fic. Hope you guys like it. Reqs are open <3. Also I hate mangos idk what demon possessed to write a character that loves them.

Word Count: 2.5k

If there is one thing your cabin mates knew about you, it is your strong affinity for mangos–or, as Drew likes to call it ‘an extreme obsession’. Another fact was that, for some odd reason, camp didn't have mangos. Well not least you bribed a Dementer kid to grow some or got a Hermes child to bring you one from the outside. Sometimes, you would even go back home during winter break just to be able to enjoy some sweet mangos, even if they weren’t in season. Your dad always spoiled you rotten with everything, from actual mangos to mango lip gloss. So, it came to your sibling's surprise that there you were eating half a mango for breakfast. Lost in your world without a care for the burning eyes watching you. 

“How exactly did you get that?” asked Piper, munching on  her bowl of strawberries, “One of the boys from cabin 4” You replied oh so casually.

 “Y/N, you can't just use your charmspeak casually,” complained Mitchell. Unlike Piper and Drew, you tended to use your charmspeak for more trivial things. If your mother gave you a gift, it was to be used, and maybe you did use it for small things like getting out of archery or another serving of strawberry shortcake. Maybe it wasn't the best use of such power, but it came in handy, overall being blessed with beauty had its perks. 

“It's fine I was just craving some. Plus the Hermes kids haven't made their trip yet, so something had to be done,” you said, cleaning off the dripping juice. It might have been the best mango you have eaten if it weren't for your siblings shooting daggers at you. “Well, at least I'm not using my charmspeak to manipulate a cabin,” you continued. 

“It's been months, let it go, please,” said Drew, now getting slightly annoyed by you. But who could blame you? You were slightly annoyed at this conversation yourself. Couldn't a girl enjoy her mango in peace?

“Anyways we have archery practice, so don't charmspeak your way out,” said Piper, looking directly at you.

“Hey, it was like three times, I was tired,” you defended yourself, putting your hands up. Despite the occasional squabbles, you did love all your siblings. Yes, maybe you had petty fights like Valentina stealing Drew's crop top or Mitchell using Noah’s cologne. But nothing extreme. At the end of the day, the power of gossip and love united, making you a happy little family. 

So as you all enjoyed your archery class led by Kayla from the Apollo cabin, playfully pointing arrows at each other and cheering Lacy on as she hit a bullseye, you failed (more like didn't expect) to notice two mops of curly brown ran past you, making a beeline for a certain pink cabin tip-toeing in and out, leaving the object in their hands giggling at their prank. 

So, as your cabin finished the lesson and made your way for a quick break, you didn't expect to see a golden mango with ‘for the hottest’ written on it.

“Aw, I love it when people leave things for me,” said Drew, picking up said mango ready to add it to her infinite collection of love letters 

“Well it doesn't say for who it is,” said Mitchell. 

“Maybe it's for me,” said another one of your siblings. 

“I'm the hottest I don't know what you're talking about” interjected your sister.

“I was told I rival my mom's beauty,” you added.

 “She's OUR mother too,” started Piper. 

Your banter slowly turned into actual fighting, screams echoing outside the cabin as glass bottles shattered. 

“That was my only bottle left, you bitch” screamed Drew as Valentina threw her perfume to the ground. It didn't stop there, as shoes and  clothes flew out the window, landing in the mud

 “Mom gave me that belt, Mitchell,” cried one of your brothers, as said belt was now covered in gross mud, lost forever.

 “Oh my gods, why could you cut up my Miu Miu sweater? that was expensive,” you sobbed as one of your sisters started cutting up clothes nearby. 

Safe to say, the cabin was no longer the organized place that always got a 5, it looked worse than the Hermes cabin, with tattered clothes mixed with spilled makeup and perfume covering the floor. 

“What in gods name is this?” You all looked like deers caught in headlights once Chiron stepped foot in the cabin.

 “They started it,” everyone said simultaneously, pointing in different directions.

“Actually, I believe I found the perpetrators outside. Still, kitchen duty for all,” he said, galloping outside as said perpetrators peeked into the cabin 

“We did well with this one, Trav,” said conner snickering. 

“You'll pay for this Stolls'' screeched Drew. Suddenly, seventeen angry children of Aphrodite ran towards the siblings. Yes they had pulled hair and spills all over their clothes, but they didn't care about appearances at the moment, especially you, who would waste such a good mango just like that, plus you were still mad about your sweater, you had planned on wearing it for the bonfire later.

 Fortunately, some form of revenge was taken as pasty white foundation appeared on Travis's face, making him look like a clown, and Connor’s clothes instantly shrunk two sizes smaller. You would say he was rocking the crop top, but it honestly just looked funny. 

All of the cabin stood there in a circle, scowls on their faces and some laughing at the sight, as you broke through your teared-up sweater still in hand.

 “Nemesis is a bitch I guess” said one of your sisters as you threw your sweater at Travis's face. “You're lucky we’re being nice to both of you,” you said, quickly storming off back to your cabin. Now who was going to clean all of this up?

It took most of the cabin all day until dinner to clean up all the broken glass and fabric left on the floor, as well as clean some of the muddy designer shoes. 

“I'm sorry Y/N. I know you loved that sweater,” said your sister. It was more than just an extremely expensive sweater to you, your father had gifted it to you as a birthday present. It wasn't often you got to see him only during winter break on occasion. It was a small piece that tied you back home, and now it was destroyed.  

“It's fine. Maybe I could get a new one” you lied through your teeth. Even a new sweater couldn't replace the damage done, and you swore upon your mother and Nemesis that you would get your revenge on the Stolls. Maybe you could make them fall in love with a frog or cause someone to break their heart. Anything at the moment seemed like a better revenge than their permanent makeup and clothing curse placed by your siblings. You were just so mad you couldn’t fathom it all. 

It all just got you in a terrible mood. You were sure your anger and bitterness could turn the campfire black. And there you were, getting ready for said campfire with no sweater on, and your favorite mango balm was also a small victim of your sibling's anger. You sat at dinner sulking, not speaking to anyone, trying to eat your mango, thinking it could cheer you up but it didn’t. It just made you angrier at the Stolls, especially Travis with his cheeky smile as you threw him your destroyed sweater. Granted, it might have been the clown makeup, but still. 

And you continued to sulk during the campfire, not singing along and sitting slightly apart from your siblings. Most of them had made amends at this point, but you just acted like it. Who could blame you for being petty? It was only justified. You were so entranced in your own emotions that you failed to see the person sitting next to you, yet the small gift placed on your lap didn’t go unnoticed.

 “I heard from Gwen about your sweater,” he said, looking down at the floor “I’m sorry about the whole ordeal, really.” 

You sighed as you looked towards him “Travis you know I can’t get that makeup off of you,” you said. You were sure whatever this gift was it was probably bribery, and your anger couldn’t let you see past that. 

“Maybe you should open it first. I kind of left camp for this and paid for it,” he said, finally looking back at you. You tried your best not to laugh at his face, but he did look ridiculous with the clown makeup.

 You opened the gift carefully, revealing a pink sweater almost exactly like the one you lost. You gasped as you looked back at Travis, “I know it’s not Moo Moo.” 

“Miu Miu,” you corrected. 

“Yeah that. But still I wanted to replace it. I know it doesn’t have the same meaning, I'm sorry, really,” his apology seemed sincere, and you couldn’t dictate lies between his words. 

“Thanks, but what about the rest of the things my siblings lost?” You weren’t wrong. If he wanted to apologize, he should’ve been replacing all the things lost in this ‘prank.’ 

“Well, it’s not like they like mangos,” he said ever so casually, confusing you.

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah, you know there’s only one person in that cabin that likes mangos. It was a golden mango,” he got up and just left, winking at you as you stayed there processing his words. You would’ve laughed at his face, but even with the gods awful makeup, he looked cute, and you could almost feel your heart skip a beat as to what he was insinuating. But still, you didn’t understand what exactly he was trying to tell you. He left you there dumbfounded, trying to understand your feelings at that moment.

Being a daughter of Aphrodite, you could be pretty oblivious when it came to your feelings. You knew instantly if someone had a crush on another person, yet you couldn't understand why your heart beated so fast around the Hermes boy. You chalked it up to the ridiculous makeup he had, considering you found clowns creepy, but it still felt different. Suddenly, you didn't feel like skipping archery class anymore if it meant the Hermes cabin was going to be there, or putting a little bit more effort into your appearance each morning. You even wore your pink sweater religiously, as if it was the only item of clothing you owned. 

Your siblings were not as oblivious as you, they knew about the secret glances during breakfast or how your voice went up an octave when you spoke to him. But in true aphrodite cabin style, they watched from afar, seeing a love story form right before their eyes. And it wasn't hard to push you guys together, you seemed to always unconsciously follow him around, excusing it by saying you wanted to be more involved in camp. 

“Y/N could you take over arts and crafts for me today? I’m kind of busy with some other things,” asked Mitchell. He was free, but you did need to know that, and being the understanding sister that you were, you agreed. But your dear brother forgot to mention one slight detail: it was all the younger campers, which you couldn't stand sometimes, and that it was an arts and crafts session with the Hermes cabin.

 So, it came as a surprise to see a familiar mop of curls sitting at a separate table from the rest of the campers, making his own friendship bracelets. And it seemed to be a surprise to Travis too, fixing his hair and discreetly checking his breath once he caught a glimpse of you. 

“I thought Mitchell was helping today,” he said, pulling the chair next to him. You sat down fixing your hair too. 

“Actually, he is busy today, so I'm covering,” you explained, avoiding his eyes. His clown makeup long gone, you finally were able to appreciate his blue eyes and elvish features.

 “I’m glad you like the sweater,” he said, breaking the silence between you too. You had forgotten you were wearing it; it was muscle memory at this point. 

“Yeah, it's nice. Thank you so much,” you said, trying to hide the blush creeping on your face.

 “I'm glad you like it. I had to play poker with some of my siblings to buy it,” he said, and as your mouth dropped, Hermes boy’s were known for shoplifting once in a while, and you had assumed that was the case. But with the simple fact he went through all that trouble to get you a sweater made your heart flutter, you couldn't ignore it anymore: you had a crush on Travis Stoll and he had a crush on you. 

You kind of knew about the boy's feelings, being one of the many gifts blessed upon you by your mother. Yet for a whole month, you were in denial of your feelings. How could you like someone who played such a prank on you and your siblings? Or who always had a stupid smirk on his face to pair up with his cocky personality? Yet, you couldn't help it, your heart secretly longed for him. 

“You didn't have to go through so much trouble for a sweater, you know,” you said, grabbing some thread to make your bracelet.

“I know, but I wanted to make things right,” he said smiling at you. 

"You should've replaced Mitchells cologne, aren't you guys friends?” you said, not looking at how his smile slowly faded. 

“We are friends, but I wanted to make things right with you,” you couldn't help but smile at his words as butterflies started to form in your stomach.

“Why with me though?” Travis groaned, running his hand over his face. “I thought you were a daughter of Aphrodite” he said, with slight annoyance laced in his words 

“I am, but that still doesn't answer my question,” You finally looked up at him holding back from laughing in his face.

 “Because you're you, and I… don't you get it Y/N?” he said, stumbling over his words.

“Gods don't make me spell it out, this is so embarrassing,” the young campers long forgotten as they left both of you alone. “I like you. Gods, the mango was meant for you, there's only one person in that cabin that eats mangos like she can't live without them,” he spilled out, feeling a weight lift off his chest 

“I knew,” you said. You couldn't help but smile, it was only you ever wanted to hear from him, ever since he sat next you at that campfire.

“You knew!?” 

“Trav I can sense when someone has a crush, I just wanted you to say it,” now it was his time to blush at the sound of his name leaving your lips. 

“And I guess the feelings are reciprocated” you finished off, looking directly into his eyes. 

“So, will you go out on a date with me?” he asked, smiling so wide it hurt his cheeks. 

“If there's going to be mangos, then yes I would love to go on a date with you,” you responded. It felt like time stopped, and it was only you and Travis in that moment, looking at each other's eyes stuck in your bubble of love. 

[g1rld1ary]

Barnes: If you two are done flirting

Lucy: I was not flirting

Lockwood: I was

[g1rld1ary]

the line between thieves and healers (Luke Castellan x apollo fem! reader)

Summary: Luke Castellan returns from his quest as a ghost of his old self with a bleeding scar to prove it. With his golden boy exterior all but shattered, no one in camp has tried to approach him since his return. This changes when you stumble upon the son of Hermes when he decides to go back to his old roots, stealing from your infirmary at midnight.

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader

Content: forced proximity, tending to wounds, set after Luke's failed quest in the Garden of Hesperides, mentions of injuries and scars, Luke tries and fails at being mean, hurt-comfort, fluff

masterlist for this series (everything in between) every part in this series can be read as a stand alone!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Come on." One of the campers prodded despite your obvious discomfort. "I'm sure you've squeezed something out of Castellan by now. He's been silent about what happened during his quest for days."

"I told you, I don't know anything, and even if I did, patient confidentiality exists." You repeated for the ninth time in a week. Ever since people found out Luke had come personally to you to tend to his wounds, they had lost all decency over the hope of digging for some good gossip. If you were asked one more time, you were sure you would tell them to stick their noses right back up their asses and leave.

Even after his return, Luke Castellan remained a constant in word of mouth around camp over his sudden change in persona. His usual grin and charm was replaced with a dark gloom unfitting for the son of Hermes, who used to light up any room he entered. The scar that permanently rests on his face didn't make it easier for him to avoid watching eyes either. After refusing to play in Capture the Flag for the first time in history, whatever patience the camp was trying to uphold dissipated into chaos.

Sure, you could see why it was a big deal. If you're a person with a sane enough mind (of course, not guaranteed in the premises of Camp Half-Blood), you could see why the fellow camp counsellor of the Hermes Cabin was popular. With his constant presence around camp as the cool, attractive camp counsellor helping other campers with that small quirk up his lips, or through word of mouth of how talented and kind he was, it wasn't a huge surprise that he attracted as much attention as he did.

Once the ninth camper in a row finally gave up and left with a huff, your eyes lingered over the bed where you first tended to Luke.

It was the dead of night when you were woken by the sound of creaking wooden floorboards and the cold chill of the wind that had somehow been brought into the infirmary. Somehow, you had overslept again on your shift and no one had bothered to wake you up or even check for your missing presence in your cabin.

Groaning at the awkward shift of your bones from your horrible sleeping posture on the desk, you were halfway through your stretch to crack your stiff neck when you heard the sound of footsteps. Freezing in place, you paused to listen in once more only to heard the soft thud once again. Peering to the left side of the infirmary, your heart stopped.

"Hey, listen." You spoke with that awkward crack in your voice whenever you go too long without speaking, causing the large shadow to flinch, pausing in its pursuit through your medicine cabinet. "I may not seem like it, but I am the best in combat in my cabin so whoever you are, step away from the cabinet and put your hands up."

Gee, that's convincing, you sound like an unnamed extra from the first few minutes of a horror movie before they ended up six feet under. Cursing yourself internally, you watched the shadow raise to full height from it's bent position. Gulping at the height that seemed to be at least six feet, you wonder if you should have just left this cabinet thief be and go to sleep for the night.

Why would anyone even want to ransack an infirmary at midnight?

You quickly grabbed for your oil lamp situated beside you, still flickering with the smallest of flames and you stood from your chair, causing it to creak back and scratch at the wooden floors as you made your way around the table to approach the thief.

The light was dim, but you spotted the familiar outline of a broad back and curls before he even fully turned.

"Castellan?" You gasped in half-asleep shock, disbelief obvious in your tone as you moved the oil lamp nearer to prove your eyesight wasn't playing tricks on you.

He didn't respond to the call of his name, but his eyes narrowed on you as if you were the intruder. You barely had the chance to form words, questions- before you spotted the dripping crimson liquid near his eye.

"Oh gods." You muttered, grabbing at his arm and tugging him towards the nearest bed. "Why didn't you wake me up? It's not like you could wrap this up yourself."

With some struggle, he finally gave in, plopping down the edge of the bed and watched you scour through the medicine cabinet for bandages and other supplies, muted and stiff.

"I seriously don't understand why you didn't wake me up. Would you rather bleed to death or get an infection?" You scolded, your inner concern bleeding through your usual sense of politeness for injured visitors.

"Maybe." You thought you heard him mumble, but when you turned to look at him, he was facing the window right beside the bed and staring out into the shadows of the forest, the glow of the moonlight illuminating his features like a haunted painting, blood dripping down his cheekbones like fallen tears. You waited longer for an elaboration but there was none. You assumed you heard wrong, or at least you hoped you did.

You got off your knees, splaying out the supplies on the surface of the bed beside him, and pulled up a stool for you to sit at. He was still facing away from you, and your irritation combined with your lack of sleep made you more reckless than you'd usually be with an injured patient.

You gripped at his chin, forcing him to look at you, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened at the sudden force. He looked more alive when he was caught off guard, his face devoid of the usual disinterest and distance it had ever since he arrived back from his quest.

"How do you expect me to treat you if you keep looking away from me, Castellan?" You challenged, gazing back into his eyes with fire you hoped was fierce enough to break down the coldness in his gaze.

After seconds of nothing but two stubbornheads trying to win a useless battle of eye contact, he sighed. "..Fine."

You were more gentle after that, your hands delicate on his skin that seemed to have pulled at the edge of the scar, where it was now bleeding again through the stitches. You mumbled apologies before dapping a wet handkerchief on the wound to wipe away the blood, and he gripped at the sheets as he tried not to hiss out in pain.

After the cut had stopped bleeding, you were quick to grab the gauze and bandages. Tenderly, you placed the gauze above his wound, then wrapped the bandages around his face, from the top of his head to below his chin. This was the closest you had ever been to him, and you could feel and hear both his and your breathing in the quiet silence of the infirmary, with no living signs of life aside from the two of you on the infirmary bed and the dim orange hue of the oil lamp.

You could feel his intense gaze on you from his one good eye, that stared at your face while you concentrated on tying a secure knot so it wouldn't fall loose. The moment felt oddly intimate, knowing how sensitive his temper had been ever since he arrived back at camp, scarred in ways not even ambrosia could heal fully.

"Next time.." You hinted, hopefully not crossing his boundaries. "If this happens again, you come straight here, got it? I don't care if I'm sleeping or attending someone else. You are not allowed to take care of a wound like this yourself, especially since I remember how reckless you can be."

Luke Castellan may be an excellent swordsman, but his cockiness was one weakness that he failed to keep controlled, and on days where it won over, he would always end up at the infirmary with a bashful smile as he tried to explain to you on how he ended up with a dislocated shoulder. That felt like eons ago, when that cheeky smile would always be present on his face, his signature move in getting away with any chaos he caused.

Staring at him now, you caught sight of that smile for such a split second you could've sworn you mistook it.

You couldn't stop the teasing smile that slipped past your stern attitude. "Was that a smile I saw, Castellan?"

He cleared his throat, his face falling back into practiced nonchalance, wearing a frown too forced to be real. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I may be sleep-deprived because a certain someone decided midnight was the best time to ransack an infirmary, but I'm not blind. For making me work overtime, I at least deserve to know what you found so amusing."

He made a face, and you were sure if his face wasn't tightly bandaged, he would roll his eyes in exasperation. "I wasn't amused. Just don't remember you being this.. unhospitable with someone that's injured. And I am not reckless."

You scoffed, causing him to look over at you. "I'd say trying to steal from an infirmary is pretty reckless. I thought Hermes kids were supposed to be good in stealing?"

You realised all too late that you may have touched on a sensitive topic, with the mention of his father, but he didn't seem to notice over the frank insult of being called a bad thief.

"I am good in stealing." He bit back so quickly, you choked on a snort. Hermes kids and their egos. "I was just going easy on you because you were knocked out at your desk. Oh, and you snore, you know that?"

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"You're a liar and a thief. Don't know why your reputation is as marvelled upon as it is, Castellan. You don't live up to the hype at all."

"Oh, and what about you, Miss Sunshine?" He retorted. "Aren't you suppose to be the famous sweetheart who sings all injuries away with a smile on your face?"

"Don't call me that ever again." You must have looked extremely repulsed because he let out a laugh so genuine, it wiped any disgust off your face at the sound of pure heaven flooding into your ears. God, you forgot he could laugh like that.

"Yeah, I suppose it doesn't suit you, does it?" He murmured. "Maybe Apollo kids are only nice when others are around to see it."

"You've only come back meaner, Castellan." You scoffed. "I almost regret helping you. Would much rather see you stumble over trying to deal with this yourself if I knew you'd be so ungrateful."

"Sounds righteous of you." He nodded with a sarcastic hum. "Leaving me to bleed out to death while you watch. I understand why the camp has such high stakes when it comes to survival now. Never knew there was a sadist hiding in you, sunshine."

"I told you not to call me that." You reminded. "And I'm doing the best I can to keep everyone here alive so don't come to my infirmary talking about stakes when I've just saved your ass from blood loss."

Your response triggered something in him and he grew silent, his gaze locked on you as if analyzing you. That was when you're really reminded of how awful you must've looked. With your bed hair, sunken-in dark circles and sunken shoulders from the lack of sleep, you did not exactly feel the most confident. You didn't know what happened to make the casual atmosphere disappear as fast as it did, but you were anxious that somehow, you had shut him up again and you'd never get the chance to see him that way again, with his playful banter and light-heartedness of a teenage boy that he should have.

"You shouldn't have to." He muttered, almost to himself rather than to you. A seriousness unlike the previous few quips he'd thrown at you took ahold of him, and you had a feeling this was a slither of who he had really become through his rapid transformation, hidden under the jokes and sarcasm.

"What?"

"You shouldn't have to." He repeated, louder this time for you to hear, trying to get you to see his point. A point he'd been trying to tell Chiron, his friends even- ever since he came back here, only to be meet with pitying looks like he was a madman who spoke nonsense to try and make sense of his failure. "Lives should not be your responsibility. You're younger than me, and yet, you're dealing with kids that are near death's door every time they make it past that barrier. I barely made it back here. Some don't even.."

Luke tried to breathe, remembering how he got to camp in the first place. The unnecessary sacrifice that had to be made, the tree that now rests at the barrier of camp, the sound of thunder and pouring rain beating at his face.

"Now, I'm stuck with this disgusting scar of my face for the rest of my life, a reminder every single time I look at myself, that I failed my only chance at proving I was something more than another wasted potential, left to rot in this camp just because I couldn't-" He winced suddenly, grabbing onto the bandaged part of his face that seemed to grow more irritated and flamed the more his anger poured out of his chest.

You were quick to reach for his hand, knowing his aggression may harm the wound more. "It is not disgusting." You answered for him, and slowly, your hand rested over his, removing it from his face so he wouldn't accidentally cause the wound to start bleeding again. "You are not a failure, Luke."

"Don't take pity on me by saying words you don't mean." He muttered. "Everyone expected more of me, I could feel it in their gaze when they looked at me. I was supposed to be the best, and just because everyone told me that, I believed it. Then, I went off running like a coward for the real thing, unprepared and useless. Like a real disappointment."

His eyes were glazed over, and his shoulders dropped as he admitted his true thoughts out loud to you. Maybe because you were the only person to treat him normally in the past two weeks, to really listen instead of trying to get him to move on, and maybe because his heart felt like it was growing too heavy to carry on his own. The insecurity and vulnerability made him feel sick, and he found himself trying to tear his hands away from you out of the need to run, which only made him feel more disgusted with himself. Like a coward, his mind taunted.

You remained stubborn, holding onto his cold palms because you know he has had no warmth, no real genuine words spoken to him since he returned. No one to see him when it was clear he was suffering, that he needed all the time in the world and more to heal, and that he deserved more than self-loathing and an absent father who sentenced him to this fate.

"I am not pitying you." You insisted, and you leaned closer so he couldn't look away from you. "Your scar does not make you ugly or less valuable to anyone. It is not pity, it is a fact. You are a person who has survived a fate so close to death, and any feat to survive death is strength. You are strong, and you made it back here alive with a scar to prove it. It is not a sign of weakness."

"Anyone who tells you different has no right or say in your situation because they did not go through what you did." You said with a stern voice, your anger not towards him, but for him. "Not your father, not anyone."

Luke finally looked at you, like looked. His eyes were scanning all over your face as if not quite believing you were real, but the fire in your eyes was so magnetic, he couldn't look away. The pinch between your brows, the addictive warmth of your hands in his, and the close distance between the two of you, and yet, it didn't make his skin itch with the need to pull away. To hide in his corner and wallow over the heavy weight of knowing his world had ended in the Garden of the Hesperides. Or had it?

Your eyes looked right through him, and for once, he felt like there was someone there for him.

"I suppose I can see where your reputation comes from now, sunshine." He responded weakly, and his heart gave a thump when you smiled back at him.

"Healing's what I understand best." You shrugged casually, as if you didn't just silence his thoughts for a moment of peace, or that you have somehow dulled the internal blades that bled with self-hatred and world-consuming anger pointed at himself, and at the injustice of the gods who could not give a damn about their children. “If I can help you even a little, why shouldn’t I?”

He could feel time ticking again in the back of his mind, the night slowly passing into a new one, and he thinks as he holds your gaze, that maybe this world wouldn't be so painful to live in if he had someone to look at him the way you did.

"I don't know how I'm going to go back to normal. Or if I'll ever be normal again." He admitted, softer in his voice now that his mind didn't deem you as a threat.

"Normal can be lots of things." You said with a comforting smile. "It's normal to have a breakdown when you've nearly faced death. Multiple even. It's normal to feel fine one moment then not in the next. Healing isn't linear, and when you come to terms that you have a right to feel upset and a right to exist without being held to any expectations of others or what you think others want from you, it'll feel easier to just allow yourself to exist throughout the day. Not the perfect camp counsellor or a hero with no faults. Just as yourself."

He let your words sink in, his thumbs subconsciously rubbing over your knuckles, feeling the healed scars of your own from what he assumed must be from previous combat training. "I'm not that great as myself. You might find me disappointing."

You quirked your lips at that, and shook your head. "I don't believe in that one bit. You're already great just as you are now."

He raised a brow. "Even after trying to steal from your infirmary and having a mental breakdown past curfew?"

"Well, just be glad I was around because I'm much more understanding than Will would be with four hours of sleep."

"I am glad." He insisted. "That it's you."

"I'm glad it was me too." You reassured. "It is midnight though and there's Capture the Flag tomorrow, meaning someone's going to end up whining and moping in here in about eight hours so why don't you let me close shop and come by tomorrow, Castellan?"

"Luke." He corrected, giving you a smile you're sure must be the one the other campers rave about all the time. The charming one that made your heart stutter, even with half his face bandaged and eyebags resting below his caramel eyes.

"Luke." You tested it on your tongue tentatively, and he rewarded you with the cutest grin you've ever seen in your life. Curse crushes and the effect it has on your life expectancy. "I have to close this place up or someone else might try and steal from the medicine cabinet, not that I thought it was possible before but.."

"Fine." He complied, getting off the bed and rising to his full height, towering over you and blocking the moonlight from your view. "I'll wait outside and walk you back to your cabin. It's the least I could do."

"Sure you're not just trying to improve your image around me, thief?"

He smirked, following you out to the front door while you wrestled for the keys in your pocket to lock up for the night. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"What are you smiling about?"

You looked up from your daze to see Luke leaning over the door frame, watching you with a smirk over his face.

"Can't a girl smile just for the sake of it?" You bit back, cheeks flushing at the idea that he could've possibly seen your focus lingering a little too long on the bed he had sat on. "Why'd you drop out of Capture the Flag? You know your cabin's going to lose their streak to Ares at this point."

"Wanted to see someone." He replied with a shrug, pushing off the door frame to walk towards where you sat, leaning over your desk and watching you compile the latest stock of ambrosia into a box. "Plus, Athena and Hermes are joining for today so Annabeth's got it handled."

He shuffled his fingers along the edge of the table, outlining the curve before clearing his throat. "I heard you covering up for me just now, and I wanted to say thank you."

You looked up at him, admiring the warmth in his eyes that you never got to appreciate in the dead of night. "Eavesdropping on me now? Careful or you might end up becoming obsessed with a poor, overworked healer."

He scoffed exaggeratedly, going over to mess with your hair in return. "You wish. Just take the thank you. Should've known not to show my gratitude to an Apollo kid."

You stuck your tongue out at him before going on about how mind-blowing it can be that some kids really did not have emotional intelligence when it came to basic decency. Listening to you ramble on as you went on to arrange your first aid kits, Luke realised for all the disappointment he has experienced in his life, maybe there was one good thing his father led him to.

a/n: Couldn't resist writing how this duo met because I live and die for banter. inspired by 'my reputation's never been worse so you must like me for me' trope which is what i live and breathe for. His reputation as the perfect golden boy is in shambles, and sunshine couldn't care less.

taglist: @stars4birdie @elysiandumbash @kehlanislefttoe @mqg125 @madzlovez @0revna0 @auroraofthesun1 @idli-dosa @buubsii @kaylasficrecs @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @itsdragonius @moonlightfoxs-cantina

[g1rld1ary]

hi baby !! 🧡

im sick rn and ive looked alllllll over and i couldnt find anything could you write a sickfic for luke from jatp where the female!reader gets sick ? reader is his girl 😽

im doing the same prompt on my blog because im so obsessed with the idea of sickfics and im such a luke girl

so you probably wont have much trouble figuring out who sent you this later if you look it up LMFAO 😍😍

pshsshssh thank you !! 🌼🌼

sick days ; luke patterson x fem!reader

➻ synopsis: you're not feeling well, but luke is here to look after you

➻ word count: 1905

➻ content: established relationship, implied aged up to early 20ish, pet names (love, baby, my girl), tooth rotting fluff

➻ obsessed with this request!!! i've never written a sickfic before so hope this is ok!! hope ur feeling better lovey xxxx

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Your body ached. That was the only thing you could feel. Actually, that was incorrect; you also had a headache and a snotty nose and you were pretty sure your temperature could boil water. In essence, you felt awful. You’d toughed it out for as long as you could, making yourself a steaming hot tea and cozying into the sofa for the night. It wasn’t making you feel any better. So, in a last ditch effort of saving your night, you dialled your boyfriend.

You smiled as his croaky, half-asleep voice came through your phone, murmuring your name.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You asked, brows furrowed as you checked the time, gasping when it read 1:45am. You thought it was still closer to eleven.

“Don’t worry about it, couldn’t sleep anyway,” Luke lied and you frowned, though he couldn’t see it through the screen.

“No, it’s dumb. I’m sorry I woke you up. Night, Luke.” You moved to hang up when Luke interrupted you.

“Baby, wait! Clearly something’s bothering you. What’s up?” You smiled despite your discomfort, your boyfriend always boosting your mood without even trying.

“Nothing,” You pouted in your puddle of blankets, “Just feel sick.” You could feel Luke’s pity without him saying anything and weren’t sure whether to be indignant or grateful.

“Can you stay awake for twenty more minutes, love?”

“I guess so, why?” You asked, turning the TV back on as something to keep you from sleeping.

“I love you,” Was all he said, hanging up on you abruptly. You smiled softly to yourself, willing your eyes to stay open as you tried to focus on the sitcom in front of you.

You were just dozing off when you heard your apartment door unlocking and the brief shuffling of feet in the entryway. Your grin brightened, the familiar butterflies returning to your chest, even after months of being with Luke. The man in questioned approached you quietly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as you looked up at him.

“Luke, it’s 2 am, what are you doing here?” You asked despite the obvious answer, opening your shield of blankets for him to crawl onto the sofa with you. He made you wait, tipping out his reusable shopping bag onto the coffee table in front of you. There lay a pint of ice cream, tea bags, painkillers, and your favourite chocolate. Suddenly you weren’t sure if the heat on your face was fever or blush. Silently you held your arms out, and Luke dove into them with all the enthusiasm of a child, peppering your faces with all the kisses he could manage.

“Couldn’t let my girl be sick on her own,” He mumbled, nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck, eliciting a bout of giggles from you.

“My very own Prince Charming,” You grinned, pecking his temple. After a gratuitous moment of cuddling Luke peeled himself off you, taking on the role of concerned caretaker. He was quick to dart into the kitchen, turning the kettle on for your tea and grabbing a spoon for the ice cream he’d bought. Sitting himself in the vacant spot next to you he fixed his focus onto the TV.

“What are we watching?” He asked, pulling the lid off the ice cream tub for you.

“How I Met Your Mother, I’ve just reached season seven.” Luke gasped dramatically, holding his hands over his chest in faux outrage.

“You continued without me? How could you?” You laughed at his accusatory tone, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Lukey. You have to forgive me though, I’m sick,” You punctuated the statement with a pathetic cough, smiling as Luke easily settled down.

You watched in silence for a bit, both giggling at the stupid jokes. After a while you felt Luke looking at you seriously, but chose not to think much of it, continuing to tune in to the show. When he pulled out a thermometer, you raised an eyebrow. Luke wasn’t usually one to be so prepared, but you let him rest it on your tongue nonetheless. When it read a concerningly high number Luke frowned, silently popping the painkillers out of their packaging, feeding you with the insistence of a fed up mother hen.

“Why aren’t you a nurse?” You joked, swallowing the medication with a mouthful of melted ice cream, “Rockstar be damned.”

“Only for you, love.”

“That’s not true, I’ve seen you fretting over Reggie,” You laughed, and Luke couldn’t help but join you.

“That’s fair. You’re my favourite, though.”

“How unexpected.” You craned your neck to press a kiss to his jaw, revelling in the dumb grin that crept onto his face.

You both settled into silence, you leant into Luke’s side, his hands rubbing soft circles into your thigh. You could feel yourself drifting in and out of sleep, never quite able to stay in it for one reason or another. The blanket was too hot, you were cold without it, your head hurt. Nothing was quite right and all you wanted to do was sleep for as long as humanly possible.

“Luke?” You whispered, in case he was already asleep.

“Yes, love?” He replied, shifting his position to look down at you. You faltered for a moment, overwhelmed with the pure adoration in his eyes.

“Will you play for me?” Luke was up in a second, arranging you on the sofa. You giggled as he manhandled you, lying you down and wrapping you tightly in your blanket so you couldn’t escape. You teased him about being his captive audience as he tuned his guitar quickly, never being so grateful for his perfect pitch.

Without anymore holdups Luke began to play, plucking softly at the strings to create a melody that filled the air of your little apartment. His playing was like a siren call, pressing weights on your eyelids until you could barely stand to keep them open. You watched him while you could, admiring the way the faint light from the kitchen lamp made him look like an Adonis, his hair illuminated in gold and his features accentuated by the shadows. You couldn’t believe he was your boyfriend. Luke Patterson, heartthrob of Julie and the Phantoms was your dorky, adoring boyfriend who would make supermarket trips in the middle of the night for you. Who had your favourite ice cream memorised and your key attached to his, so he could come see you whenever he missed you (which was pretty much always).

Despite the various aches and pains that had overtaken your body, the only thing you could feel as you drifted off to sleep was the burning ball of light in your chest, a chemical mixture of joy and love and gratitude, overtaking your senses one by one until you were asleep, dreams filled of beautiful images of your boyfriend.

When you woke up the next morning, you figured out it wasn’t morning at all. Luke had evidently switched off your phone’s alarm after you’d fallen asleep, and it was well into early afternoon when you’d arisen. To his credit though, the sleep had done you some good, and you felt much less like walking death after an intense sleep.

You untangled yourself from the knit blanket, your feet wobbly on the hard wood floors. You had serious post-nap daze, and wandered through your flat looking for your boyfriend. The poorly made sheets on your actual bed told you where Luke slept last night — or this morning, more accurately — you smiled at the way he’d arranged your stuffed animals.

Stuck to the fridge under your New York City magnet was a note from Luke, explaining he had to go to rehearsal but he’d be back later to check on you. You pulled the paper off, travelling back to your room to put the note in your ‘Luke’ box, adding to the collection of notes and drawings he’d given you inconsequentially that you’d held onto.

As the afternoon ticked by you’d gotten onto your computer, figuring that although you were still ill you should try and get something productive done. You were armed with your box of tissues as you got started on an assignment you had due at the end of the week, and slipped your headphones on to get into the headspace.

You screamed as a pair of arms wrapped around you from behind, quickly dissolving into giggles as you realised it was only Luke, back from rehearsal.

“Your voice still sounds scratchy, baby, how are you feeling?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Better, promise. Tomorrow I’ll probably go to class if I get another good night’s sleep.”

“That’s my girl.” He grinned, and you felt your insides melting all over again. You closed the laptop, knowing you weren’t going to get much more done now that Luke was with you.

You spent the evening together, ordering in pizza from the place around the corner and getting slightly wine drunk as Luke told you all about his earlier rehearsal and the antics of his band. He sang you part of the new song he and Julie had written and you applauded dramatically, only stopping when you broke into a coughing fit.

“Wanna watch something?” He asked when you grew tired again, cuddling up to him like a cat.

“Barbie?” You asked hopefully, looking up at him with wide eyes. Luke sighed dramatically, but you knew he was just pretending not to like the animated movies you’d grown up on.

“Only if it’s Island Princess,” He offered and you nodded enthusiastically.

The two of you settled in for the movie night, Luke getting much more into the movie as it went on, as he always did. By the end you were singing duets — your voice considerably less pleasing than his, especially due to your illness — Luke taking on the role of the prince letting you be Ro.

As the credits rolled you felt your eyes closing again, and you felt eerily like you did as a younger girl, falling asleep on the couch after a Barbie movie. This was better though, because now you had Luke next to you. He’d taken his role as big spoon extremely seriously, and had all but become one with the couch, pressing into the back as he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

You shifted your position to face him, watching his face relax into contentedness as he tried to doze off to sleep. Feeling you watch him he cracked one eye open, mouth producing a dumb grin that made butterflies erupt in your chest.

“What?” He asked, but you got the distinct impression he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Nothing,” You lied, but gave in easily, “You’re pretty.”

“You’re pretty too. Now go to sleep.” You nodded, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Kay, goodnight Lukey. I love you.”

“Love you too, my girl. So much.” His answer was muffled by him pressing his face into your hair to pull you closer, but you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face even as sleep enveloped you.

[g1rld1ary]

greta gerwig really said. when this girl gets a little sad and confused by the weird and complicated and uncomfortable parts of being human and growing up, she meets god and sits at her kitchen table, drinks her tea, holds her hands. and she asks god if she’s allowed to be happy. and god tells her she doesn’t need her permission. she tells her she’s going to be okay.

[g1rld1ary]

Isn't She Pretty, Daddy?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Teacher f!Reader

Summary: You're a little bit worried about one of your brightest students recently, so you call her Dad to come in for a meeting. Her absolutely adorable - and single - Dad.

Warnings: the birds and the bees as explained by a kindergardener. Some angst about being a single parent.

A/N: Here's another entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Kid Fic Challenge! Dad Spencer has my heart, and I've been in a really fluff forward mood this weekend, evidently! I think I have one more Kid Fic left to go before the end of the challenge, but we'll see what the will of the fanfiction gods is...

Masterlist

If you were to be asked what the hardest part of being a teacher was, you would, without question or even a second to think, have an answer. Parents. The worst part of teaching is talking to parents. 

Little kids were easy to talk to. They asked questions if they didn't understand things clearly, and they didn't typically say things they didn't mean. Adults were the opposite, and it just so happened that all of your kids' parents were adults. 

Including your most recent problem  child. 

You were used to the kids in your class having some behavior issues - for one, they were kids, it was to be expected that their little bodies couldn't quite handle all of the emotions they were feeling at once. But you were doubly struck by your school area being close to Quantico, meaning half the kids in your care had families with law enforcement backgrounds. 

Absent parents plus growing bodies plus normal kid stress equalled attachment issues, and your problem child Harper Reid was one of your more worrying cases. 

You really hoped everything was okay in the Reid household, so you'd called the little girls parents. She was lovely - honest to god - one of the sweetest little kids you'd ever met. 

Every day she came to school with some older kids and their mom, carpooling on the way in, so you had yet to meet her parents, but you thought that anyone who could produce something that sweet and cute and brilliant couldn't possibly be a bad person. 

You didn't know what to expect, so when her little pigtails peaked around the corner and she came running in, you were momentarily filled with anxiety. 

“MOMMY!” The little girl yelled, launching herself into your arms as soon as she spotted you behind your desk. 

“Hi, Harper! Hi, you must be, Mr. Reid-”

“Doctor, actually, um, but that doesn't really matter. I'm so sorry about this, Harper doesn't usually tackle people.” 

The 3ft tall ball of energy had managed to crawl into your lap and wrap her arms around your neck, so you had to pick her up when you stood to greet her dad. 

“Will your wife be joining us for the meeting today?” You asked, already used to Harper's hugs and general closeness. 

“Oh, no. No, she's not coming. She, uh, doesn't exist. Single father.” 

“Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume, it's just not on my files-” 

“It's okay, it's a …bit complicated.” 

You took your seat at the desk and gestured to the man to do the same. Finally, looking at him for the first time now that some of your anxiety had died down, you couldn't help but think that Doctor Reid was incredibly attractive. It wasn't one part of his face that stuck out to you as being particularly pretty, just the entire ensemble of it together that took your breath away. Either that of Harper was gripping you so tight she was restricting your ability to breathe, and considering a five year old is not a boa constrictor, this was all dad's fault. 

“So, you said on the phone Harper's been having some problems at school?” 

You snapped your attention back to the issue at hand, searching for the relevant files and pictures you wanted to show the man. Harper turned herself around in your lap and looped her arms around your arm, pulling it in close to use as a pillow. 

“Isn't Miss Y/N so pretty, Daddy?” You froze and flushed in an instant, suddenly so aware of the man's eyes on you. You weren't sure if you were thankful or even more embarrassed that Harper's dad seemed to be even more flushed than you. 

“Daddy? Isn't she pretty?” Harper insisted, and you realized that you both weren't going to get out of this without him answering. 

“Yes, angel. Miss Y/N is very pretty.” The little girl smiled in triumph and nuzzled into your arm even more, happily curled up into your lap like a cat. 

“Hey, Harper. We got a new puzzle delivered yesterday. It's got My Melody and Cinnamaroll on it. They're your favorites, right?” 

The little girl nodded in glee, eyes shining as she hung on your every word. 

“How about you go over to the play area and get it started, and then me and your daddy will come over and help you finish it?” 

In a flash, she'd hopped up out of your lap and wriggled away, shouting a quick “You promised, right?” behind her as she went. 

“I'm so sorry about that, I don't know what's gotten into her, she's usually very shy and-”

“Doctor Reid, it's fine. That's just why I called you in today. Teachers and parents are a team, right, we work together to make sure the kids grow up well, you don't need to apologize to me for that.” 

The man seemed to take a deep breath and nod, to regain his wits about him for a second. 

“Is she… this attached in her regular classes?” 

“Well honestly, she was a bit like that at the beginning of the semester, but she grew out of it after a while. In the last week or so, she fell back into it, and now she's calling me ‘Mommy,’ too. I was wondering if anything happened recently at home that could've led her in this direction, or…”

The man looked a little bashful, but there was a twinge of sadness in his expression that you recognised all too well. 

“Harper, uh, doesn't have a Mom. I adopted her, and it's a long story, but... She's been asking me to get her one recently, because she doesn't really understand all that well? I'm sorry, I didn't know she'd do something like this. I should've done a better job at home-” 

“Doctor Reid, raising a child is hard. It's so hard that humans usually do it in communities, or at least in couples. You're doing it alone, and Harper is already one of the smartest and most empathetic little girls I know. You're doing your job as Dad just fine.” 

The man smiled at you and looked down, quickly wiping away a tear as you gave him a moment of privacy. 

“So. If nothing at home set Harper off, we should probably go and ask her why she's calling me mommy, right?” 

You stood, and he stood with you, leaving his satchel next to his chair and unbuttoning his jacket. 

“Great. Sure, let's go see.”

Walking to the back of the room, you both smiled quietly, looking at the small girl. The 100 piece puzzle you'd guided her to was neatly arranged on the desk, pieces split into edges and centre pieces as she slowly looked at each one with a quietly focused face. Each time she found the piece she was looking for, her smile was bright as she connected it to the small part she was working on. 

“Mommy! Daddy! I can't find the melody's face, can you help me?” 

“Sure, Harper, we'll help you.” You moved to sit beside her at the tiny desks, giggling when the older Reid on Harper's other side struggled to fit himself in the toddler sized chairs. 

Harper assigned you roles, and you all started quietly doing your jobs, waiting for Harper to focus again so you could ask her questions without agitating her. 

“Harper, can you tell your Daddy why you call me Mommy?” 

“Sure! You're Mommy because I want you to marry with Daddy.” 

If you weren't already still flushed from her earlier comments, you certainly were lightheaded with embarrassment now. 

“Harper, that's not how it works-” 

“Yes, it is, Daddy! Henry said so. He said his mommy and daddy were sad one day, but then they were together again and they had a big party called a wedding and now they're happy, and that's why we have Michael.” You didn't quite follow from all the names and the story events, but it was evident that Reid did, so you waited quietly for his explanation. 

“My friend. Her son was at her wedding a few years back. They have another son who is a couple years older than Harper, they come to school together?” 

Your mouth made a small ‘o’ as you slowly filled in the blanks. 

“Harper, you want daddy to have a wedding so he isn't sad anymore?” 

The little girl gave a big nod and a smile, like she was so happy that she was finally being understood. 

“Miss Y/N should marry daddy because he thinks she's pretty. Henry said that was important for a wedding, your mommy has to look beautiful.” You made eye contact with Doctor Reid awkwardly as she spoke, both of you looking away for fear of seeing the embarrassment on each others faces. 

“And Miss Y/N wants a baby. So I will be Miss Y/N's baby, so everyone can be happy!” Harper's kid logic was a little hard to find fault with, but you still had to push back a little. 

“Harper, why do you think I want a baby?” 

“Angie asked you, and you said," the girl pouted, almost frustrated woth habing to answer all these silly questions.

"She asked you why you don't have a baby, and you said that you can only have a baby if you're married and that you wanted to have a baby when you were married. So marry my dad, and I'll be your baby!” 

Harper's smile was so happy and content that you really didn't want to spoil her dream just yet. You continued putting the puzzle together for a few minutes in silence, the full picture nearly being complete now. Harper seemed to fidget a little in her seat next to you, pushing closer and closer to you before tugging on your sleeve. 

You leaned down and she whispered in your ear - though you didn't doubt that her dad heard every word. 

“If you really want, I'm sure we can get another baby like Henry got Michael. I'll ask my dad, but I think it's allowed.” 

The poor man on the other side of the desk had to cover his face with his hands to stop the blush from showing, devolving to just straight up resting his head on the desk when his daughter kept going. 

“A boy is okay, but my dad doesn't really know about boy stuff. Uncle Derek says that my daddy is just a pretty boy with a book brain. We should get another girl, so daddy can be not worry.” 

The more you listened to Harper's adorable family plan, the more you just wanted to squeeze her tight and say yes and give her everything she wanted. 

“Miss Y/N, once again, I'm so sorry for everything, I'll talk with Harper at home about this.” 

“It's okay, I actually find it all very sweet,” you laughed a little and smiled back at him. 

“No, I'm sure your boyfriend would be so uncomfortable if he knew that she was trying to marry you off-” 

“Doctor Reid, are you trying to ask me if I'm single?” 

The small grin that quirked his lips up was nothing if not unfair. He really was a very pretty boy. 

“It was that obvious?” 

“Yep.” You made sure the ‘p’ popped a lot as you both shared a small laugh. Harper looked up between you and smiled, too. 

“So, can you get married now? Henry said you can do it really quickly, like in Grandpa Rossi's garden, and then you can go and do the secret part at home while Auntie Penny looks after me.” 

“Secret part?” 

“To make the other baby, silly!” 

[g1rld1ary]

hey also i'm writing a sirius black x oc fic on wattpad rn if anyone still uses that... here if u wanna give it a look (written yonks ago but only publishing now so much more regular updates than my tumblr fics) xxxx