PJO oneshots "

Vines and Valdez | leo valdez

! reader is a child of Dionysus ¡

The world around you spun like a merry-go-round that had forgotten how to stop. Everything was a blur of light and color, and you could feel the remnants of whatever you’d consumed earlier still burning through your veins, mixing with the aftereffects of too much wine. You were high, drunk, and quite frankly, blissfully out of it.

Except for the searing pain in your side, the throbbing in your head, and the uncomfortable sensation of blood sticking your shirt to your skin.

Leo wasn’t much better off. He lay next to you, his shirt torn, revealing a deep gash across his torso. His curls were matted with sweat and dirt, and his normally bright eyes were clouded with exhaustion. You both had fought like Tartarus during the last mission, and now you were paying the price. The woods around you were eerily sileny, like even the monsters had decided to call it a day and leave you two dumbfucks alone to die in peace.

“Why aren’t we dead yet?” Leo groaned, attempting to shift upright, but failing back with a very prominent wince.

You lolled your head towards him, a lazy smirk dancing across your lips. “Because we’re just too stubborn to give up.”

He let out a weak laugh that quickly turned into a cough when his injuries made themselves known, his face scrunching up in pain. “Or maybe the gods just want to watch us suffer a little longer.” He remarked sarcastically, glaring daggers at the sky as if wanting to tell Zeus to knock it off.

“Probably,” you hummed, tracing patterns in the dirt with your finger, the simple action somehoe fascinating your current state. “They have a sick sense of humor.”

His eyes flickered to you and watched as you clumsily attempted to sit up. “Hey, don’t move too much, you’re still bleeding.” He scolded, his tone a little firmer than before.

“I’m fine. Just a scratch.” You slurred, waving a dismissive hand at him, but the motion caused your vision to spin even more.

Leo rolled his eyes. "Your ‘scratch’ is making a pretty convincing argument for staying still.”

You smirked at him, dramatically clutching your side. “You’re not exactly looking peachy either, Fix-It Felix.” You retorted and stuck your tongue out slightly.

He snorted, trying to hide the flush that was creeping up to his neck. “Who even says ‘peachy’ anymore?”

“Shut up,” you snickered, the sound of your voice almost foreign to your ears. “I feel sick, dude.”

“I had no idea,” he muttered sardonically, but his voice was fond. He tried to sit up again, this time a little slower, his jaw clenching against the pain.

You watched him, your head tilted to the side. It was strange seeing him like this—vulnerable, worn down. Usually, he was the one with the jokes, the quick fix, and the endless energy. But now... now he looked like he was on the verge of collapse.

“Leo,” you began, but he interrupted you with a shake of his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice strained. “Don’t start with the sympathy. I’m fine.”

You frowned, and reached out a shaking hand towards him. “But you're not fine. Let me—”

He grabbed your wrist before you could even touch him, his grip surprisingly strong for someone who looked like they could barely hold themselves together. His eyes met yours, a mixture of frustration and something else you couldn’t seem to place. “Don’t, okay? Just... don’t.” He managed to say, his eyes narrowed slightly.