????? ?????~~ -- sokeefe oneshots

YOU WANT JEALOUS KEEFE? I GOT JEALOUS KEEFE. U WANT ANGRY FITZ? GOT ANGRY FITZ. U WANT A SCENE LIKE IN THE HOUSE OF HADES WHEN ANNABETH TELLS PERCY TO STOP? I GOT YOU GUYSS!!

Keefe’s fingers curl into fists, his breathing sharp and uneven. He feels it bubbling under his skin—the power, the command, the thing he swore he’d never use unless he had no other choice.

But Fitz just won’t listen.

Sophie’s standing behind him, tense but silent. He can feel her emotions, a chaotic mix of frustration and something close to fear. Not for herself—for him.

Fitz takes another step forward, his eyes locked on Sophie. “You don’t belong with him.”

Keefe sees red.

“Stop talking.”

The words are barely a whisper, but they ripple through the air with an undeniable weight. Fitz stumbles back, his body stiffening, his mouth snapping shut as if invisible hands had seized his throat.

Keefe clenches his jaw, forcing himself to breathe. He can feel the command pressing against the edge of his mind, ready to strike if he lets it. It would be so easy—just a little push, just a few words.

Leave her alone. Forget about her. Walk away and never come back.

He swallows hard.

Then, suddenly, there’s a hand on his wrist. Soft. Grounding.

“Keefe.”

Sophie’s voice is quiet, pleading, and it cuts through the haze in his mind like a blade. He turns to her, and the look in her eyes makes his stomach twist.

She’s scared.

Not of Fitz.

Of him.

It’s barely there, just a flicker of fear behind the concern. But it’s enough. It slams into him harder than any physical blow ever could.

Slowly, carefully, he exhales. Releases his hold on the command.

Fitz gasps, stumbling forward as if he’d been shoved. He glares at Keefe, his breath ragged. “What—”

“Go.” Keefe’s voice is low, dangerous, but there’s no power behind it now. Just a warning.

Fitz hesitates for a second longer, then shakes his head and storms off.

Keefe sags slightly, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Sophie tugs on his wrist, pulling him around the corner, away from where Fitz had been standing.

She’s shaking.

Her breath comes in quick, uneven gasps, her fingers gripping his like a lifeline. Her eyes are wide, filled with something raw, something terrified.

“Sophie—”

“You almost—” Her voice breaks. She yanks her hand away, running both hands through her hair, fingers tangling as she presses them against her scalp. “Keefe, you almost—”

“I didn’t,” he says quickly, taking a step toward her. “I stopped.”

“But you almost did!” she chokes out, barely holding back a sob. “You almost used your ability on him, Keefe. That’s not you.”

The way her voice wavers—like she’s more scared for him than herself—hits him harder than it should. He swallows past the lump in his throat, forcing a smirk. “Come on, Foster, don’t go crying over me. I’m still as devastatingly handsome and reckless as always.”

She glares at him through watery eyes. “Keefe, stop.”

His smirk falters. He doesn’t know what to do with this—her crying, her hands balled into fists, her shoulders shaking like she’s barely holding herself together.

So he does the only thing that feels right.

He pulls her into his arms.

She doesn’t fight it. She just collapses against him, her fingers gripping his shirt as she presses her face into his chest, her whole body trembling. He holds her tight, one hand in her hair, the other pressing against her back, anchoring her.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs into her hair. “You’re okay.”

She shakes her head against him. “You scared me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. That’s why he stopped. Not because Fitz didn’t deserve it. Not because it wasn’t tempting.

Because he never, never wants Sophie to be afraid of him.

“I know,” he breathes. “I scared myself too.”

They stand there for what feels like forever, her heart pounding against his, her breath ragged. He rubs circles into her back, whispering soft reassurances.

“I won’t do it,” he promises, voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t. No matter what.”

She sniffles, gripping his shirt even tighter. “Promise?”

He pulls back just enough to look at her, wiping a stray tear off her cheek with his thumb.

“Promise.”