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#the fonts mean nothing I just thought they looked pretty for each of them

vickyyoon · 4 months

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Professor hyunjin (pt-2)

A/n: This was in my drafts for so long after an anon asked for a part two 💀 I guess I get too into my requests! But anyways here's a part two!!!

Genre: fluffy smut, ( tinge bit of angst in the beginning)

Synopsis : your professor comforts you after you cry assuming he's been with someone else.

Pt-1 <- here

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Regular attendance to his extra classes, you were obsessed with him and he was obsessed with you, gosh you font think you could find someone else. You had to get married to that man at this point, I mean if he could fuck you dumb once a night, he could definitely keeping fucking you till you die, this man has stamina and he's never denying to wreck you even if he's tired and exhausted.

He is just as whipped for you as much as you were.

But recently you've been noticing him with anither female student, complimenting and flirting even in the halls, your blood started to boil, what now? Was this chick his second extra class student? You were burning each day.

You got so mad that you stopped attending his extra lessons and he had to call your mom. You were furious, you didn't want to talk to him now. You thought you two had a thing, and he was really into you, that you were his only one at the moment.

The way he touches her shoulder, sometimes hugging her intently, the way his tucks her hair behind her ear. You couldn't help but fume in jealousy.

You tried to look patient and unfazed but behind that exterior only fire burned inside, you couldn't stop thinking about it, was he really doing this? Was he really fucking her too?

One weekend he finally payed you a visit at your dormatory, you opened the door, you looked tired and drained from stress.

" Why haven't you been answering my calls?" he asked politely and genuinely but you only gave him an annoyed look.

You were about o shut the door when he blocked it, the more you pushed the more you fell back, it was easy for him to block such an attack after all he's much bigger than you.

" just answer me. Did something happen? Did I do something wrong? Did you get pregnant?" he was rambling the worst thoughts right now.

" did you do something wrong? You're flirting with other girls while you fuck me every night? What now? Is she your new student? Does she feel much better than me? Does her walls feel better -" he shut you up with a kiss.

" Baby please what are you saying? Is this what you really think of me? Do you really think I would do that?" he asked you with a dissapointed face.

" of course you would! There's so many pretty girls lining up to get in your pants, and you only play with pretty bitches like them, I probably meant nothing!" you were tearing up as he hugged you tight.

" please calm down, you mean alot to me. You just don't see it."

After you fit rage, you head rested on his chest as he rocked you side to side, your hand gripped onto the hem of his shirt, the shirt you gifted him for passing the mid terms.

" you want me to make you feel better?" he whispered kissing your head. And you slowly nodded.

He pulled out of the hug and wiped your tears with his thumb kissing your stained face.

He slowly undressed you, hugging you while u clipping your bra, taking in the scent of your body spray and shampoo that drives him crazy. He was very in love with you but he never showed you that.

It shows indirectly by the way you would've completely failed those exams but he still tried to sum up your score to a bare pass so you wouldn't fail or like the time you forgot to bring your wallet and he paid for what ever you asked for.

You just couldn't see it, and you'll never get it too because you're not him, he might love you more than you love him but that's debateable.

His hand trailed down your side and he picked you up kissing you deeply, he lead you to your bed and slowly pulled your pants off, every time he tasted you, he swore he could never find the taste enough, it tasted so good he just couldn't describe, it was like his favorite dish he claimed.

Licking you and tasting you while staring at you the whole time. Your thighs locked his head in place as he gripped them, he tasted you till he couldn't breathe, his fingers pumping in and out and curling right there and you stained his face. He put his neck right against your pussy and hummed, sending the biggest vibrations against your core and had you squirming.

He put you to subspace and watched your post orgasm phase while resting his head on your thigh, admiring from down there.

After gaining back your consciousness he unbuckled his belt and pushed his clothes aside hovering on top of you, he likes to see your face when he fucks you, to him it's the most beautiful thing in the world, it's feels more intimate and romantic, he also likes to paint your face everywhere and send you pictures of them. On clay vases, canvases and even his walls . He likes the way your body jolts each thrust and your dazed off high face.

He stared at your face just taking in how you look.

" gosh you're such a beauty, so pretty." he whispered before kissing you on your forehead. This was so pure and platonic, it felt like a soft real fluttering love feeling.

You wrapped your arms around his neck before pulling him into another deep slow kiss filled with lust and passion.

He slowly entered inside softly holding your waist while pushing in, his face turning red every time he does this, no matter how many times he's entered you, it just feels so new and too good.

" Don't look at me like that" you grinned at him, it wasn't your fault for being so tight like a virgin every time he fucks you. Softly grunting and moaning every time he pushes further in, it was just so big and it hurt you too but the pain was so sweet and promising.

You'd rather tear those walls with his mister of a dick than mope around feeling empty, he was hugging you praising you for taking it so well.

" you're such a good girl, so pretty, no nice, so soft, so cute, so unworldly gosh you deserve everything."

His praises made you arch your back, truly whenever he fucked you, it didn't really always seem like he was fucking you, if felt like he really loved you and was making love to you.

You wanted to enjoy this bliss day and night even if you were sore from each round, you just cannot think about not having that dick inside you or him not loving you. The truth was he could never love anyone else and you too could not live without him. You often think about how you're still alive not having him inside you or around you.

The pace was slow but this was soft and passionate sex, it looked like he couldn't risk hurting you but still if you were anyone else he would take down all the restraints he had on you and probably rip your pussy.

" you're my princess, no one's better than my princess, I only love my princess." he kissed your forehead.

" if there's something I'll never do, that would be thinking of someone else, or being with anyone else. I hope you love me as much as I love you." he whispered in twining his fingers into yours.

He thrusted a bit faster now, losing self control over your lewd moans, his mouth latched into yours to muffled the sounds and to devour those sinful lustful noises leaving your mouth.

His thumb rapidly rubbing your clit to stimulate you, your walls were closing in on him too tight, he might not last longer especially before you.

" gosh why do you feel so good and tight, l-loosen up baby." his thoughts were trembling and his hips were faltering, his mind was going fuzzy and he was babbling things.

" won't you let me fill that pretty cunt of yours and make it mine?"

" b-but it's already yours shit, I-I'm already yours."

And there you two were moaning and crashing on your highs, your sheets were soaked in sweat and cum, you held him down, hugging him while he was still in you.

" stay like this for a while, please." and he kissed your shoulder.

After pulling out carefully, hyunjin cleaned up everything because he knew you were sore and tired at this point , especially after crying.

He grabbed a wet towel and wiped you off, kissing you in the forehead. You got back up and went to the bathroom when you realize that your newest underwear was missing. You bought it just a week ago.

You peeped out the door to see it in his little bag, you smirked to yourself, this man will never get over his habits. What was he even gonna do with these?

He left when the entire hall was empty and no one saw or heard a thing.

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#kpop #Hyunjin #Hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #hyunjin x reader smut #Hyunjin x reader #Straykids hyunjin #Hwang hyunjin #skz #Stray kids

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ardienothesieno · 1 month

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SPECULATING ABOUT THE WATCHER

Wanted to make my own analysis post, as I've seen some comments on other sites pointing out things but nothing here so far... AND I AM TOO DEEP IN THE BRAINROT TO NOT ANALYZE THIS EVEN JUST A LITTLE BIT. SO.

I would like to mention that I have not played any modded regions! So if there are certain details that I make note of in the screenshots that have explanation in their original mods, please feel free to correct me!!

STARTING OFF WITH THE TRAILER:

youtube

Rot tendrils. Rot tendrils on the ceiling... just casually... that's totally not concerning...

The blue lizard only has two toes on each foot!

The background of this first shot looks like it might be on an iterator structure? There are some support beams but other then that it's just clouds.

The spears that the scavenger is carrying are kind of weird... for one, they're white. And one of them has a large, almost pinecone-shaped tip.

Also they have a crack in their face/mask.

what the pole plant doin

The Watcher doesn't seem to have a nose? That's probably just an art style thing, but I thought I'd mention it. Also their eyes are glowing.

Even the title font has implications. whoa.

For one, more rot. The rot has now made a double appearance and that probably guarantees its significance here...

And plants... Leaves and some vines.

The way that the black screen transitions to a white one is very rot-esce to me. Rot triple appearance...

There seems to be some graffiti on the right side of the final shot? It's obstructed by the visual effects in the foreground, however.

Once again Watcher is depicted without a nose BUT THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT BECAUSE THIS SCREEN HAS IMPLICATIONS

Watcher is floating. Normally I'd mark this off as "cool title screen choice" but they're also surrounded by ECHO PARTICLES.

And the warping around the Watcher and the title? THE OUTMOST RIPPLES HAVE GOLD VEINS RUNNING THROUGH THEM. THE VOID IMPLICATIONS...

And this might be a stretch but the palette of this final image is black and gold... void colors...

OKAY THATS MOST OF THE TRAILER

ONTO THE STEAM DESCRIPTION:

Rain World: The Watcher is a DLC expansion of Rain World. Journey beyond to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed. When the world beneath your feet cracks and crumbles, will you hold on to all you once knew? Or dive into the unknown? The wilds that await will be unlike all that's come before. Unknown creatures stalk and climb and dive and hunt. New breeds rip and pluck and burrow and hide. Predator and prey redefined. And through the middle of it all, a lonely lost slugcat trying their best to outlast the ravages of a warped world.

Do... do I even have to say anything?

THE VOID IMPLICATIONS!! HOLY MOTHER OF SCUGS THE *VOID IMPLICATIONS!!!!*

"Journey beyond to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed. When the world beneath your feet cracks and crumbles, will you hold on to all you once knew? Or dive into the unknown?" YOU READ THIS AND TELL ME THIS DOESN'T HAVE VOID SEA VIBES. Journey BEYOND to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed... it feels very void-y to me. And the talk about the world beneath you crumbling-- holding on to what you once knew or diving into the unknown?? If this somehow ISN'T related to ascension I would be shocked

"And through the middle of it all, a lonely lost slugcat trying their best to outlast the ravages of a warped world." This line about the world being warped, as well... I'm thinking this DLC might either have to do with Rubicon, or have to do with the encroach of the void sea consuming the world from below.

Other then the void implications, it sounds like we'll be seeing some new creatures that could completely redefine the game. I'm excited to see where that goes.

OKAY. SCREENSHOTS. LETS GO.

I know these are from pre-existing mods, but I'm completely unfamiliar with said mods and don't know if any of this means anything. Just wild speculation, pretty much.

Gonna start with these two because they're kinda visually similar. On the left we have desert!!!! Cacti!! Cactuses!!!!! I've seen lots of people calling the image on the right snow, but that doesnt feel right to me. We saw snow in Saint and I do not remember it looking like... that. The first thing that comes to mind for me is Kingdom's Edge from Hollow Knight, and the drifts of ash that pile up there? If this is the case then it confirms several of my lore theories and I would so love that to be the case. There's also a collapsed structure in the back of the "snowy" image, which looks to me a bit like a train car?

Also I've now seen several people calling these milk... and I can't unsee it now...

I've been told by several sources that these screens are from preexisting mods! I think these are from Stormy Coast, Coral Caves, and Aether Ridge? At least that's what I've picked up from searching through other discussions. I don't have too much to comment on here! I think these rooms are cool, and I really like the fans in the Aether Ridge room!

...oh no... acid region..? I don't know why, but this room gives me Shoreline vibes. Also I do not think bubble fruit are supposed to grow that perfectly--

And finally... what I think has the possibility of either being a huge lore thing, or a complete false alarm. Well for starters it's purple

But there are no iterator cans in the background. We're above the clouds here; in every above-the-clouds show from the base game and Downpour, you can see iterators and communication towers off in the distance. There's nothing here. And I don't think this takes place near or after Saint, because there's no confirmed snow. And I think a lot of these structures would be far worse for wear if this were so far in the future that the planet has warmed again. So. Uh. That's pretty odd.

Again, these all might be from mods that I am unfamiliar with, so please correct me if I'm misinterpreting anything!!

AND THAT CONCLUDES MY ANALYSIS FOR NOW!

tl,dr-- This DLC is gonna be crazy. Also void

#rain world #rw nightcat #rw watcher #rw the watcher #rw nightwatcher #rain world the watcher #rw slugcat #rain world theory #I'm sure I missed a ton of stuff so feel free to add on!!#might make a separate post theorizing on some of this...#ramblings #brain rot #oc

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osleeplessflowero · 2 months

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I figured it's time to bring back Classic Sans for a oneshot. Haven't posted about him since Stargazing! My very first Sans oneshot and Undertale oneshot as a whole. - Reader is Gender Neutral as always! Their SOUL type is up to you. - This is a good way to tie these oneshots to another series of mine :)

It's quiet..before a breeze fills your ears. Your senses are overloaded with sound. Soon you can feel the breeze too, gently hitting your skin as you slowly open your eyes and move your hands over the grass beneath you.

How long had you been asleep? What happened? Did you miss anything? Your head is spinning..

A familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts softly, calmly. Just like he always does.

"heya. glad to see you're back." He greets you with a smile once you look over, just as he always does. You can't help but smile too. Sitting up, you scoot a bit closer to him and abruptly drop your head on his shoulder, to his surprise. "woah there, what's this all about?" He raises a browbone as he looks down at you, feeling your arm move behind his back so you can awkwardly hug him.

"How long was I asleep?" You ask, getting straight to the point. He looks back up, focusing on the rising sun before the two of you. "not much time has passed here since you fell asleep. or, i guess you could say we fell asleep, huh?" He chuckles. "guessing you've had lots of opportunities to explore. i couldn't imagine doing all that."

"..Yeah." You think about places you've been, your consciousness moving about through different timelines and possibilities. It is only right here, in this space, that you can truly remember things..and where you originally came from. You've certainly seen a lot of interesting figures recently. All of them being different variants of Sans, and even his brother, Papyrus. The same two, just..in various different fonts.

"it's kinda weird, when i think about it." You turn to look at him. "how there's so many other mes just..hangin' around in other timelines. that even the smallest decision can make an entirely new form, a new me. up to the point where..it's like i'm a whole other person. they're sorta..physical "what if"s. aaand prove that the timeline theory is real..so..that's complicated. i guess i can see why you like to go see them all. curiosity."

"..Yeah..it's..like a new adventure each time." You earn a nod from him, before you sit up and move so you're in front of him, placing your hands at the sides of his legs. "But..just so we're clear, that doesn't mean I want to see you any less, Sans. You're still you, the original you, that..that I fell for in the beginning." Heat rises to your cheeks, burning even warmer as you watch a shade of blue make its way onto the skeleton's cheekbones to match.

"i mean, i understand if you prefer some variations of me more. i'm not gonna take it personally-" You cut him off, placing your hand on his left cheekbone. He freezes like a deer in the headlights, his eyesockets relaxing a little as he leans into your touch almost instinctively.

"Just because I like to see other outcomes it doesn't mean I'll love you any less. I refuse to leave you behind. I won't leave Paps behind either. I promise."

"seems like a pretty big promise. sure you can keep it?" "I'm absolutely sure." You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his own. "No matter what..you'll always remain in my heart, Sans. The true you, I mean." "why settle for me when you can have so many other mes?" He raises a browbone, a soft smile on his face. "At the end of the day it was the two of you that my heart belonged to first. Nothing will change that." His face is now a prettier, brighter shade of blue..you can't help but smile, seeing him like this.

"You're not making puns." "it's not the time for that." He averts his eyelights, earning a chuckle from you. You lightly tap his cheek. "C'mon..look at me." "i dunno.." "Please?" "what if i fall for you all over again?" You smile. "I'd be alright with that."

He turns his eyelights to you, unable to look away the moment he does. You can hear his breath hitch, the lights shifting into little heart shapes the moment he blinks. "..Can I?..Or would that be too forward?-" You mutter, your face heating up again at the thought. "just get over here, you." He puts his arms around your waist, pulling you a little closer so you can make contact yourself.

You lean forwards, pressing your lips against his teeth..feeling yourself becoming lost in the moment. Your heart pounds in your ears, your faces both madly flushed as you embrace each other's company. Eventually you have to break the kiss for air, softly regaining your breath as he stares at you with admiring eyes. He reaches up his hands, placing them on the sides of your face now. The cool feeling both calms your nerves and makes you even more flushed. "you alright being stuck with me? with us, even?" "Always. Don't ever question that." You smile, earning a grin from him in return as you hear footsteps approaching in the distance.

"There You Two Are! I've Been Looking Everywhere For You!" Papyrus comes to a stop before you, pressing his hands on his hips with his all-too-familiar grin. A few seconds pass before he takes in your states, a smug look crossing his face. "Am I Interrupting Something?"

"nah, you got here just in time. right?" Sans lightly nudges you, earning rapid nods from you in return. If you let him hear your voice tremble or crack you would quite literally die inside.

"so, what's up? something going on?" He asks, putting an arm around you. "I Thought You Might Want To See Our New Neighbors! They Are Quite The Interesting Bunch. And..Oddly Familiar Looking.."

You and Sans give each other a knowing look. "You don't think?.." "awfully convenient timing, universe." "Might as well make a good first impression, huh?"

#sans x reader #sans undertale x reader #undertale sans x reader #undertale x reader #classic sans #classic sans x reader #sans undertale

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bettsfic · 1 year

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craft essay a day #5

my response to this one maybe derailed a little.

"On Imagination" by Mary Ruefle

beginner | intermediate | advanced | masterclass

filed under: process, poetry

summary

first i must describe to you the physical object that is this essay:

it is a chapbook (published by Sarabande Books, an indie poetry press i really admire), which means it is more or less a staple-bound pamphlet. there is a goat on the cover. inside, on each even-numbered page, is a picture: an ocean wave, a lettuce leaf, the night sky, a bed, 3 fish, a bird in a tree, a pie, 4 dyed eggs, a human ribcage, grass, trees, a slug, and the goat that is on the cover, whose presence permeates the essay.

on the back of the chapbook, instead of blurbs, there is a quote in very small font:

"My imagination was roaming at sunset and placed his bare foot on a blade of withered grass, which ran into it like a thorny needle, and injured him."

this quote appears not to be attributed, which makes me think i should know what it's from, and i don't.

Ruefle has a collection of essays called Madness, Rack, & Honey (published by Wave Books, another great poetry press) which is one of my favorite craft books and i highly recommend it. it'll be a while before i summarize the chapters, though, since i only recently finished reading it.

i've been lucky enough to attend several of her lectures, and although i got a lot out of them, when i go back and look at my notes, they are utterly indecipherable:

partly this is because, as you can see, my handwriting is not legible. but it's also partly because this particular lecture was kinda bonkers. i've been waiting for her to publish it in written form but i don't think she has yet. "Hell's Bells" is my second favorite of her lectures (Ruefle's lectures and essays are one and the same), my favorite being "On Fear" which i'm sure i'll write about in a future post.

still laughing at "does the artist...become time?" with the star beside it (which in my notes always indicates an Action Item, so in 2018 i clearly intended to Do Something about becoming time). also "put a hole in meaning - give space, aerate?" then in pink, "(how?)" i also apparently intended to Do Something about "Beginning of universe was striking of tremendous bell."

another lecture of hers i attended was a recreation of John Cage's "Lecture on Nothing," and i am ashamed to say that it took me so, so long to realize it was literally a lecture on nothing. i wrote like 3 pages of notes and about a half hour in, i flipped through the pages and realized literally nothing of substance was being said. and i was furious. like, why am i wasting my time here? and i realized i was supposed to be having a reaction to it, and thinking about the nature of the concept of a lecture at a creative writing workshop, and what am i even doing here, etc.

in retrospect, that spoke well to the "Hell's Bells" lecture, which, for me, was all about how listening is sometimes just about hearing, and not trying to make meaning of all that we hear. as someone with an audio processing problem who has to attend a lot of readings and can't understand a word of them, it made me feel a lot better. like i could attend a reading just to appreciate the voice of the writer (which Ruefle likened to a bell), and not what's being said.

at the end of the lecture on nothing, Ruefle took questions, and responded to each of them with the answers provided in the original lecture. it was quite a time.

back to "On Imagination."

in any Ruefle essay/lecture, there is not much to summarize because they function more or less as poems: each is a series of thoughts or anecdotes on a general topic, and never firmly declare their point. however, on the first page, she does make a pretty big declaration:

"I am going to tell you now, before I begin, what my conclusion is to my thoughts on the imagination: I believe there is no difference between thinking and imagining, and that they are one."

to me, that's the kind of statement that's so simple it seems almost meaningless, but i know if i consider it long enough, i'll reach a deeper conclusion about it. since i finished reading this essay 37 minutes ago, i have no such deeper conclusion as of yet.

i appreciate that on page one, she also points out that thought is only ever an interpretation of reality, and words exist only to conjure meaning in the imagination. when a person says the word "tree" to another person, the recipient of that word can mentally conclude or conjure the object that is a tree. we can always refer to a tree, but in speaking it or thinking it, it does not become real.

she declares that imagination is not necessarily good; imagining things can hurt us as equally as help us, and we don't really have control of it.

"...the imagination has its own life and its own autonomy, the imagination is not what you play with, the imagination plays with you."

she introduces an anecdote in which a poet, after a reading, is asked, "is that a real poem, or did you make it up?" and concludes her point with a fact that punched me right in the face:

"Real things are made things."

she goes on to talk about an elementary school reading primer from 1880, Ukranian dyed eggs, Johnny Cash, a misinterpretation of the bible by Keats, and a goat in Emily Dickenson's attic. each of these, somehow, connect and make sense, yet i cannot attempt to do so in a (not so) brief summary.

"Imagination, deep in each of us, can give us what we need and want, that which we dream of, the reality of love and communion, help in our tired loneliness."

yeah :(

she notes that many believe some people have more imagination than others, and that's why there are artists and not-artists, but she claims we all have the same amount of imagination; it's just that some of us don't discriminate between "imaginative and unimaginative acts" and that paying close attention to the mundane "paradoxically opens a new door to the imaginative."

i am having trouble figuring out how the end of the essay is about imagination. she talks about how, in her old age, she feels isolated in her interests, and that because she has a limited future, she's only motivated to dwell in the present.

"All I can tell you is that at long last I am myself and free, even if isolated, and I am happy when I want to be and sad when I feel like it, and about the only thing that troubles me is knowing how many people on earth do not have that privilege...and to these I bow and for these I pray."

my thoughts

this got kind of personal, so i'm putting it under a cut.

i rated this essay advanced, not because i think it's hard to understand, but that it goes beyond the work of beginner and intermediate essays, which focus primarily on mechanics and concepts and how to get the work down on paper. this essay makes no real claim about writing, and i imagine wouldn't help anyone looking for advice on how to write.

a few days ago i wrote about Smiley's introduction in 13 Ways to Look at the Novel. that, coupled with the Ruefle essay, have fucked me up a little. in Smiley's intro, she talks about how she always had one foot in the fictional worlds of her novels at the cost of her presence in reality. in Ruefle's essay, she talks about the uncontrollability of imagination. i've never considered myself a creative person; i think in expected patterns and can't really devise anything truly novel. that's why i consider myself more a teacher than a writer--i'm better at fostering creativity in others than developing it in myself. i am, however, an imaginative person. i never stop imagining. i'm so imaginative that existing in reality is sometimes unbearable. even things that make me happy--seeing my family, hanging out with friends, reading a book--come second to dwelling (drowning?) in my imagination. i have to pry myself away to go do those things. when i'm really into something i'm working on, i can write over 10k in a day. i can write from the second i wake up at 9am to the moment, usually at 3am or so, my brain can no longer make clear sentences, stopping only throughout to eat a spoonful of peanut butter and maybe reply to a text.

these are the kinds of days i live for. they make me truly happy. and yet there's such an enormous cost to them: i'm beginning to have hand problems, and i have so little control of writing that i can't force myself to stop and let it heal (i did upgrade to an ergonomic keyboard and mouse but they're not helping as much as i'd hoped); i'm no nutritionist, but i'm pretty sure 3 tablespoons of peanut butter a day and walking fewer than 100 steps is not particularly healthy; and big picture, i want to get married and have kids, and that's not going to happen if i'm spending all my time in my imagination with fictional characters getting married and having kids. and if i somehow against all odds do get married and have kids, will i be able to be fully present with them, or will i always in the state i am now, counting down the seconds when i can escape reality and return to the peace of my own head?

i think this is a conflict i'll always have, because ultimately i'm writing work i'm proud of to an audience that (i hope) appreciates it. writing and being read is the greatest privilege i can imagine. but i'm also always thinking about my dad, who died at 59 after enduring years of agonizing pain and a lifetime of trauma and depression, and how he never got to do a fraction of the things he wanted. i imagine myself at the same age less than 30 years from now with the same fate, if i am even so lucky to make it to that far. i'm in this between space of the hopefulness of being young, of the gross entitlement of believing things will keep getting better for me; and the hopelessness of ptsd, the kernel of doubt that remains even after so long in recovery, that joy and success are never owed to me. rationally i know both of these to be true, that there will be some good and some bad, and whatever happens will never turn out as i expect. and yet that doesn't abate the conflict or quell the fear that the conflict creates.

it is probably a bad idea to write about my deepest fears and insecurities on a blog with thousands of followers. it's easy to be misinterpreted and taken out of context. honesty is totally antithetical to branding or gaining a following. and yet i think i'd rather be known than not. i think i'd always prefer to take a risk in the hope of being understood.

i'm sorry i have no conclusions or advice or anything helpful to say here. but imagination is a big thing. it's the biggest thing. in allowing us the power to interpret and create, it might be the only thing.

craft essay a day tag | cross-posted on AO3 | ask me something

#cead #process #poetry

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sunshinereddie · 2 years

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bestie!! finally back in my homeland :) which

means I can now supply you with my latest reddie brainrot! this song is soooooo reddie coded

I cannot stop thinking about this idea where the Losers stay in touch (presumably w/o pennywise's amnesia cocktail) and keep up with each other despite moving away from Derry and going their separate ways. Like, they send letters and call all the time until email and texting becomes a thing. But despite being in love with each other Reddie never confesses anything to the other. There's too much too lose & the homophobia (both external & internal) is too hard to get past. So they stay best friends despite the distance.

It's all going fairly well, they keep contact and their lives are turning out pretty great. It all kind of goes down hill though. Bev still ends up with her abusive husband and eventually Eddie meets Myra. It was a huge point of contention between Eddie & Richie for a while. There was even a point where they didn't talk for months because Eddie was set on being with her and Richie was adamant that she was toxic and abusive. But they mutually decided that being out of each other's lives was too painful. Instead agreeing to not discuss her at all, so as to avoid any more spats.

It works out for the most part. Richie has a lot to talk about, what with his comedy career taking off and his adventures in working with celebrities. Not to mention trying out new material on Eddie. Or Eddie’s own rants about work and his latest de-stress hobby. It was enough to fill their conversations and keep Myra safely out of their mouths.

It isn’t until Richie starts pulling away that the rest of the losers realize something is up. He hadn’t contacted anyone in a couple weeks and they were starting to get worried. Bev was the first one to cave, calling him late at night for a check in, but he brushed off her questions and claimed to be busy with work. Two weeks later Stan calls and asks how he’s been, again, he dodges personal questions and ends the call after just ten minutes.

A few days later, a clip of one of Richie’s latest stand up gigs goes viral. It’s crass and bordering on misogynistic, nothing like his previous work. It has millions of views and thousands of supportive comments from “dude bros” who hate their girlfriends. The rest of the Losers are taken aback by the material presented to them. “This is not the Richie Tozier we know”.

He doesn’t return their calls.

A week after the video is released, Richie’s face is plastered across gossip tabloids alongside that of a pretty brunette girl. “Tozier Tied Down?” takes up the upper half of the magazine in garish red font.

The headline haunts Eddie’s dreams, though he can’t quite figure out why he feels sick to his stomach.

After about a month of radio silence Richie calls Bev and has a two hour heart to heart. It’s filled with tears and confessions he never thought he would be able to get out.

“I love him. So much. I’m so scared Bev, I don’t know what to do.”

Bev sends out a text to the other Losers that Richie is kind of going through it, and to give him some space. They all comply, even though the thought of Richie going to Bev over him kind of kills Eddie. A few weeks later Richie sends a brief apology text and pretends like nothing happened. Bev sends a meme in the chat and just like that, everyone lets it go.

Things go back to normal for the most part. Richie starts calling Eddie again, avoiding his breakdown, and rants about the auditions he’d been doing. The rest of the Losers start checking in with Richie more too, not that they’d admit it. He’s secretly grateful for it. And, despite having to alter his public persona to be a fratty douche bag, Richie starts to feel like things are looking up for him.

That is, until Eddie proposes. Richie sends a simple congrats text, encouraged to do so by Stan and Bev, before going completely radio silent for almost a month. Eddie tries not to read too much into it, considering that Richie is a busy guy. But Richie just bounces back. Suddenly he's calling and texting Eddie with just as much enthusiasm as he always had, as if he hadn't fallen off the face of the earth for 3 weeks. Neither of them bring it up. After all, Richie was prone to avoidance.

This time is a little different though. Richie may still be enthusiastic, but his flirty little quips stop entirely. It shouldn’t be a big deal to Eddie, and it isn’t. Except that it is. Because half of Richie’s conversations involve flirting. Not just with Eddie, but all of the Losers. It’s like an intrinsic part of his personality. Stan used to say that if Richie didn’t throw a pick up line out every five minutes he’d die. So now, all their conversations are pretty brief. Just check ins, hardly any banter. It kills Eddie. But they make it work as best they can.

Over the next year, Richie’s face/name make more and more appearances in the tabloids. News of him going on dates with lost of pretty girls. Commentary on his new, overly vulgar stand up material. Speculation of hard drug use. When the Losers dare to ask about it, he brushes it off with an “all press is good press”. Bev is the only one who can get anything out of Richie. Eddie is both grateful to her and insanely jealous.

Two months before his wedding, Eddie asks Richie to be his best man, “I know you don’t like her, but you’re my best friend. I need my best friend with me for this milestone man.” And of course Richie agrees. It kills him to help with what little wedding details still need to be finalized. And it takes absolutely everything in him not to scream how much he loves Eddie during his modest bachelor party. He spends those two months on the phone with Beverly almost every night, careful to stick to their agreed upon time. Last thing he needed was to get Bev in trouble with her psycho husband.

On Eddie’s wedding day he has a full on freak out. He’s in his suit and flushed with anxiety, pacing around the room and messing up his hair. “I can’t do this, god, what the hell am I doing?”.

Then Richie walks in. He immediately goes into “calm Eddie down” mode and gives him a long hug. It hurts more than he’d anticipated.

“I can’t do this Richie, I have to call it off.”

“You know you can’t do that Eds, you’re just nervous. It happens man, it’s okay.” Richie pulls away to look Eddie in the eyes. He’d mostly calmed down while they were hugging, but he still looks a mess. His anxiety seems to wane, and his eyes set into something hard and determined.

“Give me a reason to call this off Richie.” His hands start to shake on Richie’s hips, making him choke on his tongue. “W-what?”

“I said- I said give me a reason.” And boy does he want to. Richie has a list a mile long full of reasons Eddie should absolutely not marry Myra. Number one being that Richie loves him so much that it might kill him. But this isn’t about him. It’s about Eddie. And Richie can’t let his feelings get in the way.

“Eds, you want this. You’ve told me a million times. You’re scared, and that’s okay. You’re scared but god, Eddie. You’re braver than you think.” That’s enough to snap Eddie out of whatever breakdown he was having. He nods once, pulling back completely to try and fix his hair. Richie steps back, completely out of his space, feeling all at once like he can breathe again. Before he can consciously agree to it, he finds himself across the room. He mumbles out an excuse about getting Bev to help with his hair before all but sprinting out of the room.

He does it. Eddie gets married to Myra. And Richie feels like a hole has been punched through his chest. The rest of the night he sticks close to Stan and Bev, willing himself not to cry until he gets home. And cry he does. Alone in his modest one room apartment, he lays on his unmade bed in his wedding attire. He feels like his heart is actually, physically breaking in his chest.

When the silence gets to be too much, he turns on some music. Of course, in a moment of serendipity, the song that comes on is none other than “I Know It’s Over” by The Smiths. He can’t help but laugh at the irony. The tears come rushing back as the song continues though. He spends the rest of the night in bed, wishing he were someone else. Anyone else.

Christ, that idea has been haunting me the entire time I was away. Sorry it’s not happier bestie ;__; </3 it was never going to be with that song choice but still :,]

-🫀

HEY. THAT. WAS NOT NICE. 😭😭😭😭😭

but oh my god……… this is so good. i honestly think that stuff like this is…. MORE heartbreaking than the actual canon events of the 27 years in between ch1 and ch2. like yes yes forgetting about your childhood love and reuniting with him 27 years later only to find out that he’s already married (and then he dies) is TRAGIC,, but the idea of richie having to also go through all of that, him having to be there watching the love of his life “fall in love” with someone else, that’s just absolutely heartbreaking. AND IT KILLS RICHIE, every single minute of it is like a knife stabbing into his heart, but like you said, he would never do anything to “ruin” eddie’s relationship because he doesn’t want to let his own feelings dictate eddie’s life (even when eddie presents him with the chance to do so!!!!!!). it’s almost like, he loves eddie too much to confess his feelings.

oh man, this one hurts. but it’s exactly what i needed tbh, and i’ve missed your reddie hcs in my inbox so much :D so welcome back !!!!! 💓💓

#reddie #reddie fic #🫀anon <3 #sunshinereddie asks

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malamelodies · 1 year

Text

Hello Precious

oh sweetheart,

what a weird whirlwind this life has been. I am presently in San Diego, finding myself constantly looking around thinking, how the fuck did I get here? what lead me to this moment, and I have moments where I;m fucking scared I won't be able to leave. that I will somehow be stuck here for a time too long. that in my 'prime' I'm actually wasting away my life.

I had this thought today: the two times I had the most money I've ever had: I was with Jedidiah, and I immediately spent it all. I spent it all. and the moments it was spent on was beautiful, but it was fleeting. I didn't invest. I understand that I was leaning into it. over 100% and the way I thought I was never going to get over greg... and I haven't in ways... I'm terrified that Jedidiah has cost me my ability to love whole heartedly.

Yes ross should have been a rebound... but I really really loved the way we spoke to each other. and when it was good, it was really really sweet. I loved laying in bed with him and just laughing. and enjoying each other.

I just know that I want monetary abundance. a family and to be in a place that is close to the ocean and its a place that I love absolutely love. in all aspects and beyond.

right now I'm waking up looking around asking how I got here in a bewildered and sad state. I'm excited to wake up and look around and think 'holy fuck how did I get here?!' with such excitement and love and appreciation.

now in the mean time, how do I gain that perspective where I'm at?

I think the first thing is routine. physical routine.

I need to not think about what has happened in the past or the future for the matter and just be here. in this moment. if font of public square. finding my flow. what can my flow be.

Monday: therapy, bike, yoga (work trade)

Tuesday: run with Moki. Gym.

Wednesday: Bike ride with Moki. Gym. Work at coffee house.

Thursday: Mom/swim. Open Gym Aerial. Yoga. (dance?)

Friday: Morning run with Moki. work (dance?)

Saturday: Work (maybe bring bike?)

Sunday: If I'm working in the evening, I think it would be really nice to go to the farmers market.

and then there is community outreach as well as finding another job that is easy is cash flow. I would like to find a restaurant and honestly, any that are in this area could be pretty sweet. Maybe look around in La Mesa or Lemon Grove or Normal Heights. Something a little more funky. I fell into Coasterra thinking that the view would ensure things. and it did. but being in kitchen. meh. and this is where I need to stop and listen. Universe. How do you want me to show up in this world at this time? Give me guidance to how I can best serve you.

Its funny... on the way over to wherever I was going to write this, I was thinking that I was going to write about what has happened the last 2... no 3 years of my life.

Starting April 19, 2020. I'm pretty sure I left for Maui sometime in May. and up until that moment. I remember being with Cary and thinking 'fuck this is the end of a chapter and its fucking beautiful'. but I was also craving to be on island. it was calling to me SO LOUDLY. then the money that was given to me through the government. and how active we were. there was literally nothing else we could do but work out. and garden. and be naked and spend more time with the environment around us.

and now. here. let it be a challenge. I know there are awesome people out here. I see it. I see moments of it. and I also see how my eyes get wider looking at different non profits.

I fucking hate jamul. my god. its so dry and hot and rattle snakes are real. I don't want them around. I don't like them.

so things for future online therapy of Tumblr.... 1. saga of 2020 to present.

2. find that job. maybe Carter, just maybe, you were brought here for a reason. and rather than trying to rush out or itch at the discomfort. remember that this is a beautiful place and there is hope to find that thriving community and purpose that I look for anywhere and everywhere I go.

I don't know if it's because things are more spaced out here, but I just want to ground into one neighborhood and really lean into it.

not to mention today is eclipse day. how to womynifest the things I desire and adore. and the kind ways of genuine connection with all types of people is something that I love. people do seem a little more normal and interesting. maybe la mesa is the starting point of normalcy. I fucking hate jamul. its so silly. more so I dont hate jamul, because actually going inland with all the feed places; I'm actually wondering how I missed out. there is a whole journey of farm life, and I was just far enough away.

I literally get disgusted when I think about how my parents live. EVERY TIME I eat with my parents, or more so, my parents food; I get sick. I genuinely get sick. I feel weird in my tummy and it just isn't fun.

so, baby girl. lets take it one step at a time. literally now and into the evening.

play by play.. because I find that my mind gets a little too whirly so lets write it down. even when I had a moment last night right before bed and I thought 'oh yeah I didn't do those things I thought about' and I didn't do those things because I'm not writing it down. they need to be written down in order for the tiniest chance they will be remembered and executed.

so now, as we wrap up this journal reflection, I would like to take out the envelopes and see what I need to schedule.

lets actually take a moment and do it right meow.

breast exam: presently on hold for

Dermatology: on the 24th I think it's at 1?

I need blood test, which I'm not seeing so I will need to drive down there (maybe tomorrow) (or Friday) to sign papers. so fucking stupid.

I think the best thing is to call them tomorrow.

then I'm going to go pee and put away my things and kindly walk up and down this street. maybe change, actually. and do I want to go down to kava? I think it could be fun. then come home. love up and have some bone broth and hangs out with parents for a moment.

THEN. upstairs music. candle. intention. <3

okay I like this.

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harryhoney-bee · 2 years

Note

y/n reacting to his pleasing brand and saying something like "harry this is so fucking expensive you know we're not all millionaires" and him saying something like "baby you know you don't need to buy it, i'm your boyfriend you know that?

Pleasing.

Summary: Harry gives reader the Pleasing nail polish kit and she gives him a hand while he's showering, plus soft boyfriend!harry <3

Warnings: nothing too bad, just reader jerking him off (I can write any type of smut but writing the words "masturbation, wank, or jerk off" makes me want to cry, so embarrassing.)

Word count: 1.2k

Harry was done with his show, and unlike other days Y/n didn't watch him from the private pit, he decided to stay at the hotel since her headache was getting worse each second.

When Harry opened the door he was very quiet, thinking she was asleep, not wanting to wake her up, but then he saw a light coming from the furthest part of the room. Y/n was lying on the bed, lots of blankets around her, her phone in hand.

"Hey baby, how are you feeling, huh?" Harry asked, kissing her forever. "Did you take your medicine?"

"Yes, I did," y/n mumbled, moving her body to the side so Harry could lay by her side. "I'm good, just tired, but I wanna talk to you about something first."

"Oh, what is it?" He asked, placing his head on the pillow, watching as she snuggled to his side and showed him her phone."

"Really? You launched Pleasing and didn't tell me? I found out alongside your fans on Twitter!" She said, "I mean, I knew it was coming, but why didn’t you give me a heads up?"

Harry grinned, pecking her lips. "Wanted to be a surprise my love, plus, you weren't feeling good this morning, didn't want to fill your head with those types of stuff."

"Those types of stuff?" She said, mocking his accent playfully. "Harry, this is your beauty brand, of course, I would like to know that!"

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry," he lifted his arm, surrendering himself. "Next project I'll let you know the launch day beforehand l."

"Thank you, that’s all I ask," she kissed his jaw. "I really like the aesthetic, very pleasing indeed, but baby, I gotta say, they are all very experienced."

"I know, I know, but Jeff and the one responsible for the economic part of the brand did market research and they agreed some fans would be able to buy the products."

Harry met her eyes, raising his eyebrows. "Of course you won't have to pay for them, love, I asked Jeff to book the nail polish kit for you, my mom, Gemma, and some people I'm your family."

"Yeah, some fans, but not your girlfriend, I think you forgot I work at a normal online job," she mumbled.

"I don't need you to give me stuff for free, I want to pay, I don't want to live on your money." She rolled her eyes, but at the same time, she was soft, knowing that he thought of her family.

"Don't say that, you know my love language is giving gifts, don't you?" He turned them around, so he was on top of her, his lips meeting her neck, and then her collarbone.

"And you know I feel bad when I don't pay you back," she said, feeling distracted by his mouth.

"You can pay me back in the form of kisses then, you got the sweetest lips," he told her. "So pretty you are, so, it's so pleasing to look at you every day knowing that you are mine."

"H, please, I want–"

"I know what you want, baby, stay still and let me love your body, ok?"

"Ok, please do it."

The couple had a very sweet nice, with lots of love and the sweetest sex ever.

When y/n woke up the next day she heard the sound of the shower, knowing that Harry was in there, probably back from his morning room.

As she looked to the side she was met, with a black box, the name Pleasing written in a sophisticated white font. Y/n opened in, the content inside of it made her smile

She took each of the nail polishes' bottles in her hand, admiring the details and the unusual shape. Y/n was already familiarized with the colors since she helped Harry pick them, but her favorite was the white one.

She closed the box, putting it back in its place before she made her way to the bathroom, still naked from last night’s activities. The girl opened the bathroom door, being met by Harry's back, drops of water running their way down his body.

Without making any sound, she took a step closer to him, hugging him from behind. Harry was surprised, not expecting her to wake up any time soon. "Good morning, love." He said in a husky voice, turning around and bringing her to stand in the shower with him. "Did you see your present?

"I did, thank you, I loved it, it looks amazing." Y/n casually sneaked a hand to her his cock, which was already hard. "Can I say thank you in another way, though?" She whispered in his ear.

"You don't need to, I was only joking last night," he managed to answer, even though her soft hands were already working on his shaft.

"I know I don't have to, I just want to," she placed a kiss on his neck, picking up the pace, her other hand came down to his balls, squeezing them. making the man moan. “Feeling good, like how my hand can barely fit around your cock.”

“Fuck, baby, don’t tease me, please.” He rolled his eyes, being drunk on the marvelous feeling only Y/n could provide him. “I love you so much, always treating me so well.”

She teased the tip of his cock, it was already leaking pre-cum, indicating he was close. “I’m giving back, H. You’re constantly spoiling me, just want to make you feel good as well.” Y/n masturbated him for what felt like three minutes, she left hickeys on the inside of his neck, the place close to his shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” Harry said, and as if his words were magic, he climaxed on his hand, his cum hit the wall, his stomach, and Y/n’s hand, she continued moving her hands, making sure she had milked him dry while helping him ride his high.

“I can’t anymore, too much,” he whined, taking her hand off of him, feeling overstimulated. “Thank you, I really needed that, Jeff talked my ear off during our running, Harry confessed, trying to catch his breath.

He cleaned her hand from his cum while doing the same with his stomach. “Oh, what happened?” Y/n asked, hugging him when he was done cleaning himself. Harry kissed her forehead while he took the loofah, washing her back.

“He told me that I should make some posts and stories about Pleasing to promote it, I know he’s right, but I don’t like being online,” he confessed.

“I know you don’t, but just a couple of posts, yeah? We can think of something together, but for now, let’s enjoy ourselves, I miss doing nothing with you.

“Sorry I haven’t been around much, I just have so much to do with the upcoming album and--”

Y/n quieted him with the touch of her lips. “Don’t need to explain yourself, I know you are busy, but you are here now, that’s what matters.”

“What would I do without you, huh?” He asked, smiling at her.

“I also don’t know, probably miserable because you haven’t found the love of your life yet,” she said cheekily

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED IN THE TAG LIST OR IF I FORGOT TO TAG YOU! <3

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#harry styles #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry tyles writings #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines

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mediocre-writerr · 2 years

Text

have yourself a merry little christmas [kate bishop]

kate bishop x fem!reader

requested: hi! idk if you’re caught up or have watched hawkeye, but if you have can you do a kate bishop request where reader takes her home to meet your family?

*not my gif*

“Why are you so nervous?” Peter asked, munching on his slice of pizza as he sat on the couch in the Avengers Compound.

Kate stared at him, her blue eyes so wide, Peter thought that his best friend’s eyes were going to pop out of his head, “Is that even a question? I’m meeting my girlfriend’s Aunt and twin brother! Not to mention her two best friends! I haven’t met any of them! What if they don’t like me? What if they actually hate my guts? She talks so highly about her family and if they don’t like me, she’ll just break up with me-”

Peter, grabbed her knee and squeezed it, “Kate, I’m going to need you to take a breath. If one more pizza crumb comes flying out of your mouth, I’m going to spoil the new Star Wars for you,”

“You wouldn’t!” she let out a gasp.

He laughed softly, “I’m just saying, all the pizza that’s flying from your mouth and onto my body is disgusting!” he exclaimed, the two of them sharing her laugh, “But in all seriousness, you’re great Kate! You’re super sweet and pretty and cool. There’s no way they could not love you!”

“You know, you’re a really good hype man,” the archer stated and he just shrugged.

“Ouch, that’s all I’m here for?” Peter asked, holding his wounded heart.

She shrugged, “That and for making webs to save me from falling off of buildings,”

The young Avenger through his crust at Clint’s prodigy. Both of them laughing in response as a full on food fight started in the living room causing crumbs to fly everywhere. There was a soft clear of the throat as both of them froze in their place, turning to the sound hoping it wasn’t one of the scary Avengers.

But of course to their dismay it was, “I hope you guys clean that up,” Wanda’s voice said, a mom glare on her face.

“Yes mom,” Kate said, “I mean ma’am, yes ma’am,”

“Sorry Ms. Maximoff,” Peter muttered.

You knocked on Kate’s apartment door, moving on the balls of your heels. Kate opened the door dressed up in an ugly Christmas sweater. It was your Aunt’s theme of the year.

It was a blue and green Christmas patterned sweater with a Baby Yoda wearing a Santa hat in the middle. The bright red font hanging right above the green creature reading: Joy To The Galaxy.

You laughed softly at her dorky antics, “Wow, my brother and his best friend are going to love that sweater!” you told her.

She did a little spin, modeling it for you, tossing her black hair over her shoulder, “Well when you have Baby Yoda on your sweatshirt, you really can’t go wrong,”

The archer had a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her bright blue eyes. You cupped her cheeks softly, kissing the tip of her nose, which caused her to do that cute little scrunch thing you love so much.

“They are going to love you,” you whispered to her.

She nodded, letting out a deep breath, “I hope so,”

“I know they will, you have nothing to worry about, okay?” you told her, kissing the girl softly.

“Okay,” she whispered, kissing you back.

You led the two of you through the busy streets in New York until you found yourselves outside a quaint apartment in Queens. You knocked on the door softly, looking at Kate who had fear evident in her eyes. Reaching down, you found her cold hand and intertwined your fingers together, squeezing it softly.

The door swung open to reveal your twin brother wearing the exact same sweater as your girlfriend. He looked at the girl next to you and his mouth opened agape, “Kate?!” Peter asked.

“Peter?!” she exclaimed.

You looked back and forth between the two of them with wide eyes, “You two know each other?” you asked incredulously.

Peter jumped up and down a little before grabbing your girlfriend and hugging her tightly. You didn’t think your eyes could widen any more than they actually did. Kate let out a squeal hugging him back.

“I am so confused right now,” you muttered.

“Y/N! This is my best friend at work Kate! She’s Clint’s new prodigy!” he exclaimed.

You looked at her taken aback, “I know this is Kate, Kate’s my girlfriend...wait you’re a part of the Avengers?” you asked her.

She opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to find the right words to say, “It’s a new development. I didn’t want to tell you until I was for sure an Avenger,”

“Wait! Kate’s your girlfriend?!” Peter asked, excitedly. Probably more excited than you have ever seen him, “How do you know each other?”

“We go to college together,” you told him.

You looked at Kate, “I didn’t know your brother was Peter! You didn’t tell me your brother was an Avenger!”

“He tells me to keep it a secret, just in case it’s someone we can’t trust,” you answered.

“That’s smart, I should probably stop telling people I work with an Avenger,” she muttered.

“You tell other people, but you don’t tell me?” you asked her.

She shrugged, looking away shyly, “I get excited while I’m on missions,”

“Kate! Come on in! I’ll introduce you to our Aunt May and Ned and MJ! They’re gonna love you!” Peter exclaimed, dragging her by the wrist softly and into the house.

You blinked back a couple times before following the duo inside. Your Aunt May was never really one to cook, so you were surprised by the amount of delicious smells that were coming from the kitchen.

But there was Happy Hogan was with a small apron wrapped around his waist. You tried to hold back a snicker at the smitten grown man, “Hey Happy,” you said.

“Y/N! Welcome back from college!” he engulfed you in a tight hug and you smiled softly. He pulled away, squinting his eyes at your girlfriend, “Kate is that you?” he asked.

“You know Happy?!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her around the Compound before,” he said, nonchalantly, “Her and Peter are like inseparable. More than you and him before you left,”

You let out a sigh before heading over to Aunt May, eager to introduce your girlfriend to her, but your brother already beat you to the punchline.

“May! This is my best friend Kate. She’s like my partner in crime at work!” Peter told her excitedly.

“Not to mention, my girlfriend,” you murmured.

“Hi Kate! It’s nice to meet you!” she exclaimed, embracing her in a tight hug.

Aunt May squealed when she saw you, “Sweetheart! Hi! I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, gathering you into a hug.

“Oh my god! Ned, look! It’s my other best friend Kate!” Peter exclaimed, dragging Kate over to where Ned and MJ were chilling on the couch. Kate shot you a sympathetic smile before following after him.

That’s how the rest of the night went. Kate has been holed up in Peter’s room with him, Ned, and MJ working on their 4000 piece Death Star Lego. You were sitting on the sofa, watching whatever they threw on TV.

Apparently, there was no more space in his room for you to sit there and watch. Kate didn’t even try to stay with you, she was so excited about the Lego that she just let it happen.

“Dinner’s ready guys!” Aunt May exclaimed.

You made your way to the table pouting, before sitting down at your usual spot on the table. All four of the friends made their way out of the room, laughing widely over something MJ said. Kate pressed a kiss on your forehead as she walked past you about to sit next to you, when Peter dragged her away to the opposite end of the table.

“Are you serious right now?” you scolded your brother.

He furrowed his eyebrows at you, looking at you innocently, “What?”

“Can I least sit next to my girlfriend at dinner?” you asked him, losing patience.

“I just wanted to talk to her about Star Wars,” he told you.

You rolled your eyes, turning to your Aunt May who was sitting next to you, “I forgot something at my apartment, I’ll be back,” you muttered, getting up from your chair and throwing your napkin down on it.

“Y/N-” Aunt May whispered, but you were already out the door, slamming it behind you.

You didn’t go home though. You made your way to the rooftop, a place you’d always escape to when you were upset at your brother. You wrapped your jacket around you as you sat on the ledge, looking at all the Christmas lights that filled the night sky.

The cold air made your nose turn a bright red as the nippy frost caused your breath to show. You hugged the jacket around you tighter, shivering softly. Until you felt a heated blanket wrap around your shoulders, a mug extended out to you.

You let out a sigh as you saw your Aunt May standing there with a soft smile. The thing about this hiding spot was that she always knew where to find you, “What’s wrong sweetheart? Happy made some really good food,” she sat down next to you, wrapping around a heated blanket around herself.

“I love that Peter and Kate are besties, but I can’t help but feel that...”

“Peter is taking over,” she asked.

You let out an exasperated breath, “Yeah! The entire night he has been clinging onto her like she’s a puppy he found on the streets. He doesn’t even want to acknowledge the fact that maybe I want to hang out with girlfriend for Christmas? It’s like such a foreign idea in his head,”

“You know your brother. He’s always been super excited over things, but most of all I think he’s always wanted to protect you. So, when he found out that you were dating someone he knows and trusts, he realized that he could let loose and have fun with one of his best friends. He told me countless times how nervous he was that you were bringing someone home. He didn’t want to see you get hurt,”

You hung your head low, sighing softly, “I get that, but maybe he could let off a little bit?”

“I agree,” she wrapped her arms around your shoulder, pulling you into her side, “I’ll talk to him, okay? You come down when you’re ready,”

She placed a kiss to your temple, before getting up, “Thank you,”

“Of course,”

Peter was always the one in the spotlight out of the two of you. And a part of you was always envious about that. He was crazy smart with stellar grades and big brains. The only reason why you even went to the same high school was because Aunt May plead a case for you to attend.

You didn’t blame him though. It wasn’t his fault that he was bitten by a radioactive spider and joined the Avengers because of a personal invitation by Tony Stark. It was just hard, always trying to live up to his expectations.

After a few minutes, someone sat down next to you. You could already tell it was your brother by the way he was sitting, awkwardly. You finally turned your head to look at him and he gave you an awkward smile, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, smiling at you sadly.

“It’s fine,” you told him.

“See, I learned from dating MJ that when a girl says she’s fine, she’s not really fine,” he pointed out, “But I really am sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to ruin your Christmas with Kate,”

“You didn’t. I don’t know I guess I just thought that for once, I could have something special that you weren’t a part of,” you whispered.

“What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head to the side like a lost puppy.

You let out a sigh, “You’ve always been the special one Pete. You had the grades, the cool job, the radioactive powers. I was just me...normal, mediocre grades, a regular job, with no radioactive powers. I just wanted Kate to be the one special thing that you didn’t have,” you whispered.

“She is so special to me. I had this idea of coming here and introducing the two of you and it being perfect, but you swooped in and it was completely different. I was in your shadows again...”

“I-I didn’t know you felt that way,” he whispered, “I always thought the same about you. You were normal. You didn’t have the risk of putting everyone in danger. I was so scared that your girlfriend was going to be an enemy trying to get close to you to get intel on me. I put all of you at risk by just being Spider-Man, I wish I was more like you,”

You chuckled softly, “It seems like we have the same problem,”

He nudged your shoulder, “I’m still sorry. From now on, I’ll back off with Kate and allow you to spend time with your girlfriend...I guess,” he teased and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“What if I swooped in and stole your girlfriend? MJ’s super pretty,” you trailed off.

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, no not gonna happen. It’ll bring me flashbacks to when Liz liked you and not me,” he shuddered at the scary thought and you laughed together.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he told you after a few moments, “I don’t think I got a chance to tell you that today,”

You wrapped your arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a hug, “I’m glad you’re still here with me bud,” you whispered and he patted your back softly.

A clear of the throat broke the sweet moment, “Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like some time with my actual girlfriend now,” Kate teased.

Peter hopped up from his spot and walked back inside, waving softly. Kate pulled the blanket off of you before sliding in behind you. She wrapped her arms around your waist after pulling the blanket around her shoulder. Enveloping you both in warmth.

The archer pressed a soft kiss to your jawline, smiling at you softly, “I’m sorry for being MIA today. It’s just Peter really liked me already and I was trying to get your friends and May to like me and I just got lost in the moment. Because I really like you, to the point of being in love with you and I really wanted them to like me so I wouldn’t lose you. But it only caused me to not tend to you and your needs and I’m really sorry. Please don’t be-”

You cut her off by pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. She smiled softly into the kiss, holding you unbelievably closer to her body. The black haired girl, peppered your cold face with kisses. You let out a soft giggle.

“I’m not mad, I was a little frustrated, but not mad,” you whispered, “And I love you too,” you told her.

Her eyes lit up at the simple phrase, peppering your face once more. She knew you despised it, but she couldn’t help the beautiful sound of giggles that would emit from your lips.

“Can we go downstairs? I’m a little cold,” Kate asked you after a few minutes.

You chuckled, “Of course, but I bet you ten dollars that they’re listening from the stairwell,”

She looked at you inquisitively. You walked to the door, quietly, before swinging it open. Peter and Ned falling onto the powdery white snow that layered the roof. Happy, May, and MJ smiling shyly behind them.

“Merry Christmas?” Peter said.

You laughed softly, ruffling his hair, “Merry Christmas guys,”

#kate bishop #kate bishop imagines #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop x fem reader #kate bishop x reader

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sailorhyunjinz · 3 years

Text

~ 𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 ~

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; chan x fem!reader, bonnie&clyde!au, criminal!au, 60′s!au, bank robbery, heavy use of tobacco, explicit language,weaponry, mentions of infidelity, manipulation, mentions of murder, mentions of reader being smaller than chan, mentions of religious beliefs, authorities, american style!au, death, implied su-cide.

𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ; SMUT!! sex against a wall (lmao good warning there cherry), dom!chan x sub!fem!reader, angry sex, dry humping, degradation, blowjob, face fucking, rough sex, dacryphilia, choking, possessiveness, implied corruption kink, creampie, unprotected sex (be careful plz), piv, clitorial stimulation, orgasm (m/f), cum.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 ; 5.9 k

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦 ; this was heavily inspired by both well bonnie and clyde but also “the serpent” because holy fuck i loved that serie so much

also warning right; this is purely fiction and not meant to romanticise crime and i think it’s pretty obvious that i don’t know shit about how to rob a bank neither do i know anything about weapons,,, so take this with a grain of salt.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 18

It was love. Love had led you down this path and shattered the one you cared the most about, the one that held your hand, the one that promised to die for you. Silence filled your mind as you stroked his cold cheek, his eyes closed.

Your partner in crime.

Bang Chan.

“Tonight, coming up on channel 4, the continuation of the Lagoons.”

You turned the knob on the car radio, the windows on the silver vauxhall viva rolled down, your hair fluttering in the light breeze that accompanied the summer heat. The voice on the radio got distorted as you shifted channels, the antenna on the car barely being able to pick up signal from how far out in the desolate area the two of you were.

“Who the fuck watches the lagoons?” you said, furrowing your eyebrows, searching for some funky tunes as Chan was driving, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He laughed, the cigarette smoke whiffing over to you, burning at the tip and hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

“Where we heading, sweet cakes?” he asked, cocking his eyebrows and checking himself out in the rearview mirror. You scoffed, adjusting the silk scarf around your head and reaching into the glove compartment of the light colored interior of the car, grabbing the half empty cigarette box.

“Don’t call me that, I’m married” you say, the flicker of the metal zippo echoing, a purple flame igniting and burning the white end of the cigarette in your mouth, the orange part quickly stained by your lipstick. Chan smirked, casting a glance at you as you puffed, putting the lighter on the dashboard and leaning back against the leather seats, exhaling the smoke through the window as you observed the mountains that passed you, sweltering heat making your vision blur.

“And still you fuck me. What’s he good for? Cheating on you? You should just throw that ring away, I’ll buy you a new one”

The ring.

You and your ex-husband never officially divorced. You just packed up your things and left one night when he was out drinking, probably snogging a woman younger his age. The emerald ring that he once put on your finger held no meaning, it was simply for aesthetic now. Memorabilia from when life was worse, reminding you to always strive for something better. It was ironic, the way the sun shined on the emerald green symbolizes wealth and toxic jealousy. You couldn’t help but to feel jealous of the many young women he spent his nights with. You thought you had moved on but maybe you hadn’t since you refused to let go of the ring. Thank god you didn’t have his child or else you’d be tied down for life. You escaped at the right time.

You didn’t answer Chan, simply staring out at the window. The car zoomed past with speed, there was no time for resting since you two were the infamous criminals that could be captured at any moment, it was still a miracle you were alive and well despite how many times you’ve been in open fire with the authorities. The two of you always managed and had each other in the end and the plethora of guns that were loaded in the trunk could buy you freedom for a little while. A gritty highway that never seemed to end, the tumbleweeds rolling about in the distance, he searched for a place you could rest since dusk would soon arrive. Life as a runaway couple had it’s ups and downs but the worst part of it was not knowing if you would survive another day, cops could just arrest you, rip you from your lover and lock you up like you were once before, writing love letters to Chan on a filthy piece of paper until you were bailed out by none other than your mother that you abandoned for him. They didn’t understand. He might be a criminal, stealing cars with his older brother since he admired his fancy lifestyle with hookers, expensive liquor and gold. He was so close until he stumbled up to you through a mutual friend and fell head over heels, he was too much of a hopeless romantic for him to be able to lead such a lifestyle.

A big sign was ahead of you, a small red building inching closer to the two of you. Sure, it wasn’t the safest place, anyone could call the authorities on you but luckily telecommunications weren’t that advanced out here, most of the news being the ones you heard from between others lips. You two were simply a married couple whatever new village you infiltrated or at least that’s what people thought, the two of you were simply well-off, being able to afford the most expensive cigars and perfumes. The cigarette had burned down, almost meeting your plush lips that were covered in the latest lipstick. You threw it out the window, Chan had done the same moments prior.

“What you say, hm? How about here for tonight?” he asked in a low voice, his hair slicked to the side, his jaw clenching as he rested his head on the headrest, looking at you with a quick glance with a smile. He always smiled when he gazed at you, it was almost a reflex. He was too smitten with love. You nodded, grabbing your oval sunglasses from the seat in between you and Chan, putting them on and observing yourself in the exterior mirror. Now you were ready for greetings with strangers, hiding behind your dark tinted shades.

The young man swerves onto the dusty driveway, the dust billowing from behind the car as stones flew everywhere, the car coming to a hasty halt. Your back bounced against the seat, removing your safety belt and opening the car door, stepping out with your shining red heels. The hotel seemed kinda small, perfect place for two sought-after criminals to hide. The building was a cherry red, tacky curtain in mustard yellow covering the chipped white window frames that held up the grimy glass panes. It lied in a remote place, being the only building as far as the eyes could see, beside the hotel there was a kiosk where one could buy the most basic necessities like bread, milk and cigarettes. As you were looking around the place, standing with your feet wide and your hand on your hip, Chan was busy unpacking the car. Not the weapons that were nicely hidden beneath a blanket but your two small briefcases containing nothing more than a couple of expensive clothes, makeup, a small notebook of your poems, a camera and photos of relatives. As you observed the mountainous landscape and dry land where cactuses made their home a small old man hurried out, dressed in a half-dingy suit and vest, the colorful tie being the main focus.

“Welcome welcome!” he says in a scurried voice. “Please, let me!” The old man shuffled over to Chan, grabbing the briefcases out of his grasp to which Chan bowed subtly in thankfulness. You and him followed the man inside through a lime green door and were greeted by the lobby that had a dark oak check-in counter, decorated with small trinkets of older times, a golden clock and small piles of paper. The man put down the bags in front of the desk, you casting a glance at Chan that was looking at the keys and the tags attached on the walls on small hooks.

“How long will you be staying for?” the man asked to which Chan hummed, looking at you before clearing his throat and answering - “Just one night”

“alrighty hmmm,,, then I’m guessing a double bed would suit your fancy? You do make a lovely couple indeed” he said with a smile, showing off his yellow stained teeth, years of coffee and tobacco. You smiled, clenching your jaw in frustration.

“Thank you, which room exactly?” you said quickly, wanting the old man to hurry his actions. He looked back, exposing his half-balding grey head of hair and stretched for a pair of keys at the top, the keys jingling as he put them on the desk.

“Room 4, it’s just here by the side. That will be 30 dollars” he said, writing something down on a piece of paper. Chan opened one of the luggages, quickly pulling out the needed amount and tips out from one of many wads of cash that were neatly tucked away between clothes and other products. He put the green bills on the desk to which the old man heightened his eyebrows, the generous tip falling to his liking.

“Keep the change” Chan said with a smile, picking up the briefcases and heading to the room. You smiled at the old man as well, picking up the keys and turning to head over to your lover.

You put the keys in the lock of the brittle wooden door, a small golden plate saying ‘4′ with a clear font. As the door opened you were met by a rather rustic room, the walls colored light blue and the bed frame the same wood as the door, murky white duvet covers on the bed. Luckily it was just one night.

Chan started packing up your belongings, mainly picking up a map of the area that he bought at a supermarket hours prior. He unfolded the bunt of paper, laying it flat on a vanity that had a round mirror attached in front. He placed his index finger harshly on a certain point on the map, his fingers clad in all kinds of rings with jewels.

“Here we are, Johnsons motel, right?” You nodded at his question, him continuing talking in a firm voice. “So if we take this route tomorrow at around 9 am we should be there by 10:50 am which is perfect, we c-” You interrupted him mid sentence.

“Chan, you told me we weren’t gonna do this until next week, we have money!” you yelled, only then remembering that the walls are thin in such a matured building. He sighed, turning to gaze at you with dark eyes. He hated it when you contradicted him, it was almost like he was addicted to making you his slave and sure, he did take care of you whenever you were hurt due to his actions but he liked having you totally dependent on him, risking your life for him. The veins running down his arms got bolder, he moved the arm that was holding him up from the vanity instead standing right in front of you with a wide stance, his eyebrows heightened.

“What did you say?”

Your back hit the tasteless blue wallpaper as Chan walked towards you, trapping you between the wall and his muscular figure. A harsh gulp descended down your esophagus as you gazed intently into his hooded eyes, yours twinkling with mere innocence though you were far from innocent in the eyes of the public. He looked you up and down, almost swearing with his eyes, gliding his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“I said why can’t we just wait with that for a bit? We robbed multiple stores last week and we have money? I don’t see why you need to hurry so, like fuck s-”

“So you think money grows on trees? We do this together y/n and I could just leave you whenever, I’d just laugh seeing your ass trying to survive”

He leaned closer to your ear, his body pressed against yours. His hot breath lingered near you, tickling the shell of your ear.

“Or better yet I could kill you, no one needs a criminal”

His voice vibrated through you, the deep tone scaring you but oddly turning you on, the heat pooling around your core, your panties sticking to the thin fabric of your panties. You burst into laughter, catching him off guard.

“You motherfucker” you said through your teeth, smiling brightly at him.

“I don’t like this attitude you’re giving me y/n, I’m not joking with you” he said with a devilish smirk, moving away from your ear and staring into your soul. It was almost as if he stared through you, his jaw moving as he clenched it.

“Does it look like I’m joking?” your facial expressions turned serious in seconds, the smile wiping off your face. You looked him dead in the eyes, not even flinching when he smashed the rough palm of his hand on the wall next to your head, the loud sound echoing in the cool room, the slight humming of the air conditioner above the bed.

“No and you won’t be after I fuck you”

You wanted to rile him up even more, get him so angry that he had no other choice but to pin you against the wall and stuff his cock so far down your leaking cunt that you’d alert the other guests around the motel, hearing how good Chan fucks you.

“Hah,,, is that your only threat?” you chuckled mockingly, running your pointer finger up his toned chest, lifting up his head by his chin and flicking your finger off it, striking a jeering smile at him. His knee traveled up your leg, jabbing at your wet clothed entrance to which you accidentally moan, the gain of friction finally arriving when your core was burning with pure arousal as Chan spoke. With a gleaming look in your eyes you rubbed against his knee, his slightly cold hands wrapping around your neck, feeling your larynx bob when you swallow your spit, not breaking eye contact for a second. His lips landed on yours, pushing his knee against your sex causing you to moan into the kiss as you rolled your hips on the flat surface of his dress pants. Your lips pursed, teasingly biting his bottom lip as a sign that you needed him, his tongue slipping into your mouth and danced around with yours in a sloppy battle. Your hands fumbled with the big metal buckle of his belt, undoing it in desperation and unzipping the black pants that covered his bottom half. Chan grunted as you palmed him through his boxers, his erection begging to be freed from it’s clothed prison, you squeezed his member, massaging it in your hands to make his knees weak, make him beg for you but this time you would be begging for him as he placed removed his knee from your dripping cunt causing you to whine from the loss of contact.

“C-chan, please I need you” you pleaded in a thin voice, lifting your head up as his kiss diverted to your neck, his rough lips leaving kiss after kiss on the sensitive skin, moving down to your exposed collarbones.

“You’ll only get what you want if you do whatever I ask you to”

You nodded eagerly, putting your hands down his boxers and stroking his cock, Chan groaning against the skin of your neck near your ear, your earrings rattling.

“Yes, I’ll do anything! J-just fuck me already” you whimpered, your hot cheek against the wall.

“Then you follow your little ass to the bank tomorrow and do what you are told, understood?” His voice was deep, humming as he nibbled on your ear, giving it small kitten licks.

“And if I don’t?” You challenged him for a last time, stopping your slow strokes down the shaft of his twitching dick and removing your hands from his underwear and instead wrapping your arms around his waist. He scoffs, pulling back and looking you in the eyes, slowly putting his hand around your throat and tightening.

“I’ll choke you to death, you know I’ll get away with it” he said with a lifeless smirk. You nodded in pure fear, your eyes twinkling in the minimal light that came from the sun setting outside the dusty windows. Suddenly his hands grasp a handful of your hair, gripping it by the roots and shoving you down on your knees that land on the frangible floorboards with a thump. He harshly lets go of your hair in order to pull down his pants and underwear, his hard veiny cock springing free mere inches from your saliva coated lips. Chan gave his cock a couple of strokes before rubbing the crimson tip against your lips, hissing when you poke your tongue out, him smearing his precum against the surface of your wet tongue. You pursed your lips around him, slowly working your way down his shaft, taking a breath of air every time you pull away, licking the underside of his dick with fat stripes all the way from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue off. His big hands grabbed either side of your head, him thrusting inside your throat, not caring if you gagged, that just made him even more viscous, hearing your desperate moaning and seeing the spit run down your chin and neck covered in his marks. Your head bumped against the wall with every thrust, your nose pressing up against his abdomen as he was balls deep inside your mouth. Your eyes burned, tears teasing at your tear duct, a cold salty stream rolling down your cheek as he stopped, pulling out your mouth, you coughing violently. He swiped his thumb over your cheek, wiping the tear with one finger before grabbing you by the neck, lifting your head up and looking into your eyes as he inserted his dick in your mouth once again, your thick saliva making his cock glisten. His silent groans only made you helplessly rub your thighs together, eager to have him inside of you. Every moan that slipped from between his swollen lips made the blood rush south, not to mention his fierce eyes that were glued on you as he coldly fucked your skull, no hint of compassion. He stretched out your throat, the clear outline of his cock making its appearance on your esophagus as he went deeper, groaning as you felt him twitch inside your mouth. As the familiar sensation of a knot in his stomach descended upon him he pulled out, rubbing the tip of his leaking cock against your glistening lips before he was quick with his movements.

It didn’t take much for Chan to throw you over his shoulder, legs thrashing and you squealing, telling him to put you down. He did but not in the way you expected, slamming you down on the plushy bed, a fine layer of dust swirling in the orange sunset that shined in. The impact caught you off guard, knocking the air out of your lungs. Chan climbed on top of you, his belt buckle touching your body as he hovered above you. You hastily shuffled upwards to the headboard, lifting your hips as you removed your brightly colored bell bottom pants revealing your panties that already had a wet stain decorating them, Chan chuckling as his thumb glided over the patch of wetness.

“You’re so needy baby, all worked up from giving me a blowjob, huh? I can slip my cock into you so easily” he purred at you, his fingers hooking at the elastic band of your underwear, slipping them down to your ankles, you shimmying your foot out of the fabric and letting the panties dangle from your other foot as your spread your legs, Chan being in between them. He danced his fingers up the wet folds that presented themselves in front of him, you squirming at the slightest touch.

“You think you have control, you think you can do anything without me? You’re wrong, without me you’re nothing” he growled at you, his fingers covered in your slick as he teased your clit, fingers rolling in circles as you clutched onto the covers, knuckles whitening. You hurried by taking off your top, throwing your bra somewhere in the same direction, exposing your hardened buds, Chan’s mouth watering. He did the same, momentarily losing contact with your wet cunt as he pulled off his shirt, his perfectly sculpted body surprising you every time, as if you hadn’t fucked him countless times before. Chan attached his lips to one of your nipples, the other one being fondled by his hand, the cold pure silver causing you to shiver. Your hands stroked his soft hair, twirling it between your fingers and softly whimpering. He left tiny marks all over your chest, his lips sucking and gently nibbling on your supple skin. When your entire chest was a mess of marks and spit he lifted your legs, leaning them against his wide sturdy shoulders as he teased your wet entrance, rubbing his tip against your folds causing your back to arch slightly, a long pitched mewl forcing its way out of your mouth. When he finally slipped his cock inside you he groaned at your tightness.

“fuck y/n, you’re so tight no matter how much I fuck you” he said, leaning over you so that your legs almost touch your chest, planting one hand beside your neck as the other one choked you, the restriction of air making you lightheaded but only adding to the pleasure that burned at your core as he relentlessly fucked into your squelching cunt. Your feet dangled near his shoulders lifelessly as the sheer momentum of his thrusts made you move upwards on the bed, the bed frame creaking due to the age it carried, you hoped no one noticed what scandalous activities was going on this room but it was probably already too late as your moans turned into high pitched cries. Your hands folded over Chan’s wrist as you tried to stabilize yourself, it took every ounce of strength to not close your quivering thighs. His thrusts got faster, rolling his hips against yours as the hand around your neck loosed, a harsh slap landing across your tear stained cheek, his thumb dipping inside your mouth, you latching on instantly.

“Look at you, thinking you’re so tough. You’re weak, remember that” he said with a lifted smirk, asserting his dominance through his dark gaze. You nodded, feeding his ego even more as the hand around your neck tightened, making you lightheaded with arousal, his cock ramming into your tight cunt that begged for release just like you. Chan loved seeing you like this. All fucked out with drool hanging from the corners of your lips, your eyes rolling back into your skull as he vigorously made your world shake, going hard enough to make the bed squeak loudly, the headboard bumping into the wall with every thrust. You couldn’t form a single sentence, blabbering incoherent sentences with his name stringed into it, in your mind you made perfect sense but your hesitant lips didn’t do the same.

“f-fuck!” you cried out, the even pace getting sloppier as the skin slapping sound grew louder, bouncing against the awfully colored walls of the shabby motel room. You squirmed around on the bed, flailing your arms as you desperately tried to grab onto either your lover or the flowery sheets, your efforts fruitless as you felt your orgasm approaching with wide strides as Chan started circling your swollen abused clit with the pad of the hand that wasn't forcefully holding onto your throat, making you swoon. You arched your back as you couldn’t hold on any longer, clenching around his cock with every ounce of perseverance. With weak legs you interlaced them, trapping him deeper inside you as the merciless fiddling with your bud made you let out a breathy broken moan, your tits bouncing with the movements. The male looked at the tears that rolled down your cheeks, adoring your bloodshot eyes. How he loved staring down at his prized possession. He had ruined a once innocent girl, made her his with the mere power of love and crime.

He lulled his head back as he was dangerously close to his climax, drawing in a harsh breath from between his clenched teeth, the air cooling down in his mouth before warming up in his tobacco-stained lungs. He was sent over the edge with a final thrust that made your body jolt in excitement, his thumb now simply resting on your clit as all thoughts were wiped clean from his mind, his hot seed spilling into your cunt, unknowingly making you cum as your abdomen contracted, your teary eyes squinting together, not in pain but in pleasure. His cum painted the quivering walls of your sex, draping his body over yours as he panted, staying inside you to ensure every drop of cum was where it supposed to be. His lips were coated with a fine layer of saliva, two lips meeting in a loveable kiss. It might seem odd to others. That you love a man that only brings you down or uses you, at least that’s what it looked like from a different perspective but you were infatuated, maybe even obsessed. He made you famous and he took you under his wing when you fled from your scumbag of a husband.

Now Chan was the only thing that mattered.

He pulled out, falling down beside you, the weight of the bed shifting as his built back hit it. The cum dripped out of you slowly, hitting the sheets and staining them. You ruffled your hair before you stood up, cum running down your inner thigh as you made your way over to the shower. Chan instead crept down under the covers, staring up at the ceiling in a half lying position, casting glance at the dark oak bedside tables where a packet of cigarettes was left haphazardly along with your metal zippo, a gift from your dad that died in war. It was important to you, important enough to destroy you with smoke. Chan retrieved one of the deadly sticks from it’s pretty eye catching packaging and lit one end, inhaling the smoke. He put one hand beneath his head that was supported by the pillow as he other one momentarily removed the cigarette, flicking the ashes on the cold tile floor, the grey thick smoke spreading through the room, interlacing the bed sheets with it’s scent. The gentle tapping of the water on the bathroom floor calmed him, calmed him from knowing that tomorrow might be the last day he’s alive. Or maybe it’s you.

Here you were again, getting into the sparkling clean car that was loaded with nothing more than a multitude of weaponry that many times wasn’t used against civilians, just to give a gentle reminder that you don’t fuck with the two of you unless you wanna get a bullet burned through your skull. If they ask for it they are gonna get it.

Chan loaded the suitcases into the truck where a blanket covered the weapons, the pile of murder machines looking innocent like this. The sand of the desert was blowing in your face, your long skirt flowing in the wind. Just because you were a criminal didn’t mean you had to dress out of fashion, the style was a part of it. You gazed out into the valleys of dust, the lonesome tumbleweeds drifting with the wind like a blind rat following the smell of musky cheese, not aware that it’s heading to it’s own death.

“Ready, sugarplum?” Chan said, wrapping his hand around your head and leaning it against his sturdy shoulder.

“I was born ready” you whispered into the wuthering wind. He smiled but put on a serious face as you looked at him, before walking over to the passenger seat, opening the car door.

“Let’s do what we do best, darling.” you said with a bittersweet grin, sitting down and closing the door.

The bank wasn’t too far away, that being that it was still in the same state since many other robberies required long car rides that was either filled with funky tunes or more cigarettes than you can count. This one wasn’t any different. His two hands were gripping the steering wheel as he drove faster than the speed limit, praying to whatever nonexistent god he had in his head that the police wouldn’t flash their red and blue sirens behind the vehicle. He probably prayed to the money. He often said that money did things not even god was able to do and there was truth in Chan’s words or maybe the both of you were too infatuated with the idea of money that you would go to any lengths just to get it. Just to smell the fresh dollar bills in your hands. The car was in complete silence, only the growling of the engine being heard. It was always scary heading to a new place, you never knew what would happen there. Maybe it’s the last time you witness your lover behind the steering wheel, the last time you feel the wind fluttering through you hair due to the rolled down window. Maybe it was the last time you would see the emerald green jewel reflecting it’s light as the sun bounced off the glossy surface of the stone. You denied your longing for your husband, beside all the cheating and drugs you were ready to stay with him but there was one thing that Chan could do better; love.

You could tell how tense Chan was. The way he anxiously checked the rearview mirror and forcefully looked straight at the neverending road in the middle of nowhere. It was pretty apparent that this lifestyle was driving him mad, making all his nerves stand on the edge of his skin, paranoid to the bone. But there was no end in sight unless someone else put that end there. He was never gonna stop, go as far as he could and shoot for the stars. It was people like him, greedy people that life usually steered the wrong way and well,,, you were one of those as well, greedy for luxury even though the life you were living now was anything far from that. You turned to Chan, his one hand rested in his lap and you slowly reached over to grab it, rubbing your thumb over knuckles. His eyes momentarily diverted from the road to you, looking at your eyes that were focused on his slightly rough hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, Chan parked into the parking lot of the bank, the building being just as remotely placed as the motel. Perfect. The car was strategically placed near the road for easy escape if there would even be any required. As you stepped out of the car you opened the trunk, uncovering the multitude of weapons that lay beneath the blanket and passed Chan his favorite rifle, the M1918 Browning Rifle. You simply stuck to a revolver since you could hide it in your holster for when you needed two hands to grab the money and shove it into the burlap bag.

There wasn’t much thought needed for the robberies that happened this far away from the city, the local police station was a good drive away so neither you or Chan worried too much but it was still a risk. The big wooden doors were slammed open by him, a shot up into the ceiling shattered a lamp and next second your ears were filled by the terrified screams of men, women and children. You didn’t hesitate your movements as you went up to the multiple receptionist desks where the women in neat uniforms were all kneeling on the floor.

“Get the fuck up!” you yelled, jumping on the desk and pointing your gun at one of the girls, she looked rather young and innocent with her dark shaking pupils that wandered with pure fear. You yelled at her to open all the vaults, to which she complied not having any other choice than to get shot. Her hands quivered as she put the money in the bag, filling it up with valuable green bills that would promise you dreams. You glanced back at Chan that was pointing the rifle at the people that lied down on their stomachs with their hands on their head, the sound of a child's tears not even bothering him or his conscience. You held the gun to her head, lonesome tears streaming down her face as her legs were barely able to hold her up. A smile cracked on your crimson painted lips as the bag filled up, the feeling of adrenaline rushing through your blood making you fly on the clouds, you could do whatever you wanted in this moment. You were free.

Just as you were about to turn around, signaling to Chan that the mission was done you heard another gunshot that was foreign from the usual sounds of the weapons you carried. It didn’t sound like it came from inside the building. The second after you heard a window shatter, glass flying over the civilians that screamed in fear once again and then you heard a thump, a loud one. You looked over your shoulder and there he was, your lover with a bullet through his back, the puddle of sangria red blood spreading over the bright vinyl flooring. This was the sight you feared the most in the world and here it was, right in front of your naked eyes. You dropped the revolver you held in your dominant hand and rushed over to him as you heard a male voice over a megaphone from outside the building.

“Civilians, exit the building immediately”

The crowd of people squeezed through the doors, fleeing to whatever corner they could or hiding behind the countless cop cars that flashed their colorful sirens. You dragged Chan’s head into your lap as you fell down in defeat, looking at his closed eyes and his face that turned a pale blue with hints of grey, he was cold to the touch and his blood stained your clothes as well as the floor, the dark red marks on the floor that lead to his body as you dragged him closer to you, cupping his cheek. Frigid tears rolled down your cheeks and accumulated on your chin before dripping down onto his face, coloring his lips with a clear sheen.

He wasn’t gone, he simply couldn’t be. He was your Chan, the Chan that always got away no matter what. Nothing could stop the two of you, not a stupid bullet through his back. You shaked him as you sobbed loudly, your lips quivering as black streaks of mascara covered the supple valleys of your cheeks.

“Chan! Chan, fuck!! Wake up!!” you yelled as you shook him vigorously but his lifeless body was limp in your arms, no sign of life to be seen. You hugged him closer, not feeling his heartbeat or lungs filling with air from this cursed place. He wasn’t gone, he was still here and he would wake up one day, you told yourself these lies because they are easier to believe than the cold hard truth. Your blood boiled with pure rage. Somebody had stopped your dream life, that someone being the law itself but no matter who it was it still stopped you and you never took no for an answer. Your empty lost gaze diverted to the loaded gun that lied only footsteps away from your cowered body.

“Exit the building, leave the weapons” you heard the voice call out from outside, the megaphone crackling and distorting the voice.

What was better?

Dying in the hands of the authorities or dying in Chan’s arms?

496 notes · View notes

1kook · 4 years

Text

attachment: 1 image

— jjk x (f) reader

summary; But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere. warnings; sexting, dick pics, dirty talk?, phone sex, vivid depictions of jungkook being just so sexy bc its true, rating; mature (18+) misc; mentions of youtuber kook 🥰, he’s just horny, stupid selfie trends (see here), he’s a little whiny but so hot v.v wc; 4.6k

notes; I've had this in my drafts since april 😐 n then i was like maybe we should actually finish this so i started n then last night i hit another follower milestone!!! so then i rlly forced myself to finish this bc i was so 🥺🖤👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anyway enjoy lmk what u think its not proofread bc uhhhhh yeah 🤩

You’re at work when it happens.

It’s sometime between your usual listless thoughts of what to write for your weekly reflection papers for some course, and your trip to your store’s pharmacy to bother a coworker. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of your work apron. You’re normally pretty good at ignoring the sound, most of the times it’s just a classmate asking for help on homework or Jimin lamenting his love life, so you’ve grown used to ignoring the tiny vibrations, stocking a quarter shelf of different cooking oils before something in your brain tells you to check your phone.

You already know it’s not something grave, but that thought alone means nothing at the sight of the tiny jungkook♡ that appears at the very top of the list of notifications. Your boyfriend’s texts tended to be wildcards, never following a certain routine or alluding to any specifics. He could send you a long paragraph on how much he misses the scent of that one shampoo, the one you’d briefly run through last year because your usual brand was out of stock, with a ten point explanation on why you should switch back to it. Or two word, caveman sentences that drove you crazy because you never understood what exactly he wanted when he’d send those nondescript “munchies dip” texts.

You unlock your phone, clicking to the messenger app instead of directly on the notification. Hopefully the preview will give some warning on whether you should invest in this conversation or not. You hated the read receipts on messages, choosing to ghost conversations as you pleased, but Jungkook had wiggled his way into your phone one afternoon and specifically turned them on for his chat with you, and you’d never turned them off since. So he knows if you choose to ignore Attachment: 1 Image at 1:43pm exactly, and he'll pester you about it until you respond.

You contemplate it all for twenty seconds. It could be a variety of things, you guess, but the only way to find out is to actually see with your own eyes what he’s up to this time. He knows better than to distract you at work, is usually really good at waiting until your shift is over to spam you with messages. For him to send you something now, only a few hours into your shift, is uncharacteristic of him.

But you glance down the aisle anyway, taking note of some elderly woman you’d helped a few minutes prior and another teenager aimlessly walking around, probably looking for the snack aisle. You inhale and press down on your chat with Jungkook.

It takes you a moment to make out exactly what the image is, twisting and turning your phone around as you fight to see it without raising the brightness. It’s only when your eyes finally adjust to the dark screen, the faint beeping of the check-out registers fading into the distance, that you realize it’s a shot of the front of his sweatpants.

“Hm?” you murmur, getting brave enough to pinch the image between two fingers, zooming in until you’re able to decipher a multitude of details. For one, there’s a Flaming Hot Cheeto stain on the hem of his sweatpants, the same one you’d accidentally put on there a few weeks back and haven’t been able to wash out since. Then there’s that huge palm of his, tattoos and all, rested carefully against his thigh. It’s veiny and thick in all the right places, bringing all the attention to his knuckles, which you guess is what he was going for when you consider the centerpiece of the image—his hardened dick straining against the grey material.

There’s no text attached to the message, no snapchat font slapped over the image, so you wonder what exactly he wanted you to do with this information mid-shift. Well, realistically, you know exactly what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you won’t clown him before getting there. After all, Jungkook was seldom the naughty texter; sexting annoyed him, he would whine, because he would do all that and not even get to feel the true pleasure of sex, of being inside you. You’ve dabbled in it here and there, but it never went as perfectly as it did in pornos. He’d drop his phone and forget it, or you would straight up ignore the damn device as you went all in on yourself.

But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere.

you what’s this about?

You decide to play it safe, because as exciting as the image of Jungkook at his computer chair, cock hard and angry at the thought of you, fluffy hair ruffled in that way you adored, jaw twitching and tightening as he touched himself, moaned deep and rough and just how you liked and—

As nice as that image was, for all you knew this vague message was Jungkook sending you a picture from a week ago to purposefully fuck with you at work.

jungkook♡ what time u get off? jungkook♡ miss you bad baby

Your stomach flips, and it takes everything in you to not squeal and bounce between the shelves like a toddler on a sugar rush. Here was your boyfriend, the cutest, sweetest boy, sending you dirty pictures of himself and telling you how much he needed you. Yes, YOU, not some random on the street, or someone else in a club, Jungkook needed pleasure and that pleasure could only come from you.

You glance back down the aisle again, checking your surroundings for the second time that day. You’ve been standing here, stock cart empty for a little over five minutes now, so it’s probably best to change location lest your manager come barking down your neck. You send one quick text before heading off for stock again.

you 4pm :(

Your phone dings again just as you’re leaving the stockroom, but you decide to check it once you get to the hygiene aisle you need to work on next. Still, the prospect of Jungkook having texted you has you walking with a skip in your step, one your coworker teases you about when you pass by her.

jungkook♡ fuck jungkook♡ tell me what panties youre wearing jungkook♡ please ?

You bite your lip, stopping yourself from smiling at the tone you’d picked up from his message. There was no doubt he’d been riled up for a while now, and you wonder if he sat through his usual Saturday morning streams with his cock hard, pushed against the edge of his desk like you knew he did when such things happened. The thought has you nearly fumbling with a bottle of aloe vera.

you seamless black thong you the one you bought me at the last vs sale

Briefly, you wonder if you should have lied and told him you were wearing that red lace set he’d given you last Valentine’s Day, the one he’d bought with his first big YouTube check. But the beauty of being in a relationship with someone like Jungkook is that you could have told him you were wearing grandma undies and he’d still think you were the most beautiful person to grace the planet.

jungkook♡ mm jungkook♡ tiny ones u ruined last time?

You set your phone down, speed stock a row of sunscreen like you’re on some shelf stocking national competition, before daring to text Jungkook again. Your cheeks are still warm, and your hand tightens dangerously around a bottle of shaving cream.

Before you can formulate some response, he’s sending another one in.

jungkook♡ u soaked those jungkook♡ came fast that day jungkook♡ want u so bad

Your cheeks burn, a little embarrassed that he remembers such details. As with all Victoria’s Secret panties, they were, like Jungkook said, extremely thin. You pause, shift your stance just barely, but you’re definitely wet. Not terribly so, but with this fabric, you’d start to notice it sooner than with others.

you mm you makin me wet bunny

It’s not a complete lie, but knowing Jungkook this is exactly what he needs to hear to get that competitive streak going. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, stocking another section of men’s shaving cream. It takes longer for him to message you back, and you wonder if he got off fine on his own. If it’s over now, at least he provided you with some distraction midway into your shift.

When he texts you again, you’ve almost completely convinced yourself he’s finished, so the Attachment: 1 Video that appears on your lock screen throws you for a loop.

It’s a short clip, no longer than ten seconds, but it has you scrambling to lower the volume on your device as some unsuspecting mother of two wanders past. You flash her your practiced smile, the same one you give all the store’s customers. Not like your boyfriend is jacking it off on your phone, shallow pants filtering out from the speakers.

You turn your phone over carefully after she leaves, try to at least pretend you’re still doing your job as you play the video again.

Sweats are gone, but boxers remain. Legs deliciously exposed, thick thighs with muscles that ripple when he moves. Shirt pulled up just slightly to showcase that broad expanse of tummy, cute belly button and defined abs that tighten with each glide of his palm over the outline of his cock. Your mouth fills with drool at the sight. He was so hot.

Your brain hasn’t even processed it yet, all your energy directed towards your clenched pussy, when he shoots another text.

jungkook♡ im so fckin hard jungkook♡ wanna kiss yuo every where baby jungkook♡ come ove r soon ??

Shutting your eyes and counting to ten doesn’t help ward off the sudden wave of horniness that consumes you, but it does remind you of the job you’re supposed to be doing now. You shake your head, as if the image of Jungkook’s dick throbbing beneath his boxers, low voice in your ear, will magically disappear. It doesn’t, and it plagues you even more when you begin stocking a section of sunscreen, numbly instructing yourself on what to do next. Shaving cream, sunscreen, lotion next, you repeat.

It doesn’t help.

Two minutes later and you’re scrambling for the phone you’d hastily tucked into your apron pocket, tapping your passcode in until your messages with Jungkook are pulled up again.

you after work you promise

Your head is absolutely spinning, the coil in your stomach too tight for you to try and be a functioning member of society. Something in you says to sneak off to the bathroom and call him, but your boss is a little bit of a prick when he wants to be, thinks you take too many bathroom breaks as is.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. A curt call of your name has you whirling to face your shelves again, phone tightly pressed against your ribs like maybe it’ll melt into your skin and he won’t see it. At the same time, your sudden fright has you scrambling to turn it off, fingers sloppily pressing against the buttons, hitting the volume like seven times before you eventually feel the familiar click that signals it’s off.

Your boss disappears shortly after, and with his sudden appearance having made every hair on your body stand, you find yourself now slumping against your stock cart. Jesus, that man was a handful to deal with.

The paranoia sticks for a little bit, has you stocking shelf after shelf like a robot until you finish the entire row of hygiene products, back stiff from bending over so much. It’s only when you return to the stockroom ten minutes later that you dare take your phone out again.

A pleasant surprise awaits.

It would appear that during your haste to hide your phone from your boss— Jungkook’s scandalous messages and all —your frantic hands had done something else. A fuzzy picture on your end, a blurry display of lotion bottles you had stacked just before your boss’s impromptu appearance, with no words to accompany them. Normally Jungkook would have ignored that; you frequently sent accidental messages like this, butt texted him, he says.

But there’s something about Jungkook’s horny brain that makes him do stupid things, makes him blow up your phone with a series of question marks, call you four times, whine and fuss in your message thread, and eventually, send you probably the oddest image to date.

jungkook♡ ??? jungkook♡ ????what is that jungkook♡ baby please jungkook♡ I don’t get it ??

jungkook♡ Missed Call (4)

jungkook♡ baby jungkook♡ what does it mean jungkook♡ please ur drivign me insane jungkook♡ jsut wanna hear yuor voice jungkook♡ fuck please just

And then, there’s another one of those cursed Attachment: 1 Image messages.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. You’ve been dating Jungkook for a few months now, know he had that sort of unique personality most college dropouts turned YouTubers do. But every now and then the absurdity of his actions makes you question him still, makes you wonder what exactly goes on in that pretty head of his to warrant such ideas, makes him balance a bottle of body lotion on the thick outline of his cock like this.

Unlike the first few images, this one was taken in front of a mirror. The blinding fluorescent light in his bathroom paints him in a stark color, has every inch of his pretty face on display for you. Rosy cheeks, dewy skin. Perfectly swollen cock straining beneath his grey boxers, curved up against his hip. Shirt pulled up, finally freeing that expanse of muscles on his abdomen, cute little belly button on display once again. The red material is pulled up to his mouth, pearly white teeth biting down on the fabric, and he’s got this flushed expression on his face.

But the real star of the show isn’t his chiseled abdomen or sexy expression, but the sheer hardness of his dick that lets him balance a bottle of body lotion over it, like a fuckin’ shelf or something. He’s so hard, dick so full beneath his boxers. So big too, the little boxers pulled taught around said engorged cock and thick thighs.

Your brain says to laugh, to tease him for being such a clown even when he’s horny as hell. He won’t take it to heart, will probably laugh along with you and you’ll add it to your still growing list of funny memories.

But your caveman libido says call him, so that’s what you do, ducking down behind a new shipment pallet with a squeak as the phone rings. It only lasts four seconds before he picks up, voice breathy and low, but it sounds so loud in the silence of the stockroom.

He doesn’t even let you get a greeting in. “You like my picture, baby?” he husks. It sounds like he’s right there, right beside you, speaking into your ear. Your pussy throbs at the way he sounds. Paired with the picture from before, it has your body tingling all over.

“What the fuck is that?” you hiss, trying to not let the sudden overflow of arousal leak into your words. Jungkook chuckles.

“What?” he huffs. There’s the brief sound of shuffling, the scratchy noise of his phone presumably being pressed against his shoulder. “I’m so hard, baby,” he sighs before you can pretend to reprimand him any further. “Fuck— you, can you just talk to me?” he groans, and the disgusting sound of him spitting into his palm fills your ear.

Your face feels warm, eyes nervously peering across the stockroom like your boss will suddenly appear now of all times to rip you from this important phone call. The anxiety and arousal mix weirdly, have your leg bouncing but every new movement sends a shock up your aching cunt to your chest, and then out to the tips of your fingers.

“You shouldn’t be doing that when I’m at work,” you murmur hurriedly, moving to nervously bite at your finger. Jungkook moans softly.

“Uh huh,” he says.

The air conditioning turns on and you nearly jump out of your own skin. “Kook,” you stress, frazzled by your own burning arousal and the fear of being caught. Like you said. Weird mix. “I— not when I can’t respond.”

He shudders on the line. “You’re responding now,” he points out. You hate when he’s right. Before you can defend yourself, define what a proper response is in this scenario, he’s beating you to the punch. “Baby,” he whimpers, voice so airy yet low, makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, back unconsciously arching. “Couldn’t stop— fuck.”

Your mouth feels dry, all and any form of lecturing fading from your thoughts as you become consumed in Jungkook’s little whines and whimpers. He talks smoothly, a modern day Casanova, and it’s certainly because of that cult-like harem he’s gathered on YouTube. Teenage girls who kiss his ass, tell him he’s cute and dreamy. Make his ego so big.

But then he gets horny and can barely contain that lisp you tease him about, shivers and melts when you put his cock in your mouth. “Couldn't what, bunny?” you mumble, voice drawn tight because now you were really horny, and it was all his fault.

The nickname makes him mewl prettily, your speaker suddenly going scratchy as he fumbles with his phone. “C- Couldn't stop thinking about you— your mouth,” he admits, and now you’re certain he’d sat through that Saturday morning stream like this. “T- Tits,” he adds, lisp slipping through. “Fuck.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as you remind yourself now was not the time or place to get yourself off. But, well. That didn’t mean you couldn’t get him off. “Sat through your stream like this?” you murmur, circling your kneecap with a trembling finger as if it’ll ward away the raging lust in your abdomen. Jungkook confirms with a breathy moan. “Had all your little fans wondering why you ended so early.”

He groans. “No,” he chokes, voice hot from how much it wavers. “They— I lied,” he confesses out of nowhere, “s- said I had a doctor’s appointment.”

You muffle a giggle into your palm. “Naughty,” you tease. “Too hard to do your job.”

“Just,” he cuts off, voice feathery. He sounds so close and you haven’t even said anything of substantial value yet. “Tell me,” he says quietly, “what to— mmh, what to do.”

A smirk consumes your features. You try to hide it, but there’s no one here anyway so you’re left grinning at an unpacked box of dental floss like a madwoman. “Why?” you inquire playfully, bask in the sad little whimper he responds with. “Shouldn’t you know how to make yourself cum?”

Another groan of frustration, desperation seeping into his tone when he speaks again. “Baby, please,” he begs, and it feels good. Feels nice to have this big YouTuber begging for you like this, whimpering your name like his doesn’t appear on the top 25 most viewed. “Like when you— ah — when you tell me… what to do.”

Your body feels hot, thighs pressing together with each whimper that falls from his lips. “Okay,” you concede, and he audibly moans in relief. “Tip first,” you instruct softly, eyes defocusing as your brain slowly starts to manifest the image of Jungkook spread out on his bed. Thick thighs, grey boxers pulled taught around them, fat cock between his pretty hands, inked knuckles squeezing around his member. You swallow. You can tell exactly when Jungkook does as you say because another muffled moan fills the speaker. “One finger,” you remind him quickly, head spinning from the mere memory of his dick. “Run it… run it over the slit, bunny.”

“Nngh—“ Jungkook sputters. You can only imagine the face he’s making now, the bottom lip he’s bitten raw by now. He does it a lot; it’s a nervous habit. But as sexy as it looks when you’re in bed, you know he has sensitive lips because of it, bleeds easily if he’s too harsh. You have half the mind to remind him about it now, but then he’s hurriedly gasping out for more. “And, and then? Wha— what then, baby?”

He sounds so sweet, melodic voice dripping with honey. “Touch your balls,” you say a little breathlessly. “Don’t squeeze,” you add, “just roll your palm over them.” Your palm squeezes against your thigh, as if it’s remembering the feel of his body, the soft skin between his thighs when you’re down there. He gets so jittery, thick thighs nearly crushing you if you drag him along too much. “O- Other hand on your cock,” you stumble, thighs squeezed together. “Stroke yourself just like I do, bunny.”

Jungkook complies. “Just like you?” he mumbles, suddenly sounds farther away. As if he’s dropped his phone off to the side. “Fffuck,” he grunts, “m- mouth is so pretty.”

“Hm?” you inquire, so consumed with tampering down your growing arousal for a second that you miss his sentence.

Jungkook’s breath stutters, and for a moment you’re met with the wet squelch of his cock in his hand. And then, “pretty mouth… make me— make me wanna see you cry.”

You bite your lip. “Why,” you say tentatively, finally caving in with a hand fluttering over the front seam of your jeans. Not a question, more of a gentle nudge for him to spill his thoughts.

“Be- Because,” he cries, fucking into his hand. He sounds closer and closer. You have to wonder just how long he had been riled up. It’s been a while since his first message, he was probably desperate by now. “Y- You’re so nice,” he cries, and the sentiment, though oddly out of place, makes your heart squeeze with adoration for the boy on the line. “Wanna be,” he groans, “wanna be so fucking mean to you, baby.”

The sudden change of tone makes you choke on a moan, hand pressing against your mound like it’ll somehow penetrate the thick material of your jeans and give you the sensations you crave. As it stands, it’s a muted feeling you get instead. When your hands fail, his voice compensates. “Fffuck, don’t you— don’t you think about it too?”

Admittedly, no.

Jungkook had always been a gentleman in bed. Always cared for your needs before his own, went out of his way to make you feel pampered and adored during your most vulnerable moments. Contrary to what his online persona might say, he was a good boy. Sweetest boy you knew, touched you like you were made of glass.

So to suddenly learn of this dream— fantasy? kink? —of his that you would certainly enjoy equally as much, well. It made you whimper into your palm, eyes worriedly flickering toward the stockroom’s entrance.

“Why?” you whisper, feeling like a broken doll repeating the same phrase over and over again. You’re suddenly aware of how hot everything was. Your polo felt sticky against your spine, apron too tight, jeans too stuffy. How long had you been hiding in here for? You don’t even know. Hopefully your absence on the floor had gone unnoticed.

Jungkook pants into the line; everything sounds so sticky and wet on his end, hand undoubtedly working away at his cock. “Shit,” he curses, doesn’t really answer your question until you prod a second time. “I- I like it,” he stammers. “When you… fuck, when you look small.” He elaborates before you can even ask, breath heavy and drawn out. He was so close. “When your mouth… when it hurts,” he says, thoughts a scrambled mess. “Like when you— when you cry because my cock is— it’s too big for you.”

A blatant ego boost you’ll ignore for now. Not like you can focus on too many things right now anyway. “Your cock is big, bunny,” you agree softly instead. Your legs feel cramped from crouching so long, so you push yourself to your feet. Except then you’re made aware of how fucking wet you are, panties soaked from the phone call with your boyfriend. You shift and they stick to your folds, make you release a shaky exhale that Jungkook doesn’t miss.

“I— you’re wet,” he says boldly, and this time your meek confirmation isn’t a lie. Jungkook grunts. “Fuck, baby, I—“ cut off by his own whiny cry, probably bucking into his hand like a madman by now. “Wanna, wanna kiss you everywhere,” he says, a call back to his earlier message. Your legs feel like jello. You want him to kiss you everywhere too— lips, tits, cunt that is dripping for him now.

“I- I’ll be over soon,” you stammer, feeling like you’ll pass out if he carries on any further. He sounds so good on the line, soft pants, rough growls. You can’t possibly listen anymore, not when you’re so wet and horny in the middle of your shift. “Just,” you pause, can’t get the image of his pretty cock out of your mind. Every blink makes it more vivid, reminds you of the vein on the underside, the exact shade of the tip.

“What?” Jungkook hisses, voice higher than usual, parts of it lost under the rapid movements of his hand. “Tell me, baby, tell me what to do,” he begs hoarsely, “I’ll do it.” Sounds so desperate and needy, two seconds away from busting all over his hand.

You have to lean against the wall of the stockroom to ground yourself, remind yourself you’re not in the same situation as Jungkook and can’t cum in your pants like a teenager. “J- Just cum,” you choke, eyes fluttering shut.

He must’ve been waiting for that command, because the second the words leave your throat he’s filling the line with breathy groans and cries as he comes all over himself, probably ruins his t-shirt. The sounds have your hips unconsciously bucking forward into nothingness, the frustration of not being able to cum with him manifesting in the form of a tiny little sob. Luckily, he doesn’t catch it.

When it’s all said and done, he’s left panting into the receiver, flooding your speaker with breathy sighs that only make you more and more aroused.

“You’re terrible,” you frown, cheeks flushed, body tingling. You flip your wrist over and check the time; it’s been about sixteen minutes since you disappeared from outside. Sixteen minutes of listening to Jungkook touch himself and moan and whine and whimper. Tease you with new possibilities you had never considered before. And now he’s satisfied and you’re not.

Jungkook chuckles, low and tired. The sound shoots straight to your cunt. “Come over after you shift,” he says, as if you’re not planning to fake a severe case of the flu right now in order to get off early and run to his bed. You only had a little less than two hours of your shift left anyway. Not like they paid you well to begin with. Jungkook shifts, releases one of those saccharine groans as he probably snuggles into his bed, all sweaty and worn out. “Want you to fuck my face, baby.”

You frown, counting to ten to calm yourself down. Another few minutes of listless conversation, and you hang up. Your body feels featherlight, a little woozy as you make your way back out into the floor.

Nothing has changed. Customers pour in and out, your boss scolds you for a display you didn’t do, and life inside the store drags on. No one knows that you’re soaking your panties to hell and back, Jungkook’s soothing moans in your ear. Life goes on.

you shift ends in 20

jungkook♡ sweet jungkook♡ got your seat ready jungkook♡ Attachment: 1 Image

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jjk smut #jeongguk smut #jjk♡#jeon jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts jungkook #mine

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Let Them Talk

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female) ft. Sykkuno

Warnings: Swearing, Jealousy

Genre: Fluff, a bit of Angst

Summary: We can all agree Among Us is a fun game on its own but what makes it ten times better is playing it with the right company. Y/N could agree 100% Being a streamer herself, she loves playing with the streamer gang that includes her boyfriend and best friend. But, what happens when her boyfriend starts doubting her feelings for him due to her close relationship with her best friend.

Requested by @cheetoscat . Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it took so long to write, I hope the final product is worth the wait. Enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

Y/AU/N - Your Among Us Name

I settle in my gaming chair, adjusting my webcam one last time before joining the Among Us lobby with my friends.

“Hi everyone!“ I say into the mic, a smile plastering itself on my face. Discord is a magical thing, man. It’s so easy to forget that the people you are talking to aren’t around you or within arm’s reach. You could be separated by miles and miles of land or - in our case - oceans as well. Distance becomes negligible when you hear your friends’ voices, their laughter; when you have a good time together despite being each behind a screen, often times alone.

Well, I’m one of those lucky ones that isn’t alone. No one knows that, though. Everyone thinks I’m a single, self-employed girl that’s straight out of college. And they are 90% right. Only thing is - I’m not single. That would be a shocker in and of itself, but revealing who’s changed my relationship status would be a bomb with a whole new intensity.

Speaking of my significant other who shall remain unnamed - just kidding, it’s Corpse - his form materializes in the doorway of my recording room. I give him a hand signal the camera isn’t able to capture, alerting him of the fact that my mic is on. He replies by blowing me a kiss and walking off down the hall to his recording room where he’ll be stationed for the next three or so hours.

I owe this relationship to my best friend Sykkuno. I’m a pretty new and not very well known on the platform, however, thanks to him I haven’t only obtained a boyfriend, but a following of a little over million subscribers as well.

It all started with an invitation to fill a spot in the Among Us lobby him and his friends had created. It took him quite a bit to convince me to join, but I eventually caved and agreed. Suddenly, there I was. In a Discord call, in an Among Us lobby with some of the most well-known names on this platform. I’m talking YouTube legends. I was that puppy playing with the big dogs. The newbie tagging along with the big leagues. Or at least that’s how I felt until we all started vibing - talking and teasing each other as though we’ve known each other for years and not minutes.

When I joined the call, Corpse wasn’t present. After everyone else introduced themselves, Sykkuno informed me that we were waiting for Corpse to return. The name sounded really cool to me and I was genuinely very excited to meet this Corpse guy.

And then, out of the blue - no prep, no warning...

“Did you get someone to fill the spot? Oh- Hello, Y/AU/N.“

…he started talking and he had me star-struck. Apparently, he also had me a blabbering mess cause I remember blurting out: “Whoa, who’s this guy speaking in bold and underlined at the same time?”

The entire lobby, including Corpse, laughed. Sean, or Jack like they called him most often, answered my question, “That is the voice of God, Y/N. Its source is named Corpse, though.”

Heat spread from the bottom of my neck to the tips of my ears. I was mortified by my own stupidity. I was well aware they couldn’t see me and I was incredibly thankful for that, but I simply could not get myself to open my eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I said through nervous laughter.

“No, no, I like that description. Bold and underlined at the same time, huh?“ His voice sounded even more pleasant when it had that teasing, mischievous note to it. That thought popping up in my head only made things worse for my self-esteem and only made me more embarrassed, causing me to hide my face in my hands. “You sure it’s not in Italics as well?“

His question got a weak laugh out of me. “Nope, definitely not. Nothing Italic about it.“

Yes, I don’t even know how some terrible jokes about MS Word fonts got me as far as a romantic relationship, but they did! We’ve been living together for quite some time now, dating for even longer - hiding it just as long. It’s not that we have been actively trying to hide it or something, we just wanted to see how long it would take someone to become sus of us. When we realized no one would notice, we decided that if any rumors about us started, or even fans shipping us, we’d come clean. That hasn’t happened either, so we haven’t had the proper chance to address our relationship and neither of us minds.

At this point, I’m honestly afraid of revealing it to the gaming squad. Sykkuno especially. He’s my best friend, after all. I can see him being hurt by the fact that I kept a secret so big even from him. The last thing I wanna do is hurt my best friend but it’s already too late for that, it’s inevitable.

“Y/N have you looked at Twitter today?“ Rae, another streamer I’ve become close with over the months, says urgently.

Overlooking the tension in her words, I answer: “Nope, haven’t had the time. Why? What’s up?“

Before Rae can say anything else, Sykkuno joins the conversation, his voice somehow even more urgent than Rae’s. “It’s nothing, Y/N. If you see it, just don’t let it bother you, ok?”

Hearing such a tone from Rae isn’t unusual, but hearing it from Sykkuno is completely different and a lot more worrisome. “Well if it has the potential of bothering me it can’t be nothing. What’s going on?”

Just then, my phone dings with two notifications. I check to see they are messages from Rae.

“I sent you screenshots. Sorry, Sykkuno. She has to know in order to address it and defuse it as well. I know better than anyone how fast these rumors can spread, especially if no one reacts to them.“ She says, her tone barely apologetic at all.

I open the screenshots she has sent me and I find myself frozen in shock. Some old pictures of Sykkuno and I have been posted on Twitter by some random user. These pictures have started an entire thread of suspicions surrounding our relationship.

The pictures in question are from a New Year’s Eve party a mutual friend of ours held two years ago. Sure, in the pictures we are a lot closer than what would be considered a platonic proximity. And yes one of the pictures is of me kissing his cheek. Yes we were both a bit tipsy. I acknowledge all those things and yet none of them are concrete reasons for these rumors to have started piling.

“This is silly.“ I finally say after maybe five minutes of silence on my end. ”This is absolutely ridiculous! And why are people so serious about it as well? Actual, important matters get discussed more nonchalantly than the potential relationship between two online personalities! What is this world we live in?“ I know I shouldn’t let these rumors get to me like this, especially not on camera. Still, I can’t help it. I feel it’s so unfair to Corpse. He has to put up with this as well and it’s by no means easy for him. I’ve been shipped with people from our group in the past and he always took those rumors to heart despite acting like he didn’t care. Neither of us should get worked up, but him getting upset about them creates a domino effect with my emotions - causing me to be hit just as hard as him, in some cases harder.

Rumors of the past aside, this one is the worst by far. Mostly cause even Corpse himself suspected something between Sykkuno and I at the very beginning, when we were still acquaintances, barely crossing into the realm of friends.

I pull up Twitter to look for the whole thread, barely sparing my stream chat a glance in the process. It seems pretty split - those who agree with me and those who think Sykkuno and I make ‘such an adorable couple’. The thread is ridiculously long, and if we take into account that it was only started approximately five hours ago, you can either view it as impressive, amusing or sad. Why sad? Because someone has dedicated so much time and effort into fueling the fire of a weakly supported theory.

I love Sykkuno with all my heart. Everyone knows that - fandom, streamer squad, Corpse and Sykkuno included. I love too much and too platonically to ever even dream of having a romantic connection with him. I thought that was more than obvious, but people are either blind here, or just grasping at straws. One thing’s for certain - they’re stepping on a nerve.

“Hey where’s Corpse? Did he disconnect?” Felix asks, gaining my full attention. My eyes dart to the monitor, searching through the little avatars in a desperate search for the one of my boyfriend. It’s nowhere to be found.

“He just messaged me saying his connection is unstable but he might join us later.“ Rae says, “You guys can invite someone to fill...“

“Bathroom break.“ I interrupt, not waiting for a response before shutting my mic off, putting the ‘BRB‘ graphic on my stream and yanking the headset off. I basically run down the hall to Corpse’s recording room, my heart pounding like a bass drum.

“Corpse?!“ I call out to him, one hand already on the doorknob. When five seconds pass by without a response, I barge in.

Inside, I find his usual spot on the gaming chair empty and his slumped figure seated on his bed.

“Corpse?“ I try again, watching for even the tiniest change of body language. He remains still as a statue, not bothering to look up at me either.

His hands are gripping the edge of the mattress, his head hanging low. His eyes are covered by the short curtain of his dark messy curls. I can’t gauge much. Is he angry? Is he sad? Both? How should I approach the situation?

Before I find the answer to any of those questions, I am kneeling in front of him, our height difference eliminated. I gently pry his hands off the mattress and take them in mine, holding them firmly but tenderly. With one hand I reach up to tilt his head so his eyes can meet mine. He complies, his tear-filled brown orbs meeting mine. Those tears have the same effect on me as fifty sharp knives stabbing into my chest. These tears focus their attack straight on my heart, tearing it to pieces.

“Baby....“

He cuts me off, “Why is it always someone else, huh? Do they deem me not worthy of being with you? Do they think you deserve better?” His voice wavers, “Well, they might be right. They are correct and there’s little I can do to prove them wrong. They mean you well, Y/N - pairing you with guys better than me. Those are some loyal fans you’ve got. They only want what’s best for you. And so do I. If ‘best’ is being with someone else then...”

It’s my turn to cut him off. I put an end to his nonsense ramble that’s slowly killing me by pressing my finger against his lips. The sternness of my gaze is beyond me as I get up and walk over to his computer setup. I put on his headset and hop into the call as well as the lobby with his avatar.

“Hey Corpse’s back!” Toast says, “Good to have you back buddy.”

“No, not Corpse.” I say in a casual, nonchalant voice.

“Wait, wha-“ Sean’s voice shows just how confused he is, representing the confusion of the entire lobby actually.

“I know all of you are streaming so this message will be heard by several different audiences so I’m gonna make myself perfectly clear.“ I take a deep breath, “Sykkuno and I aren’t dating. He’s a lovely guy and he deserves to find a girl who will treat him right. That girl isn’t and won’t be me though. I am already treating someone right. Someone who treats me more than right as well. An amazing person. A man-child with a heart of gold. You know him, to a certain extent. He goes by the name of Corpse Husband, but I prefer to call him ‘Love of my life’. Thank you for your time and attention, goodbye.“

I exit the call and turn around to find a stunned Copse looking at me.

“That was meant for you just as much.“ I say with a fake strict attitude, one hand on my hip the other rested on his desk behind me, “Were you listening?“

Within milliseconds, he’s on his feet standing directly in front of me, his lips inches away from mine. “I heard and memorized every word. But...” he pauses for a moment, “I think you have no idea how big of a chaos you just created.”

I smile mischievously, “We’ll worry about that later. For now...” I close the gap between us, connecting our lips in a sweet and passionate kiss.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @the-fuck-up-of-today @slashersdream @chiefwombathoagiepizza @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01

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phykios · 3 years

Text

Five Times Percy Jackson Cheated At School (And One Time Someone Cheated Him) [read on ao3]

thank you as always to @darkmagyk for inspo and beta-ing 💙💙💙 and thank you to @arosnowflake for the homer idea!

Percy squints at the paper prompt again, tilting his head, as if the new angle will extract some hidden information. It doesn’t change. The font is the special dyslexia-friendly one used by most departments at NRU, so he isn’t misreading it, either.

Your final will be an 8-10pp (TNR, 12pt, double-spaced) research paper expanding on one of the topics discussed in our class so far, or an alternate idea of your choosing, to be submitted in writing by May 7 with footnotes and bibliography. By 10am on the Wednesday before the Thursday class you will submit online a 750-word essay (word count does not include footnotes) on the research thread you have pursued that week (no written assignments due Week 6 or Week 12).

Percy might hate college.

“Your neck bothering you again?” Annabeth asks, coming up behind him, her hands already on his shoulders. She’s sweaty, dressed in workout clothes, having just come back in from a jog.

“My neck is fine,” he says. “Just preemptively freaking out over my Roman history final.”

He tilts his head back over the top of his chair, staring into the upside down, prettily frowning face of his girlfriend, and it does nothing to improve his mood.

“How bad is it?”

“Eight to ten pages,” Percy says, “not including footnotes.”

“Ouch.”

“And,” he grimaces, “it’s a topic of our choosing.”

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

“Anything I can do to help?” She squeezes his shoulders lightly, an open invitation.

He shakes his head, stretching his arms back to grab her waist. “Promise not to break up with me when you catch me crying at 4AM over it.”

“Promise.” And she seals it with a kiss, bending down to reach him. “Dad wants to know if you’re free on the 16th.”

“The 16th?” He wracks his brain. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t conflict with sailing, or Greek Club, or the monthly intra-pantheon relations council meeting that Chiron and Clarisse both guilted him into joining. “Pretty sure. Why?”

“Dinner--Charlotte’s out of town that weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll let him know. Now,” and she grins, “are you going to stare at that computer all day, or do you want to come and take a shower with me?”

Percy slams the computer shut.

He doesn’t think about his paper topic for a while after that.

***

To his great dismay, Percy gets to her dad’s house first on the 16th. Drama in writing group 🙄 she texts him as he gets to the door, be there asap.

Great. Alone in the house with his girlfriend’s dad. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door.

Not a minute later, Dr. Chase opens it. Last time they went to visit, Percy and Annabeth had ended up waiting outside for almost a quarter of an hour. “Oh, Percy,” he says, fumbling his flight helmet off his head. “Goodness, I thought I’d lost track of time again. Come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” Percy says, stepping inside and shedding his jacket. “Annabeth’s running late, but she said she’d be here soon.”

He frowns, looking so much like Annabeth that it throws Percy for several loops. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “I’m sure we can entertain ourselves well enough until she gets here.”

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass.

“Oh!” starts Dr. Chase. “Right, yes. Come in. Would you like something to drink?”

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

A few minutes of staggered conversation later, it becomes eminently clear why they need Annabeth between them. It’s not the awkward small talk that doesn’t go anywhere (“How’s school going for you?” “It’s okay.” “Good, that’s good to hear.”) or the fact that Dr. Chase doesn’t really grasp how to relate to younger kids (“Have you heard of this website called ‘Vine’?”), but more that it’s just painfully obvious that the two of them don’t really know where they stand with each other.

Now, he knows that Frederick Chase doesn’t hate him. Objectively, he’s aware of the fact that, if it weren’t for him, Annabeth never would have reconnected with her father in the first place, and he kind of owes him for that. Also, Percy knows that he’s a pretty chill guy--a little scatterbrained, but chill.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make a good impression, though. Or that Dr. Chase thinks that Percy is smart enough for his daughter. Because, like, Percy isn’t smart enough for Annabeth--that much is obvious. Dr. Chase was courted by Athena. Percy barely made it out of high school calculus.

“Would you…” Dr. Chase hedges, plucking off his glasses and giving them a quick wipe with his shirtsleeve. “Would you like to see some of my current research?”

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.”

At the very least, hopefully Dr. Chase will talk enough for the both of them, eating up time until Annabeth gets here.

A new spring in his step, Dr. Chase leads Percy to his study, where he’s got a setup worthy of Cabin Six: on his desk is a massive map of the Mediterranean, littered with miniatures of tanks, planes, and ships. Ringing the room are wall-hangings, depicting different types of planes, half of their structure in x-rays like people in an anatomy textbook, sandwiching the giant viking sword which hangs directly behind his chair. Every inch of floor space is occupied with a pile of books, some serving as additional desk space for mugs, notepads, spare toy soldiers, and, in one case, what looks like the leftovers of a handful of celestial bronze spearheads, melted down into shiny, useless nuggets.

“You know I primarily study aviation,” Dr. Chase is saying, tidying up as he walks around the room, “but my colleagues and I are collaborating on an interdisciplinary re-evaluation of the entire North African theatre in World War II. It’s fascinating stuff; until very recently, they used to call it the ‘war without hate,’ given the lack of partisan roundups and, ah, ethnic clashes that you see in Europe--absolute garbage, of course. As if there weren’t civilians caught up in the fighting, too!” He chuckles, pleased at his own joke. Percy forces a laugh out of himself. “Anyway, with my prior experience studying the invasion of Sicily, I was brought on to assist in piecing the timeline together, working backwards from 1943.”

“Cool,” says Percy, filling the natural gap of conversation.

“Extremely! Operation Husky was a terrific endeavor of airborne, amphibious, and land-based combat.”

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

“Though, I must admit, I am having a little trouble retracing some of the ships.” Peering over his map, he leans down, fiddling with one of the ships. “You see this one here? The Palmer?”

Stepping up to the desk, Percy crouches down so the little toy ship is at eye level.

“Well, based on official records, the Palmer was supposed to have arrived at the rendezvous point at the same time as all the other ships, but ended up delayed by two days, and I can’t… quite…” He moves the ship again, frowning. “Figure out… why…”

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks.

Dr. Chase points to the map. “From Alexandria to Malta.”

“They probably just hit a bad couple of currents,” Percy says, standing up.

Tilting his head, Dr. Chase peers at him. “How do you mean?”

“If you’re going through the Cretan Passage, you’re going to hit all kinds of West-East currents which will push you backwards.” Snatching up a pencil from a nearby book stack, Percy lightly sketches on top of the map, tracing along the North African coast. “There are tons of overlapping currents in this area that push boats around in circles, especially around Sicily. That’s one of the reasons why so many historians figure that Homer was referring to the Strait of Messina when Odysseus goes through Scylla and Charybdis, here.” And he circles the strait, with a confident flourish.

When he pulls back, Dr. Chase is staring at him.

Percy blinks. “Um… sorry I drew on your map.”

“You--I have been trying to figure that out for weeks.”

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

But Dr. Chase just laughs. “You can make it up to me by helping me with these next.” Clearing crumbs off of southern France, he bends over, pencil in hand. “So, say you were trying to get from Marseilles to Tunis…”

Forty-five minutes later, still embroiled in battle recreations of the Mediterranean theatre, they don’t hear Annabeth letting herself in with her key, not even registering her presence until Dr. Chase, grasping for a notebook, spots her leaning against the doorway. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Oh, Annabeth, dear! I’m sorry,” says Dr. Chase, going over to give her a hug. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can see that,” she says. “What are you guys doing?”

“Percy here has been assisting me with naval movements,” he says, proudly.

Lacing her fingers with his, Annabeth steps over to Percy, studying their battle map. “Really?”

“Oh yes, he’s been phenomenally helpful.”

She kisses his cheek, pleased. “Look at you, Mr. ‘Phenomenally Helpful.’”

“It was pretty fun,” he admits, warm all over.

“I’d bet. Although, I guess this means we should probably order in for dinner…?”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dr. Chase smiles. “Yes, I suppose we should. Does pizza sound all right to you two?”

“Let me take care of it,” she says, slipping from Percy’s side. “You guys looked like you were in the middle of something. Extra olives, dad?”

“Don’t forget--”

“And anchovies, Percy, I know.” She rolls her eyes, taking out her phone.

Rather than the three of them move into the kitchen, Annabeth ends up bringing the pizza in with her, because of course she has opinions she’d like to share about the Allies’ naval movements.

“You know, Percy,” says Dr. Chase, “I must say, you have a real knack for this kind of thing. Have you thought about what you might major in yet?”

Ah, the million drachmae question. “Not yet,” he says, fiddling with a pencil. “I figured I’d get through my gen eds first and then see which one I hated the least.”

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

“Specifically maritime history, I suppose. Your predisposition to sailing and ocean currents would be a huge asset to your research.”

“But--wouldn’t history have, like, a metric ton of required reading? I’m not really sure that’s my area.” He has a daughter with dyslexia and ADHD; surely he’d understand Percy’s hesitation.

But he just shakes his head. “Graduate programs these days are very favorable towards interdisciplinary methodology, I sincerely doubt you’d have to barricade yourself in the library. And recently there’s been a significant push to make the field more accessible to students with disabilities, including things like digitization, screen reading for people with vision impairments, and even restructuring programs all together so that students no longer have to memorize the Encyclopedia Britannica in order to pass their general exams.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, Dr. Chase,” Percy says, “But history class isn’t like talking over naval movements with you.” He thought back to the paper that had lowkey been haunting his dreams. “Like, in my classical history survey, I can’t just… talk about currents and battle plans. I have to come up with a topic on my own, and then write about that.”

“Surely something involving Roman naval movements would be well within your skill set. You have a second sense about these things,” he chuckles, “clearly.”

Percy glances towards Annabeth, hoping she’ll back him up, but she looks thoughtful. Considering. Like she’s actually thinking about her dad’s proposal. “I can’t just choose something in naval history.”

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?”

If it was anything like his afternoon with Dr. Chase, it might even be fun. And school isn’t supposed to be fun.

He repeats that thought to Annabeth as they drive home. “School isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“No,” Annabeth agrees, “but I don’t know… I like my intro art history class way better than anything we ever did in high school because I actually care about it. Maybe if you write about stuff you’re good at, like my dad suggested, you’ll like it more.”

The idea follows him all the way to bed, where he’s still mulling it over at 2 in the morning. Before he can chicken out, he grabs his phone, shooting off a quick email to his professor with his potential paper topic, then rolls over, eventually falling asleep.

By morning, he has a response.

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

With shaking hands, Percy calls his mom. “Yes?”

“Hey mom.”

“Percy?” He hears her perk up, almost visualizing her sitting up in her chair. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Mom instincts. They can always tell when something is different. His heart throbs in his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, smiling stretching across his face. “It’s just--I got my paper back.”

Percy had ended up writing his paper about the Roman navy movements in the Battle of the Aegates in 241 BC. It was probably the most fun he’s ever had on a school assignment, or at least the most fun he’d ever had writing a paper.

“And?” She sounds expectant, hopeful. His mom has always had such faith in him, even with thirteen years of schooling to prove her otherwise.

He looks back at his email, just to make sure he’s reading it right. “I got an A.”

She gasps. He can hear the scrape of the chair as she stands up. “Percy, that’s wonderful!”

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

He smiles into his fist, inordinately pleased. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so happy for you!”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I’m so proud of you, Percy.” Her voice is soft now, like twilights on the beach with blue marshmallows. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this. You should be very proud, too.”

“I am.” And he is, weirdly enough. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I can.” His mom must be grinning, her eyes sparkling. “I always knew you could do it.”

“Sally?” He hears in the background, muffled. “Is that Percy?”

“Paul, Percy got an A on his Roman history paper!”

A second voice crowds its way in, equally excited. “An A? That’s great, kiddo! Congratulations.”

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

“I bet that feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“Well, it is very well-deserved,” says Paul. “That was some great work you did. I could tell how passionate you were about your topic just from your first sentence.”

“Thank you.” Maybe he should be worried about all this praise going to his head, but damn, is it nice. “Listen, I have to go get started on dinner, but I just wanted to give you a call.”

“Of course,” says his mom. “I want to hear from you more, okay? Tell me more good news! Like when are you and Annabeth going to--”

“I’m working on it, okay?” says Percy, smiling even more broadly. “I’ll keep you posted, promise.”

She laughs, tinny and happy. “You’d better. Congratulations again, sweetheart.”

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And he hangs up, puts his phone down on the table, tilts his head back, and sighs, full, happy, a release.

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all.

“You don’t have to do this,” Frank says, hushed. “All you have to do is walk away.”

Five Greek Fire bombs, cloudy yellow, are lined up on the table in front of him, neatly laid out in front of five twenties. From the side, Frank stares him down, surrounded by an army of morbidly curious Romans. Someone turned off the music and turned on the lights a while ago, stopping the party in its tracks, every eye on Percy and his opponent. Figures, his first college party all year and he causes a scene.

Percy grips the edge of the table. “He insulted the Mets,” he says for the millionth time. “I can’t let that shit stand.”

Frank sighs. “Annabeth?” he asks, hoping to stop this nonsense.

Turning to his side, Percy sees his girlfriend, two drinks in, her cheeks lightly flushed, but solid as she stands beside him, supporting him. Her eyes are hard, fierce, the warrior gaze of Athena all but leaping out of her. “Do it,” she says.

William, the sour-faced Roman legacy of Juventus, scowls. “A hundred bucks on the table. Sixty seconds. No throwing them back up.”

“Deal.”

“Frank,” Annabeth calls. “Start the clock.”

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds out his phone, thumb primed, hovering over the screen. “On your marks, in three… two… one…”

He hits zero, and Percy grabs a shot glass. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brings it to his lips, and throws it back.

It’s… not what he expected.

The tequila is awful--no getting around that. Even to Percy’s untrained taste buds, having really only ever had some of Gabe’s sour beer (under duress) and some of the Demeter cabin’s strawberry wine (on his eighteenth birthday, a celebration for actually getting to graduate high school), he can tell it’s cheap, rank, unrefined shit, like he’s drinking straight toilet cleaner. But the garum, the weird Roman condiment that the shot is mixed with, the one that Percy had never heard of before, it’s… it almost tastes like the fish sauce that comes with the pork and rice noodles from the Vietnamese place down the corner of his mom’s apartment, only less… fishy? Yeah. Less fishy.

It’s a weird taste. It’s not bad, by any means, it just--straight up, it just tastes like saltwater. Like the sea.

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

He looks at William, and grins. “You are so fucked.”

The assembled Romans cheer, spectators at a gladiator show, as Percy knocks back the rest of the Greek Fire bombs, one after another, clearing them all in under thirty seconds. Annabeth swipes up the cash, shrieking as she throws her arms around Percy. William wanders off, red-faced and glaring, as whoever turned the music off before flips it back on, the night, and the party, saved.

Silly Percy. He should have known what was coming next.

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” he shouts at Annabeth over the loud music.

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

“Seriously,” he slurs, tipping forward on his feet. “You could be a model.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Remember when we were fourteen,” he yells, bracing himself against the wall, “and you got kidnapped by that monster?” Slightly soberer but still a little flushed, she bites her lip, nodding. “Well, I followed the rescue party--I told you that, that I snuck out of camp to follow the rescue party? Right?”

“You did.”

He takes a sip of water, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Feels goofy as fuck. “We got hijacked by Aphrodite halfway through, and when I saw her, I thought--I thought, ‘Holy shit, she looks a little like Annabeth.’”

Her brows shoot up, smile pulling at her lips. “Really?”

He nods. “Totally! But you’re way, way p--”

Still smiling, she silences him with a kiss, the lingering taste of hard cider on her tongue. “I appreciate it,” she murmurs, grinning, “but you probably shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Gross.”

From out of nowhere, like he always does, the weasley little shit, Nico di Angelo is suddenly in their space, looking surly and emo as ever, red solo cup in his left hand. “Nico!” Percy crows, grabbing for him and missing. “How’s my favorite cousin?!”

Ducking his wildly swinging limbs, Nico grimaces in the way that Percy has to come to recognize as his attempt at a smile. “Better’n you,” he says, a little wobbly. “What’s up with him?” he directs towards Annabeth.

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“What!” Percy pouts. “He insulted the Mets.”

“Aren’t you s’posed to be, like…” Nico snaps his fingers, words momentarily escaping him. “A--representation… person? For the Greeks?”

Percy waves his hand, hitting the wall. “Fuck that. The Greeks can handle themselves. The Mets are sacred!”

“Are you with anyone?” Annabeth asks, momentarily taking up Percy’s usual role of concerned parent friend while he is drunk off his ass. Theoi, he loves this girl so much.

Nico shakes his head. “No, but Will and I are staying with--”

A thought suddenly blooms in Percy’s tequila-soaked brain. “Nico!” He shouts.

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

Percy pushes himself off of the wall, outstretched arms managing to box Nico in, falling on his shoulders and trapping him. He’s still a short, skinny little shit, the fuck, when are his Big Three genes going to kick in? “I need to talk to you about the thing.”

“The what?”

“The thing! The--the,” then he leans in, scream-whispering over the pounding bassline. “The thing.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“You know, it’s…” Percy licks his lips, language escaping him for a hot second. “Round. Metal. Jewelry thing.”

A beat, then Nico’s eyes widen. “Oh, that thing.”

“Yes, that thing!” Pulling back, he pulls Nico towards him, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a half-headlock. Annabeth watches, bemused, lips pursed as she tries not to smile. “I need to borrow Nico for a sec,” he says, words spilling out of him. “Back soon. Later. Soon.”

Her eyes crinkle, grey sparkling. She’s so fucking pretty. “Drink your water.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then together, like some three-legged beast, the two boys lurch away deeper into the party, Nico leading them towards the kitchen. “Where’re you taking me?” Percy slurs. “‘M I being kidnapped again?”

“If I’m helping you plan out this stupid proposal,” he grumbles, pouring himself more vodka, “then I need to be less sober.”

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

“Where’s Annabeth?” Percy mumbles, looking back towards the house. The party is still raging, someone’s muffled Spotify playlist making a real racket, the greatest hits of ABBA still bouncing around his skull.

“Simp.” Nico, swaying a little, tries to stand up from his kneeling position, only to fall heavily back down on his knees. “She’s right where you left her.”

Discussing Percy's proposal plan had led to more drinking. More drinking had led to the two of them discussing their shared preference for blondes. (“Malcolm is pretty cute,” Nico admitted, flushing, and Percy almost screamed, “Isn’t he?! Sometimes I think about Annabeth with short hair looking like Malcolm and I almost start crying because she’d be so cute!”) Which then led to even more drinking. Which then led to general bitching about their lives, about Percy's hard-ass classics professor Dr. Bauer who he actually really liked but just pushed him so hard and expected so much of him, and Nico's half-brother Zagreus who was causing some family drama by picking fights with Hades all the time and also hooking up with both Thanatos AND the fury Megaera, which, ew, which then led to Percy inhaling his drink, nearly choking to death on unspecified college punch, Nico laughing at him all the while, as he had the most incredible idea.

"Nico!" He shouted, crushing the red solo cup. "Can you resurrect Homer for me?"

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

"Seriously! I need to ask him something for my paper."

"Percy." Nico gazed at him, all the power of the Ghost King boring into his soul, deep and haunting. Percy stifled a burp. "You're a fucking genius."

Which is how they found themselves around a shallow hole they had dug in the backyard, a large bottle of Pepsi originally intended as a mixer pilfered from the kitchen along with two slices of pepperoni pizza dumped on the grass beside them.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," he says, uneasy even through his drunken haze.

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

“Fuck you, I’m doing it.” With all the force of a tiny, angry kitten, he snatches up the Pepsi bottle, wrestling with the twist cap for a good ten seconds. “I wanna give that bitch a piece of my mind for making me cry in school.”

Percy looks at him sideways. “Hector killing Patroclus got you, too?”

He snorts. “Fuck no. Achilles didn’t pay his dues to the dead.”

“Seriously?”

The cap pops off, and Nico tips the bottle over, dumping flat, lukewarm soda into the shallow hole. “It’s the ultimate dishonor!”

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

“Let the dead taste again,” Nico mutters. “Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the guy who’s related to both horses and water.”

“I’m not related to water, I just control it.”

The dirt turns black, dead soil mixed with sticky sugar water. Nico drops in the pizza, and begins to chant, that same ancient Greek that Percy heard in a dream once, talking of death and memories and returning from the grave or whatever. It’s still creepy as shit.

Despite the warm California night, the air thickens with chilly fog. Silence, impenetrable, surrounds them, blocking out the noises of the party. From the earth, blueish, vaguely person-shaped figures begin to form, like thunderous clouds before a storm. “Which one is Homer?” he asks, hushed.

“Shh!” Nico hisses.

Like little wells of gravity, the fog begins to coalesce. On one of them, Percy can almost make out, like, fingers. “Um, Mr. Homer? Sir?”

The figure doesn’t say anything. It lowers its mouth, drinking the soda out of the dirt. When it raises its head, Percy can see it more clearly, curly hair and milky white eyes and a straight nose. It--he?--seems a little more solid than your average run-of-the-mill ghost.

Nico frowns, eyes closed, concentrating. “What’s your name?” he mumbles.

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

It--there’s a sound, like hissing, only it’s not coming from the mouth, Percy thinks. It sounds like it’s coming from the earth. “Nico?” he asks. “You good?”

The ghost opens its mouth again, moaning, raising its hands. Weakly, unsteadily, it stumbles forward on feeble legs, tripping over the shallow hole in the dirt.

“Nico?” he asks again, a little more forcefully. “What’s going on, dude?”

Nico blinks, slowly, mouth hanging open a little. “Uh.”

The… thing… raises itself up on its hands? He guesses, and knees, crawling its way over towards them.

Now, Percy may be drunk off his ass, but he has seen enough movies to know exactly what the fuck is up.

Moving with a speed he didn’t quite think was possible right about now, he grabs Nico’s wrist, and pulls him up, dragging him along as he lurches towards the house. “Percy…” Nico moans, stumbling over a rock. “I think I fucked up.”

“You think?” Percy wrenches the door open, tossing Nico inside, before following in after, throwing himself against the door.

Nico groans, throwing his arms over his face. “Dio santo, my head.”

“Forget your head,” he says, “did we just raise a Homer zombie?!”

Panting, Nico stares up at him, sprawled on the floor of the house. “Oops.”

Percy thunks his head against the door. He does not have nearly enough mental capacity to deal with this right now.

But, he thinks ruefully, at least it’s just one. Even drunk, he’s pretty sure he can handle one zombie.

Nico’s eyes widen.

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

Turning around slowly, he pulls aside the little curtain on the window. “What?” Nico asks. “What do you see?”

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

Slithering up behind, Nico peers over his shoulder. “That’s… not great.”

“Nico,” Percy says, eyeing the horde which slowly shambles closer, half-decayed bodies in togas bumping into each other, almost identical to the drunk college students inside, as the song changes, once again, to ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight).’ “Please go get Frank and Annabeth.”

The following Monday, an announcement is sent out to the entire campus: Per new department guidelines, students may not utilize the ambassador of Pluto to interview the dead for academic purposes.

Percy attempts to flatten his hair. He readjusts his shirt. He almost wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, before he realizes what he’s doing, and clenches them instead, nails digging into his palms. He turns to Annabeth. “Do I look okay?”

“Ooh, ‘Mapping Funerary Monuments in the Periphery of Imperial Rome.’”

“Annabeth.”

She looks up from her brochure. “Relax, seaweed brain, you look fine. You look better than most people here.”

“That’s because I bring down the average age of presenters by about thirty years,” he hisses, eyes darting about at the milling mass of attendees, all packed into the hotel ballroom.

Dr. Bauer had alternately convinced/pressured/guilttripped him into attending this year’s annual conference for the Society of Classical Studies to talk about the research he’d been doing with her. This year, the conference was held in San Francisco, so at the very least Percy didn’t have to spend five hours stressing about his poster presentation while simultaneously up in the air. But now that he’s here, in the ballroom, surrounded by strangers who know way more about this subject than he does, who are actually smart and probably never nearly flunked out of school or got kicked out or--

“Hey.” Annabeth takes his hand. “I know that look. You deserve to be here just as much as any of them.”

“Do I? I feel like any moment someone is going to come over and throw me out for trespassing.” He vaguely recalls something similar happening to him as a kid after he had ducked into the lobby of a semi-nice hotel to dodge what he had thought, at the time, was just a weird stalker, but had later realized had only had one eye. In any case, the hotel security guard had practically picked him up by the scruff of his neck, tossing him back out into the street.

“That’s just your imposter syndrome talking,” she reassures him. “No one is going to throw you out.”

He sure as shit hopes so. It would be a shame to have done all this work for nothing.

Glancing back at his poster, Percy can’t help but feel… good. Accomplished. Proud. About a school assignment, of all things.

His poster traces the development of the prow from the Greek penteconter, to the Roman liburna, and finally to the Byzantine dromon, looking at artistic depictions in history. Percy had picked the topic himself, spending hours in the library reading, writing, and hand-drawing cross-sections of the ships on the poster board when the images he had gotten from the Cambridge University library had been too small. It had been grueling, frustrating work, but fun, too. And not nearly as much reading as he had feared.

Dr. Chase proofread it for him. Dr. Bauer signed off on it. And Annabeth had taken one look at it, smiled, then kissed his cheek.

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

Though now he’s kind of torn between showing it off and hiding it away before one of these attendees figures out that he doesn’t belong.

He rocks back and forth and his feet, pursing his lips, randomly clicking his tongue. Annabeth nudges him. “Your ADHD is showing.”

That’s when, finally, one of the attendees steps up to his poster. He certainly has the look of a professor, in a black cable knit sweater with grey, curly hair and a receding hairline, thin, rimless glasses perched on his nose. He squints at Percy’s poster, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Interesting,” he murmurs, in a thick German accent. “Very interesting. This is yours?”

“Um.” He glances at Annabeth, who is frowning at the brochure, silently sounding out words that she can’t read. “Yep. All mine.”

“Very interesting.” He leans in closer, tilting his head. “So you agree with Pryor and Jeffreys about the skeleton-first construction, then?”

Percy blinks. Pryor and Jeffreys had written The Age of the Dromon, arguing that the ram, which had been a key feature of Roman liburnians, had gone away in ancient ship construction because of developments in how they built the hull. Right. “Yes,” he says. “The skeleton-first construction is a lot stronger than the, um,” shit, what was the name for this, Leo had only told him about a million times--oh! “Mortise-and-tenon!” He nearly shrieks. “The mortise-and-tenon method. It, um, it wears out a lot more quickly than the frame, so… yeah.” He clears his throat.

He nods. “Very interesting.”

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else?

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says.

“Who are you working with?”

“Um, June Bauer?” He winces at the accidental question.

He frowns. “I’m not familiar with her work. Where does she teach?”

What a loaded question. “Uh… New Rome University.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s--she used to teach at Northwestern, if that helps. Um, retired,” Percy says.

The frown stays, but at least he doesn’t ask any more questions. “Hmm. Well, this is excellent research, nonetheless. I look forward to reading your dissertation.” Then, distracted by something else, he wanders off, chin still attached to his hand.

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks.

Percy shrugs. “Beats me. Also, what’s a dissertation?”

“It’s like a senior thesis, but, like, five hundred pages long.”

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.”

“Maybe later,” Annabeth smirks. “It looks like you’ve got company.”

Sure enough, a smallish group of four people are approaching, led by Dr. Chase, making a beeline straight for them. “Here we are,” Dr. Chase says, gesturing. “This is the project I was telling you about. Percy, would you mind going over your poster for us?”

“No problem, Dr. C,” says Percy, smiling his least-grimace-y smile.

As one, the adults all turn to look at him, faces politely blank, expectant.

Percy swallows. “So,” he begins, “um, this research is about the development of ship construction in the Roman empire…”

He trips up on some of the words, and at one point, he sees Dr. Chase squint in the way that usually means that Percy is speaking too fast, but all in all, he doesn’t totally fall flat on his face. His audience looks engaged, nodding along as Percy moves from point to point, and no one accuses him of being a giant fraud, which is pretty nice.

At one point, Percy turns to the poster to indicate a specific point on his ship diagrams. When he turns back, his audience has suddenly multiplied, four people turning into a whole goddamn crowd. Each person gives him their undivided attention almost unblinking.

His mouth goes dry. “Um…”

Dr. Chase, bless him, saves his ass once again. “Would mind starting again from the beginning, Percy?” he asks, a little bemused himself at the amount of people that had suddenly appeared.

Silence stretches on for a moment, the muffled noise of the rest of the conference like a dull roar in his ear.

Annabeth, behind him, coughs.

“S-sure. No problem.”

Swallowing, he closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose. Why, oh why did he let Dr. Bauer talk him into doing this again?

He pictures the tides of Long Island Sound, gentle and rocking, unhurried and unbothered, tries to match his breathing to them. When he opens his eyes, unfortunately, the crowd hasn’t disappeared. Everyone is still staring at him.

But Annabeth stands next to her dad, flashing him a big smile and two huge thumbs up.

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

“Okay,” he says. “So, about the middle of the first millennium CE, ship construction went through a couple of major developments…”

This time goes much, much more smoothly. He’s not sure what it is--though it’s probably Annabeth, her face fixed in a gentle smile as she watches him speak. Gods, what did he do in a past life to deserve someone as amazing as his girlfriend?

That’s the only reason he can do this. Hell, that’s the only reason he even thought to do this. If he didn’t have Annabeth there, encouraging him, cheering him on, he never would have had the confidence to put himself out there like this. She’s there to pick him up when he doubts himself, there to listen when he can’t explain himself, there to give him feedback when he needs to practice.

She makes him feel so strong. She makes him feel like he can take on the world--or at the very least, that he can impress a handful of academics.

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far.

“Excuse me,” says a nasally, pinched looking older British guy, face lined as though he lived his life in a state of perpetual squinting. “I find your conclusions to be suspect--wouldn’t the frame method be more susceptible to breaking than the mortise-and-tenon?”

Well, most of them, anyway.

Percy shakes his head. “You’d think, but no. If you look at the study by Steffy, you’ll see that the three-finned ram from the Athlit wreck was designed specifically to break the mortise-and-tenon hull by causing the planks to flex, so that they’d dislodge the joinerys right next to them. A blow like that can cause the wood to split right down the middle.” A blow like that had sunk Sherman Yang’s ship when they tested it out on the lake at camp last summer, the naiads practically hurling him out of the water so quickly Percy didn’t even have to dive in to save him.

“How were you able to do these strength tests?” asks another listener, an older woman with a thick Hungarian accent.

“Hands-on battle simulations,” Percy replies, easily. “We took our models and tested them in as accurate a simulation as we could make.”

“And how big were these models?”

Percy holds his hands apart, a vague, entirely inaccurate estimate. “About thirty meters, give or take.”

Her eyes widen. “How on earth did you get your hands on such a large ship?”

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

He had forgotten--most people didn’t have dads who could summon shipwrecks from the bottom of the sea, dropping them off at Camp Half-Blood with nothing but a sand dollar and one or two exhausted, pissed off hippocampi who had had to drag them all the way there.

“Um,” he stammers, licking his lips, thinking fast--c’mon, Percy, think! “I…” He swallows, panicking. “I… b… built one.”

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

Simultaneously, every mouth in the crowd drops--in shock, outrage, and even excitement. “You built one?!” the woman yelps.

Oops. “I had help,” Percy says, quickly.

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

“Where?” The first man asks, his bushy brows flying above the rim of his glasses.

“At my… summer camp…”

Dr. Chase sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I mean,” Percy chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, trying not to sweat too obviously, “it was either that or lanyards, am I right?”

Dr. Chase, thank Athena, raises his hand, ready to step in. “What Percy means to say, I believe,” he says, attempting to draw their attention, “is that--”

“That’s amazing!” says another woman, probably a grad student attendee based on the fact that she’s wearing jeans. “Do you have pictures?”

Oh this is not good. “Um, not--not on me, but--”

“I do.” Annabeth takes out her phone, holding it up to the person next to her.

Percy blinks. “You do?” He doesn’t remember her taking any pictures.

She shoots him a look, two parts exasperated and one part “shut up and let me handle this,” with just a dash of fondness in the mix. Pointedly, she looks at him, eyebrows raised, indicating that he should continue.

Oh. She’s using Mist. And he needs to keep their attention on him so that they buy it. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Any more questions?”

His audience placated for now, passing around Annabeth’s phone, he manages to finish up his presentation. After fielding a few more questions, people start to peel off, distracted by other posters and presenters in the ballroom. When everyone has finally wandered away, Dr. Chase comes up and pats Percy’s shoulder awkwardly. “Nice work,” he says, and he seems like he means it. “A little touch-and-go there for a while, hm?”

“A little.”

He chuckles. “Still, you should be proud. I don’t know how many undergraduates would be able to handle that kind of pressure.”

“I mean,” Percy says, shrugging a shoulder, “it’s about on par with leading an army. Maybe a little less.” Honestly, maybe even a little more stressful. If a monster had decided to attack the convention center and interrupt his presentation, he probably would have been relieved.

He’d been worried for a moment that he’d undone all those years of work in making Annabeth’s dad like him. And that he’d be charged with some sort of academic fraud, for the whole “I have a boat” thing without proof. Thank the gods for Annabeth, as always.

She’s looking at him now through narrowed eyes. She at least can’t be surprised--that was far from the dumbest thing she’s ever seen him do. At least his “I spent most of my time at magic greek mythology summer camp” covers are normally better than hers. As someone who spent his formative years in the real world, he’s usually pretty good at keeping the demigod thing under wraps.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand. She pulls him off, through the dispersing crowd, lacing their fingers together, sweet and intimate, out of the hall and then down another one, and through a smaller corridor. Bringing them up to a little door, with a shake of her wrist, she pulls out her Estruscan keyring bracelet. About several of the keys have found themselves used in various misadventures, vanishing once their purpose is fulfilled, but her favorite key is still there. And, just like a clever child of Hermes, it can pick just about any lock.

Inside is just an empty room, a little staging area surrounded by tiered desks going up, no more or less remarkable than any of the other conference rooms they’d visited before.

“What--?” His question is cut off by Annabeth’s mouth on his.

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

It's a while before they separate again. “You’re so good at this,” she tells him, unbuttoning his shirt.

He runs his hands along the lines of her flanks. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he grins. He’d practice kissing her all day long if he could.

She smiles, shaking her head. “No, not this,” though she does lean in for another kiss, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth. “I know you’re good at this.” They break away, Percy pulling her shirt over her head, Annabeth shucking off his. “But history. Presenting.” She runs a finger over his chest, kissing his cheek, headed towards the sensitive spot on his jaw. “Gods, you’re so smart.”

Something about the praise vibrates through his chest. She doesn’t sound surprised, or anything, just--turned on.

“You had all those crusty academics eating out of your hand. Just, so impressed by you, knowing you know way more than they do about naval history. When you were explaining the--” Her compliment is cut off with a moan, as he leans down and starts sucking on her throat. Her blouse has a high neck, so he feels no guilt for using his teeth.

“Watching you today, gods.” Her breath is labored as his fingers play at the waistline of her skirt. “And then thinking of you defending your dissertation.” He bites at her jugular, and she lets out a long, deep moan.

“I don’t know what that means.” Do academics fight each other? Like, with weapons? He’s pretty sure he can take most of the people he met today.

“It means you get to show off how smart you are,” Annabeth says, grasping his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. “I was born the day my dad defended his. Gods, it's going to be amazing to watch you go.” She yanks his belt out of his pants, tossing it to the floor.

They miss the panel on recent translation efforts. But Percy can’t say he minds one bit.

And when Annabeth presents him with a positive pregnancy test two months later, Percy definitely knows he made the right decision.

He almost doesn’t realize he’s having a dream-vision at first.

It has been literal years since he’s had a demigod dream. Hell, it’s been a long while since he’s had a dream, period--being a new dad to a one-and-a-half-year-old saps too much of his energy to even think about dreaming. Once Junie is put to bed, when he’s out, he is fucking out, and he does not have the brainpower to spare to manifest any messed up subconscious fears.

Which is why when he blinks open his eyes, taking in the too-bright colors of the Parthenon and the gleaming shine of the bronze statues which are somehow all looking at him--also, you know, how the Parthenon is complete, standing as it did thousands of years ago, and not crumbled into ruins--he knows, immediately, he is being contacted by a god.

And only one god in particular would bring him to Athens.

Without even checking, he heaves himself up off the ground, folding into a kneel. “My lady Athena,” he says, “can I ask for what quest you’ve brought me here?”

“Impertinent as ever, Percy Jackson,” rumbles the goddess, but Percy doesn’t think he can sense any ill will towards him. He hopes, anyway. “Perhaps I have summoned you here for a social visit.”

“Perhaps,” he says, choosing his next words as carefully as possible. “But I assume you have too much to worry about to randomly check up on your daughter’s boyfriend.”

He lifts his head, catching her expression--stoic as always, but maybe with just the barest hint of a smile. “You assume correctly. You have become, contrary to my initial expectations, very wise in the time that I have known you.”

“Thank you.” He knows better than to do anything but accept the compliment for what it is.

“I have observed your work as a scholar in recent years, and I must say that I am surprised, yet pleased, that you have chosen to pursue such a path. I had not thought you to be suited for a world of old men and dusty papers.”

He grits his teeth. Don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait--

“I understand, as well, that though you and my daughter have,” and here her careful composition cracks, just the slightest, the tiny lift of her lips falling, “made a child together.”

Percy swallows. He figured, you know, in the abstract, that Athena would know about Junie, but hearing her say it out loud is… well, he’s just glad that Dr. Chase has always liked him. “Yes, my lady.”

“It is customary in your time to marry prior to childbirth, is it not?”

“It is.” Oh, fuck, is she going to smite him for that? “I--that is to say, we, Annabeth and I, we, um, we definitely want to get married, but, Annabeth kind of…”

He trails off. He can’t tell Athena, goddess of war, that his daughter pissed off the queen of heaven! And if he does, he definitely can’t imply that it was because she was being too stubborn!

“I know well of my daughter’s history with my father’s wife,” Athena says, smoothly. “I come to you now with an offer of peace.”

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

Raising one graceful arm, Athena turns, indicating the structure behind her. “Look upon my temple,” she intones. The white marble shines even more powerfully against the blue and red paint, intricate scenes and figures ringing the top of the columns. “In the time of Pericles, it was built to commemorate the victory of Hellas over the armies of Xerxes the Great. It was to be the shining beacon of our world, a triumph of our power and influence over the race of men.”

The race of men might have had something to say about that, he thinks to himself.

“But it was not to be,” Athena says, mournfully. “As our influence waned, so too did our temple, until its might was all but forgotten.”

Before his eyes, the paint fades away, ceilings and columns collapsing, the destruction of the Parthenon playing out in front of him.

“Some two hundred years ago,” she says, her voice taking on a darker, more dangerous tone, “a grave insult was paid to the ruins of my ancient sanctuary.” Like curtains falling on a stage, darkness swallowed up the structure, swift and impenetrable. “Many treasures were taken from my temple, stolen, by foolish, greedy men, spirited away far to the north, where they have languished in unworthy hands.”

He narrows his eyes. She can’t possibly be talking about--

Athena turns back to him, her eyes blazing, somehow twice as tall. “Retrieve my treasures,” she commands, war personified, “return the prizes of Athens to their rightful place, and I shall give you my support against my father’s wife.”

“You…” Percy leans back on his haunches, staring dumbfounded up at the goddess. “You don’t happen to mean the Parthenon Marbles, do you?”

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

“The same,” she says, imperious as ever.

Fantastic. “Welp,” Percy says, slapping his thighs, scrambling up. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to decline. Nice seeing you, by the way. I’ll tell Annabeth you stopped by.”

Her sharp gazes pierces him, full of fury. “You dare to refuse my support?”

He snorts. “When it means trying to get the UK to give the marbles back, absolutely. Do you know how stubborn they are about this?”

Lightning flashes behind her, nearly blinding him. “You will regret this,” Athena says, dark and foreboding. “You may have your father’s goodwill, but the queen of Olympus is clever and cunning, her displeasure swift and merciless.”

But Percy still shakes his head. “When Annabeth and I get married,” and it’s definitely a ‘when,’ it’s just a matter of when precisely, like after Junie can sleep through the night maybe, “I’d rather take my chances with Hera than try and untangle that particular can of olives.”

A growl, and a snap of her fingers, and Athena disappears.

With a start, Percy wakes up. Junie had gotten her chubby little hands around his nose, and had decided to pull.

“Ow, ow, Junie, hey,” he squawks, attempting to dislodge her grip from his face. “Hey, I’m awake, it’s okay.”

She laughs, illegally adorable, her grey eyes sparkling, squeezing harder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs along with her. “You got my nose, you win.”

As if she were waiting for him to admit defeat, she lets go, clapping her pudgy toddler hands together.

“That’s right,” he picks her up, raising her above his head. “Barely sixteen months old and you already know how to take me down, don’t you? Just like your mommy.”

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

Junie really is the best parts of both of them. She’s got her daddy’s hair but her mommy’s brain, quick and sharp and painfully adorable. She’s already learning to read Greek, Annabeth sitting her in her lap and sounding out vowels together, Annabeth taking her finger and tracing it over the letter shapes. This kid absorbs information like a sponge, which Percy can only assume is the natural conclusion of taking a son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena and mixing their DNA together.

Thinking about his dream, he frowns. “What do you think, Junie,” he asks his toddler. “Should I take her up on her offer?”

The baby says nothing.

“I mean,” he tilts his head, “Greece has been trying to get the marbles back for two hundred years. UNESCO has top lawyers on this. What does Athena think I can do?”

Junie blinks at him.

“On the other hand, I do really love your mom,” he admits, “and I really want to marry her. You’d like that, right? To have your parents be married?”

There’s no way she can understand what he’s saying, but she moves her head like she’s nodding. Or maybe she does understand. She is Annabeth’s daughter after all.

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

Several months, a college graduation, and one relocation to Boston later, Percy growls, hurling his pencil at the wall. Mother fucker. Fuck the British Museum, fuck his tiny laptop screen, and fuck the Italian prick who decided to have the least ADHD-friendly handwriting of all time.

Why the hell is he doing this again? Like, seriously. Why in all of Hades is he, an inexperienced, snot-nosed, first year master’s student deciding to tackle the return of the fucking Parthenon marbles of all things. Like, what is wrong with him?

Roughly scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Percy stands up. He has to go for a walk, clear his head, or he might actually explode.

Then he catches a glimpse of the photo pinned to the fridge.

Percy’s mom had taken it, a candid of Percy and Annabeth and Junie on a sunny day in Central Park. There, in perfect 1080p, Junie is laughing, at what he can’t even remember, her pudgy fists yanking on Percy’s hair, while her mother and the love of his life does nothing to extricate Percy from her grip, her face screwed up so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Percy had talked a lot of shit to the goddess of war’s face, but truth be told… Hera still terrifies him a little. Which, he assumes, was her goal all along, but it would be nice to marry Annabeth without fear of something going terribly wrong--or, gods forbid, something happening to Junie. That simply was not a risk he was willing to take. Percy is content to spend the rest of his days as Annabeth’s life-partner and roommate, if it means that the queen of the heavens won’t have a reason to take out her issues on his children.

Even if the engagement ring in the back of the pantry is gathering dust.

Sunlight, wan but warm, falls in from the window, landing perfectly on his pile of open books. “I know, I know,” he growls, speaking to the air, rubbing his face so it doesn’t get stuck in a permanent glare. “I just--I just need a few minutes, okay? Let me go down the block and get a coffee or something. Two minutes, Lady Athena.”

The light fades. Percy takes that as an acquiescence, angrily scribbling a note. He’s not sure when Annabeth and Junie will be back, but even angry as he is, he doesn’t want to worry them.

Snatching up his jacket, he slams the door shut, stomping out of his apartment building and down the streets of Boston. He must be accidentally doing his wolf stare, because people are practically flinging themselves out of his path as he hurtles down the sidewalk. Literally--some girl is walking her husky, and the poor dog actually whimpers, cowering as Percy rounds the corner.

Coming to a stop, Percy slaps his hands over his face, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.

He might be in over his head a little.

Sighing, he looks to his right. He’s standing outside of a Starbucks.

Percy doesn’t drink coffee, Annabeth does. And he knows exactly how much of a coffee snob his girlfriend is. Starbucks? Overpriced, overrated, over-sweetened garbage.

He pushes the door open, sliding up to the counter. “I’ll take a… iced mocha, I guess,” he says. “Large.”

“No problem,” chirps the barista. “I’ll have that out for you in a minute.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

One thing Starbucks does have going for it, though, are really good napkins for doodling.

Slumping down in his uncomfortable metal chair, elbows resting on the hard, faux-wood table, Percy takes out his pen, and doodles aimlessly on the brown napkins. No, not that pen. Just because it can write doesn’t mean that Percy wants to risk slicing his face open every time he has a stray idea. Completely out of the blue, Annabeth had gotten him a nice set of pens, and ever since then, Percy always keeps one on him. Now, if he could just remember to use the little notebook she had gotten him, too.

Percy is not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn’t have an image in mind, just lets his pen move, drawing endless chains of triangles and stars, nebulous shapes which form themselves into Greek letters. After he catches himself writing γλαυκῶπις for the eighth time in a row, he sighs, dropping his pen, and picks up the cup, taking a sip.

Yuck. At least the chocolate outweighs the coffee taste a little.

Gods, and their cups are always, like, drenched from condensation--not that Percy can feel it, but there’s practically a whole other drink on the outside of the plastic, dripping all over Percy’s pile of doodle napkins. That must be why they give out so many.

Grumbling, he mops up the mess, ink smudged into a blue-brown slurry.

He stops.

He squints at one of his doodles.

Not that anyone else could tell, but Percy had apparently been trying to recreate the signature of Ottoman sultan Selim III, the guy who had supposedly authorized the Earl of Elgin to take the Parthenon Marbles. Percy had been staring at copies of his signature all damn day, trying to tell if it had been forged or copied, but classical Arabic was just so far beyond anything he could even begin to wrap his head around. It was gorgeous work, but even looking at it made Percy’s eyes swim.

This particular doodle is not his best attempt. It looks nothing like the signature. It’s smudged, blotchy, but in a way that’s… weirdly familiar.

Snatching the napkin up, Percy bolts from the Starbucks, leaving his mocha behind.

Taking the steps of his apartment building two at a time, he bursts into his kitchen. His set up is exactly how he left it, books spread out all over the table, laptop shut and laid askew, the dry, half-eaten remains of his morning muffin on a plate on top of his encyclopedia of illuminated manuscripts--except for one book, the one on Ottoman history of the nineteenth century. It’s been opened, its pages facing the door, in the exact opposite direction of all the other books.

“Hello?” he calls into the apartment. “Anyone home?”

No response.

Percy approaches the table.

From the pages, Selim III stares at him, his portrait rendered in black and white, sitting just above a figure of his signature, his tughra.

Percy picks up the book, squinting.

The signature is crisp, clean, a work of art all by itself.

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

Opening his laptop, he pulls up the scans of the documents in the British museum, zooms in on the letter’s seal.

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares.

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

In a daze, he fires an email off to his new grad advisor. Hopefully he won’t mind Percy sticking his nose in where he doesn’t belong. Hey Dr. T--was looking at the Parthenon marbles docs in the BM (don’t ask) and I noticed this weird smudge on the tughra. Lazy scribe, maybe?

And he closes his computer.

Later that night, while he puts Junie to bed, he gets a response. not sure. sent it to a colleague for a closer look.

He can’t even be bothered to really think about it though, not with Junie looking up at him with Annabeth’s eyes, and asking for another book. “Alright, kiddo,” he acquiesces, settling in beside her. All her story books are in ancient Greek, and at age two, she’s starting to recognize the letters. “Which one are you thinking?”

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

“Dolphins, eh? Getting Mr. D on your side early, I see. As smart as mommy.” He leans down and kisses her forehead before he starts to read her the story of the sailors and their sudden dolphin madness.

***

“Huh,” Percy says to himself a few weeks later, as he and Annabeth are chilling on the couch, watching some Netflix.

His advisor has forwarded him an article from the BBC (New evidence suggests Elgin documents to be forgeries) with an accompanying note: Amazing catch!

“What is it?” Annabeth asks, nudging him with her elbow--a feat, since she also has an armful of a squirmy Junie to deal with.

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

That gets her attention. Anything Parthenon-related does. “Really?”

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels his lips pulling at the sides of his mouth.

“My mom is probably your biggest fan right now.”

He starts. “What did you say?”

Turning back to the TV, she still manages to cast him a weird look. “I said, my mom will probably love you for this.”

A beat, then Percy practically somersaults over the couch, darting into the kitchen. Wrenching open the pantry door, he shoves his hand behind their collection of flours, fingers grasping for--

“If you’re looking for any more sacrificial cookies,” Annabeth calls after him, “we burned them all when Junie got a cold.”

“Remind me to make some more,” says Percy, pulling out his prize. It’s a little dusty, streaks of flour clinging to the blue velvet. “I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

“Oh yeah?” She chuckles. “What, did Olympus put in a special order?”

Percy slides back down next to her, ring hidden in his closed fist. “Can I have the baby for a sec?”

Eyes fixed to the screen, Annabeth passes her over. Junie’s hands automatically reach for his nose, ready to grab, but Percy places the ring in her grasp instead, kissing her forehead. “Hey, babe?” he asks Annabeth, handing her back. “I think our daughter has something for you.”

Annabeth takes her without a second glance.

Then she does take a second glance.

Ring closed in her pudgy toddler fist, Junie holds it out to her.

Annabeth gapes.

“So,” Percy says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “quick confession: I wasn’t just working on the marbles for fun.”

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

“Your mom told me that if I helped get the marbles back, she’d back us against Hera if we ever got married. So…” He trails off, waiting for her response. As close as he is, he can see the tears start to well up in her eyes--a good sign. “Shall we?” he prompts.

“Oh thank all the gods.” Annabeth is crying, because she's Annabeth. And because she's Annabeth, she also wastes no time in transferring Junie to her other side, and holding out her hand so Percy can slide the ring on her finger. “I was so worried I'd have to have Chase on my Masters’ diploma, too.”

Percy is making sauce when his phone lights up. He hits speaker. “Hey.”

“Hey man,” comes the tinny voice of Magnus. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Percy says, “I figured you were dying or something.”

Magnus’ eye roll is almost palpable. “Very funny. What’s up?”

Bringing the spoon to his lips, he blows on it, taking a taste, before reaching for the salt. Needs way more. “Do you happen to have any Varangian guards in Hotel Valhalla?”

“Varangian guards? Uh, maybe. Probably. Why?”

“I’m doing a thing on the attempted reconquest of Sicily,” he says, lowering the heat a little to a simmer, “and I’m having some trouble piecing together the Battle of Montemaggiore. Know anyone who was in it?”

Magnus hums. “I’ll ask around. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?”

Rifling through their little spice cabinet, he makes a mental note to get a new thing of hot sauce, tipping the rest of it into the pot. “If you have anyone who fought under Harald Hardrada, that would be great.”

“Hardrada? I’m pretty sure he lives on the fifth floor.”

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

“Yes!” He picks up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you think I could come up and talk to him sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were doing something on Homer’s identity?”

He groans. “Backburnered for now until she stops driving me crazy.” No matter how many times Percy tells her, he can’t just drop the “Homer was actually an Egyptian woman” bomb without some serious evidence backing that up. And forgery is not one of his strong suits. Hence the need for a different topic for the time being.

“Has everyone ever told you your life is weird?”

“No, why do you ask?”

His phone suddenly vibrates, shocking him so badly he nearly drops it into the saucepan. Almost home, texts the love of his life, a shot of serotonin directly into his bloodstream. V hungry

“Sorry, Magnus, but I gotta run. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Say hi to my cousin for me.”

“Can do.”

“And make sure you pick a date soon! Sam needs to know so she can schedule her flight home.”

“Soon as I can.” You know, when his brain isn’t melting from grading undergrad papers. And making sure Annabeth and Junie are fed. And that Annabeth doesn’t lose herself in graduate school. And finding Junie a new preschool after she destroyed a classroom last month because of a monster. His toddler is a badass. But he’s a little worried she’s gonna follow Mommy and Daddy’s example as far as school goes.

Sometimes, he thinks that their wedding just won’t ever happen. With Athena on board, he figured it would happen sooner or later, but time just… keeps getting away from them. Which isn’t the end of the world. A lifetime at Annabeth’s side is all he really needs, Mrs. Jackson or no. But he’s seen the silver fabric she weaved for her wedding dress. It would be a shame for all that hard work to go to waste.

And, yeah, he wants to see his little Junie dancing down the aisle flinging seaweed before her mother. He wants his mom to cry a little and he wants all his friends to be there to celebrate with them. Is that so much to ask?

Speaking of his two favorite girls--”We’re home!” Annabeth calls from the hallway. “Junie, go say hi to daddy!”

Her bare feet slapping against the floor, his daughter comes toddling in, making a beeline for him. “Hey, kiddo,” Percy says, scooping her up. “How’s my best girl?”

“She’s just fine, thanks,” Annabeth says, setting her work bag down on the table. “Tell me I don’t have to wait for dinner--Margie kept me for the entirety of my lunch break, and I am starving.”

“Just gotta make a salad and we should be good to go.” But he makes no move to finish chopping vegetables, entirely too enraptured with the way Junie smiles when Percy sticks his tongue out at her. “Let me guess,” he says. “Does my best girl want some olives?”

“Peas,” Junie says.

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

She giggles, waving her arms. “Elaia, daddy!”

“Fine,” and he kisses her nose. “Extra olives for you.”

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

Handing her back to her mother, Percy sighs. “When am I going to get a kid who likes anchovies?”

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

“Reputation isn’t that bad.” Hardrada is saying. “The production isn’t what it should be, but lots of her lyrics are still on point.”

“The production ruins it,” Percy insists. “And as a follow up to 1989? It's just bad.”

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

“You can’t argue with the genius of that one.”

“It is terribly inconsistent,” Percy shoots back. “Yeah, ‘The Archer’ and ‘Daylight’ and ‘Miss Americana’ are sublime, but ‘ME!’? Come on!”

“Are you one of those people who thinks she peaked at Red?”

“Red is a bop from start to finish,” Percy fires back. “But she definitely peaked at folklore.”

“Thinking she peaked at folklore is just pedestrian when ‘tis the damn season’ exists!” Hardrada yells, drawing his axe, which is then promptly flung over Percy’s head.

As the only mortal in a room full of armed, excitable, undead Taylor Swift stans, Percy beats a hasty exit, Magnus and Jason covering him as he flees, because they’re just so thoughtful like that. Percy’s pretty sure he saw Magnus take an arrow to the knee, going down in a heap, before he shuts the door to the hotel, finding himself in a Forever 21.

Looking over his notes later as he gets back to his apartment in the North End, he frowns. They had spent… approximately twenty minutes talking about Sicily before getting solidly off track. Who knew an eleventh century viking would have such intense feelings about pop music?

And now he’s singing “seven” to himself as he unlocks the apartment door, because it's a good song, and because it made him think of Annabeth. And he always wants to think of Annabeth.

“Hey, babe,” he calls into the apartment, toeing off his shoes. “I’m back!”

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep! Totally fine!” she says, unconvincingly.

“Alright,” he calls back. “Let me know if you need something.”

Moving Junie’s toys out of the way, he drops down onto the couch, grabbing his laptop. Hopefully he can make some sort of sense of the… notes… that he got from Hardrada. Though he’s probably going to have to trek out to Beacon Hill again, which, while not really out of his way, does mean he has to hike a bit from the Park Street station through the Commons, which makes him super sweaty and out of breath. It’s just embarrassing, walking into a hotel full of the greatest warriors of Valhalla, and Percy can barely handle a hill.

However, he’s not so out of practice that he can’t sense Annabeth coming up behind him. “You good?”

“What do you think about getting married by the end of the month?”

“Sure,” he says, pecking at his computer. Damn autocorrect ruining all the Norse names. He keeps forgetting to download the right language package he needs. “But I thought you wanted to wait until after you turned in your portfolio?”

“Well… I might not be able to fit in my dress if we wait much longer.”

That gets his attention.

Percy turns around, slowly. Annabeth is grinning, holding a thin little piece of plastic with a circle on the end. She wiggles it.

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

“What? No!” Percy slides his computer off his lap, twisting around to face her, up on his knees. “No, no, not at all. I’m not mad.” She slings her arms around his neck, pregnancy test warm against his skin. “I just…”

Eyes warm, she looks into his, unafraid. “What is it?”

“It’s…” It’s silly, is what it is. But this is Annabeth. If he can’t tell her, who can he tell? “I just feel bad that I’ve gotten you pregnant twice before getting married.”

“Well, at least I’m not nineteen this time,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But maybe we wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t such a horndog.”

Percy snorts. “Me? What about you, Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before my first lecture’ Chase.”

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

“It’s Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before your first lecture’ Jackson.”

Grinning, he presses his mouth to hers. After all this time, she still smells like lemons, her lips soft and warm. “Not yet it’s not.”

“Then let’s make it happen.”

And, well, Percy can’t think of a better plan.

Jamie hisses. “Fuuuuuck,” she whispers, the sound dropping like a stone in the dead lecture hall. “Goddamn shit fuck ass.”

And the worst part is, she’d actually spent a lot of time preparing for her Latin midterm. She’d made flashcards, she’d drilled noun endings, she’d even slept with the textbook under her pillow for fuck’s sake.

Typical--the moment she sits down to take the test, it all goes out the window.

“Legistne carmen longum de Troiano,” she reads under her breath, as though saying it out loud will unlock some hidden secrets of the cosmos.

Nope. Nothing. The multiple choices remain as inscrutable as ever.

“Psst.”

Jamie looks up.

There’s a four year old staring at her.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

“Hi,” says the four year old. Junie, her name is, she thinks.

Mr. Jackson, Jamie’s Latin TA, will bring his kids to class with him sometimes--his wife works full time, and Jamie guesses that they can’t afford a babysitter. She’s a cute kid, quiet, usually sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, drawing or even knitting, sometimes with her little sister playing with toy ships next to her.

Now, she’s still staring at her. “What’s up?” Jamie asks.

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.”

She squints down at her test sheet, attempting to visualize her flash cards. That’s… “Bello” is the right answer.

The fuck? The fucking four year old can speak Latin? “Thanks,” she whispers.

Junie beams at her.

Darting her eyes to the front of the lecture hall, Jamie spies her professor, Buck, completely conked out at his desk, his chest rising and falling with his snores. Percy is nowhere to be seen, his laptop open at his chair. “What’s the next one?” Jamie turns her paper so that Junie can see better.

“Pluto Proserpinam infelicem cepit,” she announces, perfectly accented.

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.”

The door to the lecture hall opens. Jamie whips around in her seat, startled, and sees her TA, walking down the steps. From the corner of her eye, Junie disappears, booking it to her dad, who scoops her up without missing a beat. “Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Were you bothering my students?” Then he glances at Jamie. “Sorry about that--hope she wasn’t too annoying.”

But Jamie shakes her head. “It’s fine.” Dammit.

Still smiling, Percy makes his way back down to his seat. Junie grins at her over his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her dad’s neck.

At the beginning of the semester, Professor Buck had droned on and on about Mr. Jackson, about how he was one of the best up-and-coming classics scholars in the world, how he could have had his pick of PhD programs, and how NYU was lucky to have him. He got first pick of assistantships this semester, apparently, but had volunteered to teach Latin 1001, and they should all be grateful, because he had done some beautiful new translation of Virgil for his Master’s thesis, and they were all going to learn a lot from him.

Turning back to her exam, Jamie snorts. Of course a guy like that would have a kid who could speak perfect Latin.

She really should have just stuck with German instead.

#my fic #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #perseannabeth #darkmagyk #percy should be a classics major and here's why #the percy major for the stem hating author #also i feel like i have to say:#1) classics conferences are not like that #2) if only it were that easy to get the bm to return looted antiquities 🙄#pjo fic #percabeth fic #percy jackson

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lavynrose · 3 years

Note

- a oneshot for artem wing when he finally mustered up courage to ask out their s/o to hang out as friends (theme parks or just garden strolls, you can pick which type of place you want i won't mind!) to confess to them and when he confesses their s/o confesses at the same time too? and the s/o is kinda shy and awkward with him so he gets surprised and all flustered with them confessing at the same time?

(ackk this has been stuck in my head for a while, sorry if there are any grammar mistakes since english isn't my first language! i hope u have a great day!! :D <3)

- coomkie anon ♡

Artem Wing and his s/o confessing at the same time pt. 1

Title: Dedicated

Pairing/s: Artem Wing X Reader

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

Genre: Fluff

Warning/s: Grammatical errors probably

Notes: blushy artem is best artem, and we have celestine being the best wingwoman again

enjoy an amusement park date with Artem <3

Artem Wing is a dedicated man.

If it had been any other person, they would be home right now.

but not him.

Even now, as the looming hours of the night began to tick, he sits at his swivel chair, busied with the love of his life called paperwork.

"Aren't you overworking yourself?" He looked up from his papers to see Celestine waltzing inside his office with documents in hand.

The question should've made him stop and think to at least consider getting rest, but no, we're talking about Artem the workaholic here.

He has heard Celestine's question directed at him for the past few days, and from different people at that.

"Overworking means I have more time to double-check these documents," Artem said as he reached out for the folder that Celestine brought over, "Don't you think it's pretty convenient?"

"Artem," She started with concern in her blue-green eyes, "I know you're trying to distract yourself."

Artem was silent for a few moments before coughing, "Whatever do you mean? There's nothing I have to distract myself from." He said with complete calmness in his voice that he could even fool himself.

"You don't have to hide it, you know? I see the way you look at them," She smiled as she recalled the lingering stares and soft smiles setting display into Artem's face when he's around his colleague "The way you act around Y/N." she added with a hint of teasing.

The mention of your name seemed to short-circuit Artem's brain, Celestine took advantage of this with delight.

"Also... They've been getting friendly and close with that new employee.." She puts her hands on her chin, thinking.

Earlier today, she caught Artem's looks of distraught while his eyes were on you and the new guy. You were having a friendly conversation.

Too friendly.

After that, The youngest senior attorney even requested you to work with him at his desk, claiming that he, quote "needs to keep close tabs on the files that Y/N is handling." end quote.

but Celestine knew better.

Jealous is the only word that can describe how Artem was acting. She decided she will push his buttons tonight.

"Aren't you... threatened?" She beamed at him, waiting for his reaction.

"..."

"They've been on your mind lately, I reckon."

"..."

"They're getting closer with each other, don't you think?"

"..."

Hopeless. Celestine thought.

To say that she's frustrated with this whole situation surrounding the two of you is an understatement. Everyone in your circle clearly sees it - you and Artem like each other.

In the way he bought cake for the whole office that one afternoon the day after an episode of an office drama aired, or in the way that he went out of his way to take care of you in the hospital when you overworked yourself to sickness, or in the way you blushed around each other, the lingering touches, oh the lingering touches. It was all obvious.

The both of you spend your time together more than anyone else, everyone thinks your blooming affections were inevitable at this point. Solving controversial cases meant having the mental and emotional intimacy to get to know each other better compared to your average professional relationship.

You don't see each other as "working partners" anymore, it's clear that you guys want each other as a different kind of partner.

It was known to everyone except for the two of you, apparantly.

Celestine sighed before rummaging through the magazine shelf in the office, grinning when she found what she's looking for.

Artem shot her a look of suspicion. He has a bad feeling about this.

"There." She said with satisfaction before dropping the magazine into his desk.

The magazine lays there, with an eye-catching font and colorful cover page, Artem blushes as his eyes read, 100 cute date ideas...

Judging from the cover, the magazine might actually be useful when giving date suggestions. Under the big font however, there was a smaller text that read, Your significant other is waiting!

What is this...

"I'm sorry but I have work to finish." He tried his best to unsee what he just saw, and decided to turn his focus on the headache of workload in front of him instead.

Celestine raised her eyebrows at him with a frown, "Don't be stubborn now, I'm your boss, I'm giving you both a day-off tomorrow. I mean, you haven't used your day-off at all ever since you started working here. So please. " Her voice is laced with concern.

He looked away with a sentimental look in his eyes, "You don't have to do this for me. I'm fine with... Giving them affection without them realizing it."

Celestine just frowns deeper.

"Come on now Artem, doesn't it sound tempting to you?" She clasped her hands and continued a little too excitedly like a schoolgirl in love, "Having alone time with Y/N, finally asking them out on the date so the other guys threatening your future can back off."

It does sound tempting, Artem admits.

He looked away with reddened cheeks, "I'll think about it."

He doesn't need to look at Celestine to know she's sporting a big grin right now.

Later that night on his bed, his mind keeps flashing images of you. You, wearing a big, warm smile on your face. You, with your little mannerisms that he came to memorize from hours of being with you. Every little thing, every moment, as long as it's with you, he cherishes it.

Oops. The butterflies are starting.

He didn't mind.

You looked stunning today, but then again, he finds you stunning everyday.

When was I this cheesy? He thought to himself.

His thoughts kept racing with reveries about you when a new image interrupted every nice thought.

It was of you and the new employee laughing together.

He frowned and his stomach churns.

"Are they interested in each other?" He finds himself asking the wind. His mind was reeling.

He thinks about the time when he first heard you say that you were married to your work. Surely, you aren't interested in being in a relationship with some guy, right?

Right?

Groaning, he then realized that he needs to make a move now before it's too late.

To him, you're the loveliest person he's ever met, your kindness, your welcoming smile, the passion that you present when you're in the court, the way you always remain headstrong no matter how many people clash with you and try to break your principles.

The only one that occupies his heart, you.

Artem is sure he won't regret giving you his feelings, and eventually, reveal them.

He got up from his bed and sent a glare at the magazine that is now resting on the lamp table beside his bed, mocking him. He picked it up with less hesitation than before.

'What should I choose?' Artem asked himself before flipping the pages, a faint blush adorning his cheeks.

This is a big step for him, and he wants to make sure that he's going to do it right.

7:00am

You rubbed your eyes and stretched your limbs as the sunlight permeated through your bedroom window, the yellow glow giving you a peaceful feeling, a new day is about to start.

A new day without work at that.

You had been ecstatic when Celestine called you to inform you last night of your long awaited day-off, you smiled at the memory as you stand up to brush your teeth.

"You deserve it for all your hardwork!" Even through the phone, you heard the smile in her voice.

Soon, your thoughts drifted to a certain raven-haired man.

'How about Artem? I'm his assistant, does he get a day-off too?' You wondered as you finished washing your mouth, finally heading off to the kitchen to prepare for breakfast.

You were about to choose what to eat from the fridge when you hear a song play from your phone in your room.

You hurriedly went back as you recognized that ringtone - that ringtone you had set for a particular contact.

There on the screen, displays the name of the object of your affections.

Mr. Wing.

'Why is he calling this early? What could he possibly need?' you thought to yourself before pressing the green button.

"Good morning Artem, what is it?" you didn't even try to hide the happiness from your voice, Artem calling you this early doesn't happen often, after all.

"Good morning. Do you have plans for today?" His morning voice echoed through your ears. It was husky and rough, filling all of your senses.

Realizing that he just woke up, you can't help but blush at the thought of being the first person to talk to him today.

He thought of you first thing in the morning!

You tried to control the lingering heat in your face as you replied, "Uhm, yes uhh- none. I have no plans for today, Artem. I'll be thinking of what to do though. Why did you ask? " You hoped he didn't mind the sttuttering mess presented to him this early in the morning.

You wondered if there's an emergency case needed to be taken care of, he rarely ever calls outside of work.

Then again, you're always at work.

"That's good," the other line was silent for a bit. As your anticipation for his reply grew, he finally said, "A new amusement park is going be opened today. I heard they'll be having a fireworks display tonight to celebrate the opening."

You've heard about the said amusement park from your coworkers yesterday, you even heard that it was a project from PAX.

Marius' wealth truly knows no bounds, you thought.

Kiki even invited you to come with her this sunday, as it's the only freetime the both of you had before Celestine's sudden news of a day-off.

Is Artem coming there today? He doesn't seem like the type to go to amusement parks, but now you know that he likes them, or at least he didn't mind going, you added this info to your list of things about Artem that make you fall in love with him more and more. Because let's be honest, what's there not to like about the man?

He's handsome, sweet, a good cook, a senior attorney you can look up to, and he always makes sure to reassure you that you're doing well, that he's proud of you.

He cleared his throat, breaking you out of your thoughts, "Do you want to go there..." He paused, his nerves getting the better of him, unbeknownst to you, "With me? I have two tickets, and I wanted to invite a close friend. Is that alright with you? "

What?

'Is he asking me out on a date!?' you were practically screaming internally as you paced frantically in your room.

No. No way. This isn't a date. Not until he says so.

He said 'close friend' so you shouldn't overthink this. You were partners, after all!

At least you try to convince yourself.

"Of course Artem. I'm glad you invited me, I'm really happy." You weren't lying, his invite was the most unexpected thing that happened to you this week.

He hummed, "I'm happy, too. I'll be there at 2:30pm to fetch you, they'll open around 3pm. " He said in a gentle voice before hanging up.

You pumped your fist in the air. You have plenty of time to prepare.

2:30pm

Among all of the outfits that you could've worn today, you decided to wear a cute, beige, knitted sweater. A pair of faded ripped jeans, white sneakers, and a beanie to top it all off.

The amusement park being your destination, you decided to wear casual clothing since you'd be hopping on rides left and right.

You wouldn't want to wear a skirt just for it to blow on the wind while you're in the air, screaming for dear life.

Nope. You definitely don't want that.

You're now waiting outside your apartment after Artem sent you a text 5 minutes ago that he's on his way.

Your head is plagued with expectations on how this friendly date is going to go. You've never felt as giddy as this before.

It's understandable, right? The person you like asked you out to go with him to an amusement park - using his morning voice, nonetheless, so it wouldn't be strange for you to think that this is like an actual date.

You bonked yourself mentally.

You keep reminding yourself that it's just a friendly date. It's just a friendly date. You believe in the power of your mind, it's a friendly date. He even said so himself.

Artem's going to think you're weird. It's not like you're going to hold hands or anything...

Yet, you didn't even try to stop the daydream clouding your mind.

While you were busy indulging yourself in your fantasies, your eyes caught a familiar spot of black in the parking lot. Artem's car!

That's your cue. When his car stopped, you made your way over to him with a small smile on your face.

His black car opened, spilling out Artem clad in his casual clothing.

You scanned his appearance, taking in those breath-taking, familiar eyes. Taking in the beige, knitted sweater he's wearing, paired with slacks and black shoes.

Wait.

You did a double take- beige, knitted sweater?

You looked at his clothes, then looked down at your own, then back at his again.

Red and warmth crept up to your cheeks as realization hits you.

You kind of looked like a couple.

"What's wrong?" Artem inquired with concern as he stepped closer and reached out his hands to your flustered form.

He even placed his hand on your forehead to check your temperature.

Yes, you think you have a fever.

It's only when he got to take a good look at you when realization hits him the way it hit you.

He retreated his hand and looked away, face as warm as yours.

"Uhh..."

"..."

Why are you acting like a highschooler!? You're better than this, getting flustered just because you wore identical clothes.

With the person you like, you added.

The both of you stayed silent for a few seconds before you spoke up with a grin, thankful that the pink that dusted your cheeks is now cooling down a bit, "We should get going now."

You expected the ride to be as awkward as earlier, but to your relief, that wasn't the case at all.

Artem played the radio on your drive to the amusement park, and even asked you about how you're feeling lately and whatnot.

Honestly, with how he's always so concerned about your well-being, you're doomed to fall even harder.

"What are your favorite rides, Artem?" You decided to talk about something connected to where you're going to go.

"Hmm," as he hummed, you looked in front of the car to see the gates of the amusement park came into view. You can even see the familiar structure of a rollercoaster and a really grand ferris wheel turning slowly.

Majestic.

Is the motif for this amusement park golden!? The railings are shimmering with gold, some parts of the rides are adorned with gold, wherever you look, gold!

PAX outdid themselves with this one, definitely took "shining, shimmering, splendid" to a whole new level. Too much for the word grandeur, you think.

You can't even imagine how wide the place must be. You haven't even stepped foot inside, yet your eyes were oogling as some more rides were seen from outside the gates.

"We're here Artem! Look!" From your side, Artem turns to take a look from the road to the park, his eyes screaming nothing but amusement.

"It's beautiful," He breathed while you nodded furiously with agreement. He shot you a look, "I'm glad I get to spend my first time here with you." The softness is his eyes is blinding as you stared at him and processed his words.

"Me too..." you managed to choke out, turning away to hide your blush.

While you were taming your flushed cheeks, Artem had parked the car already.

He opened the doors for the both of you as he offered you his arm. Confusion takes over your features.

"So you wouldn't get lost, it's a big crowd out here, " He tilted his head to have a better look at your still sitting form inside the car, "Let's go?" He said with that gentle smile, as comforting as ever.

You stood up and linked your arm with his and suggested, "How about the bumpy car first?" excitement was evident in your voice.

He shook his head and chuckled, "Whatever you wish." He said as he locked the car doors with a click. You both headed to check in and do the formalities first. After all that, with a skip to your step, you pulled Artem to the bumpy car's ticket booth, and went inside.

You're elated.

"I can't believe the Artem Wing, the youngest senior attorney, is losing to me!" You sound hysterical as you bumped Artem's car with yours over and over, your bumpy car dominating his.

This is fun! Just minutes earlier, the atmosphere between you and Artem seemed a little tight because of the matching clothing incident. Just a little. However, the laughter of everyone playing in this space is infectious, it leaves you in a really good and playful mood.

It makes you feel like you were a kid again. You hope Artem feels the same.

Before playing, you made a bet with him earlier that whoever bumps the other the most, wins.

"Y/N. I think this car is defective." He said with a frown, his eyebrows furrowing as his hands tinker whatever there was in the steering wheel.

You looked over to him and replied, "We can switch cars, let me see." The two of you switched from each other's bumpy ride and you assessed the supposedly 'broken' car.

You realized he didn't push the right buttons to ride the bumper properly.

"Artem..." You looked at him blankly and said, "Have you ever been to bumpy cars before?"

He was silent before replying with darting eyes, "No, I haven't," He cleared his throat, "I have only been to the ferris wheel and escape rooms, I haven't been to bumpy rides before. Sorry."

You beamed at him.

"Don't be sorry!" You flail your arms to disagree, "There's nothing wrong with that. I'm actually happy that you allowed me to drag you here despite you not having played it before." You flashed him a thankful smile.

He looked a little surprised at first, but then that warm smile of his came back, "Thank you." You stared at each other's eyes for a few beats in time, his ocean eyes containing a sparkle you rarely see them hold. It looks so gentle, so welcoming.

So fond.

You stared at each other for a while, his deep eyes were enough to drown out the crowd. To drown out everything that existed but him.

Blinking, you snapped out of it to teach him how to drive the car.

The cars were booster types, different from the old models wherein you just turn the wheels and you'll be good. In this specific model, commands are needed to be performed in order for the car to execute it's special feature.

"You turn it like this..." Artem is a fast-learner, so the both you were back on track as soon as you guided him the directions.

In the end, you were tied, the bumper time limit resulting the draw.

"I'm definitely beating you next time!" you declared with a smug look, hands on your waist.

After the bumper, a receptionist from what seemed like a family raft ride made his way to invite the two of you.

"You guys look like you're having fun!" He then pointed at the paper he's holding and said with persuasion, "You're going to have even more fun here! The family raft ride is the only free ride we're offering in the park for it's first day, be sure not to miss out on this special bonus!" He then turned his heel to find more costumers.

You blinked, "Too bad we don't have extra clothes..." You hung your head low and you sighed as your mind thinks of a different ride to enjoy.

"Well, he did say it's a special bonus," Artem pondered, "They sell clothes here anyway, and there are restrooms we can change on," you wondered if this is going the way you think it's going, "I can see no harm in trying this free ride." He finished with the corners of his lips turned upwards.

Your eyes sparkled with so much joy that he's glad he suggested this.

"Then what are we waiting for!?" You squeal and jump from where you stand and Artem could only shake his head at you with an adoring look in his ocean eyes.

You both headed to the line of people waiting to get their tickets for the raft.

"That's a long line..." You're already mentally tired as you stared at the single file of people in front of you.

"There's still plenty of time before the fireworks at 7pm, I can go and buy us ice cream. Do you want some? "

You're face fell, remembering you were on a diet, "I appreciate the offer, but no thanks, I'm on a diet." An ice cream sounds really tempting right now, but you must resist.

"I heard they sell low-fat ice cream in here. How about that?" He proposed as his eyes glinted with satisfaction.

He knew this would do you in, sure enough, you gave him the biggest grin you could muster.

"You're the best, Artem! Any flavor is fine, by the way. " You beamed as he turned his heel to the ice cream stall, you just stared at his back the whole time he was away.

A minute later, the man wearing a cozy beige sweater that matches yours turned around and went over to you, two chocolate chip ice cream in hand. You reached out to take your ice cream, your fingers brushing.

You ignored the tingling feeling and the chills. He looked away.

While eating, you talked about how the line for the rollercoaster was two times longer than the raft's even though it's literally free.

"I believe they added a new feature to the coaster." Artem reasoned.

"You bet. The rides' golden theme is already impressive enough," You eyed the unbelievably long line from the coaster's ticket booth, "We can go back here some time to see that feature for ourselves." your face heated as you realized the implications in your words.

His eyes widened for a single moment and then looked at you with such intensity you can't bring yourself to look away, "I'd love that." a gentle look worms it's way in his features once again.

Comfortable silence dawns on your own, little world while you both busied yourselves in your ice cream.

The two of you were thrilled as it was your turn to ride the raft, ice cream long gone, replaced by the life-vest in your hands.

"Ah," you sighed, fumbling with the vest a little longer than you should have.

Artem, of course, noticed your movements. He was kind enough to help you adjust the vest.

Of course.

"Come here." He said as his arms finds it's way to your waist, pulling you towards his stature. His hot breath hitting your face while he circled his arms around you to wrap the vest securely.

This is not good for your heart...

He's so close, you could kiss him if you wanted...

He pulled away, his warmth lingering still.

Even when the both of you sat down on the raft. The ride is going to start in a few and here you are, lost in the feeling of Artem being near you.

"Y/N," You abruptly turned your head to him when he suddenly called you, "are you nervous?"

You blushed so hard you wanted to evaporate with the water, 'Yes. You make me nervous.' you're tempted to respond.

"Yes, but don't worry about me." was your reply instead, and you smiled awkwardly and stared at his blue eyes, blue eyes laced with concern.

He leaned closer, probably so that the other people within your raft wouldn't hear, "I care about you and I want you to feel as comfortable as possible," he whispered in your ear, sending chills to your spine.

This is definitely not comfortable, Mr. Wing.

Your heart is doing flips, this isn't normal!

"Please tell me if you need something." The gentleness in his voice took your breath away the way it did as the first time.

The fact that he's unaware of his effect on you angered you so much. You scanned his face for signs of teasing. Smirk, maybe a playful glint, anything.

Yet you found none.

The raft began to move, a perfect timing to change the subject!

You leaned on him, but not too close, and whispered, "It's starting."

Water began to splash, as the raft moved with the current.

The track was smooth at first, you getting small splashes here and there.

Until a bumpy track decided to present itself.

Like before, the raft went with the flow of the water, except that it bounced and rotated harshly that one particular splash of water was enough to wet you and your clothes completely.

"OH MY G-" you exclaimed when the raft hit a rough spot again, soaking everyone wet.

You were making a surprised pikachu face as the water seeped into your clothes.

You turned to look at Artem to see his state and you suppressed a giggle with how he's making the same face as you did earlier.

Never in your life you thought you'd see Artem with the surprised pikachu face.

You took pride in knowing that you're one of the very few people who gets to see this side of him.

"Artem!" you shouted through the noisy stream of water. "We look silly!" you laughed as the water rocked everyone in the raft as harsh as it possibly can. Round and round, back and forth.

"We do!" his laughed mingled with yours even when the water relentlessly kept soaking your already wet bodies.

You smiled once again, gazing at his form with profound fondness longer than just a friend would've done.

6:00pm

"That was really fun!" You shouted to the air while Artem scooted beside you, offering his arm like he did earlier, which you eagerly took.

The both of you went for another round on the raft after the first round, not caring about the long waiting line. The ride was worth it!

All you ever did was scream and laugh at each other's state, but it was the most enjoyment you've ever had in years.

You were completely dry now, changed into fresh clothes that were sold as the park's merchandise.

Even with the change of clothes, the clothes you were wearing right now still matched Artem's.

You weren't complaining.

The crowd continues to enjoy themselves, all while the sunset was making everything in the theme park look like a fairytale.

"Yes, it was. I enjoyed it very much." Artem flashed a smile so genuine, you wanted to see this sight a thousand times more. The orange glow of the sunset gives his raven hair a golden shade, light reflecting on his blue eyes, making him look so bewitching. So you carved it to your memory, not knowing how to elicit that same image from him once again.

Looking up at him, and looking back at the things that happened today, you realized something.

You couldn't take this silent pining anymore, you wanted to tell him how precious his smile is to you, to tell him you're glad he's spending his time with you, to tell him to make more memories with you.

To tell him he's the reason of the warmth flooding your whole being right now.

'I'm in love with you' is what you first thought of saying. No matter how cliche that may be, you wanted to let him know, that you're in love with him.

"Uhh, Artem, I-" You were about to spill your feelings then and there when a voice boomed the speakers of the park.

"Everyone! One hour more to go for the fireworks! Please look forward to it!"

Your confession's gonna have to wait for later.

part 2 here

#tears of themis #tears of themis x reader #artem x reader #artem wing #artem wing x reader #tears of themis imagines #tears of themis headcanons #zuo ran x reader #tot x reader #tears of themis oneshots #tears of themis artem #tot artem

325 notes · View notes

shotorozu · 3 years

Text

writing letters

character(s) : midoriya izuku, bakugou katsuki, todoroki shouto (bnha)

PART TWO | PART THREE (?)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, quirk’s not specific

note(s) : how the bnha boys would write you notes/letters and when they’d do so! this also includes headcanons of their handwriting, and examples of their letters (without visuals, because of the image limit)

— .｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ it’s my birthday (part 2) ˚✧₊⁎

»»————-　♡　————-««

midoriya izuku

↛ his hand writing is quite rounded, sometimes messy— but most of the time, it’s alright. izuku usually writes at the center of each column. he occasionally hooks his y’s and g’s (think of what the cursive form of y and g looks like)

↛ he writes you a ton of letters, sometimes for special occasions, sometimes for just no reason at all— like whenever you’re feeling downer than usual, or if he can’t see you at the moment. in reality, he only ends up sending out one. boy has a lot on his mind! i mean, izuku’s a natural writer, he’s been writing about heroes for as long as he could remember in middle school. green boy loves you so much, he could write you an entire novel just filled with the nicest words of affirmations, and he could write sequels stacked ontop of more sequels! but,, he’s hesitant on sending you a lot all at once, or even sending you a lot in just a span of one week, because he’s scared of coming off as stalkerish or too obsessed.

hi Y/N!

work study has been busier than usual, and i’ve been wanting to see you check on you. but sadly, i really couldn’t see you as much as i could. i’m so sorry again! but ok, okay! moving on to the reason why im writing this letter in the first place.

i love you i hope you’re doing well :) even though i can’t really see you at the moment, and even when i’m busy at this work study with kacchan, i hope you’re eating, sleeping, and doing well!

i hope you’re thinking about me, as much as im thinking about you :)

— love, izuku <3

bakugou katsuki

↛ surprisingly, his handwriting isn’t the worst thing in the world. it’s decent, and definitely legible. the edges are sharp though— it definitely suits him.

↛ thinks he has no reason to be writing you letters, and he says that because he— as an individual, prefers telling the things he needs to say to you to your face. so, the chance of him writing you letters is pretty slim. katsuki’s not a fan of the idea of hiding behind some ‘stupid’ letter, with the ‘stupid’ inking and ‘stupid’ paper. but then, he hears that some people tend to appreciate handwritten letters ever so often, especially when they’re feeling particularly down. he rolls his eyes at this new profound information, but he takes a mental note of it. even though he could just tell you the words he means to say over and over again, katsuki ends up pushing through with it anyway.

hey, dumbass.

yeah, me writing letters? you thought i’d never in a million years, huh? wrong. super wrong. have you forgotten that i’m a man of a million talents? anyways. shitty ha kirishima told me that writing you a letter would make you feel less shitty, and he’s not completely wrong. he says the weirdest shit, but he makes sense here and there.

look, you do know that i don’t mean any of the shit i say, right? i don’t wanna come back and see you all sulky and pouty, because you know that i don’t actually mean it when i call you that. sometimes i wish you’d fucking yell at me, because you’re not a doormat. then again, you’re my dumbass anyway. never let anyone tell you otherwise

— katsuki.

todoroki shouto

↛ there he is, the love of my life <3 moving aside, his handwriting is pretty neat. not too round, and not too sharp— if there’s an absolute balance, then shouto’s handwriting would probably be just that (his writing isn’t like a font though, and bonus! aizawa has the easiest time checking his papers during written exams)

↛ he probably sends you letters the most, out of all of the characters i’ve wrote about, or will write about. usually, he writes you a letter once or twice a week, even when you’re in the same vicinity as him. however— if you’re away for like,, a work study, or for a family holiday across town, and for quite some time, he’ll end up writing you 4-5 letters a week, depending on the duration of your stay away. he’s quite used to writing letters, since he practically writes his mom whenever he can— you could even say that this is a love language of his, from the way that his words are precise, and nothing short of being sweet and just,, filled with words derived purely from the heart. in his opinion, he doesn’t mind telling you how he feels face to face, but he also doesn’t mind writing letters. he just,, needs to tell you how he feels!

my love,

it’s been a while. i know, and i do want to apologize for that. we.. haven’t been able to see each other, due to the work study with the old man. it’s excruciating to say the least, just thinking about not seeing you for days upon days. i haven’t touched, seen, or spoken to you in person for way too long. and i feel like you might’ve babied me for quite some time, since i can’t even imagine a week without you. but it’s impossible. you’re so delectable, and you’re for sore eyes. i can only yearn for your touch for how much longer.

lastly, i just want you to remember that i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you. i should probably start making the closing point of this letter. before endeavor comes in, and starts looming over my shoulder like the old man he is. i’ll write about that old fart another time, don’t you fret just yet, love.

— with ever lasting love, shouto todoroki <3

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nolpat0 · 3 years

Text

can't quit you | m. barzal

summary: she and mat can't get each other go despite how bad they are for each other

wc: 1,165

warnings: toxic behavior, alludes to sex

The cramped kitchen was dark, moonlight pouring over the dark-stained floorboards and illuminating her figure sitting loosely cross-legged on the floor, the pale lighting making wraith-like shadows flicker across her weary features as her eyes continued gazing harshly at the blank-screened phone resting in the middle of the worn floor. She was debating, being yanked back and forth from her two options so wildly her stomach clenched painfully, tightening and coiling as she failed to be broken from her anguished reverie. A frightened whimper escaped her bitten, blood-stained lips, tongue darting out to taste the metallic flavor of her own blood, as the phone screen lit up with a ring. It was him. She began shaking her head ever so slightly, sharp, melancholic hatred aimed at him flaring through her veins as the phone continued its insistent ring, making her finally choose the lesser of two evils instead of letting sleep take over at 3am on her kitchen floor, salty tears clinging her to flushed cheeks. There was always that option- even now- but now the idea of picking up the call, answering the phone, and hearing the soothing lilt of his words was too tempting. Who wanted to pass out on their kitchen floor crying anyway?

"Hey,"

Every ounce of hatred left her pores, dripping away and leaving her shaking form clean and fresh with a new wave of guilt and satisfaction. The two emotions warred inside her, rising to a dull ache in the base of her skull as her cracked fingernails dug into the plastic of the phone case as she held it to her ear.

"Mat," She answered quietly, the syllable rolling off her tongue, unbidden and a horribly natural habit she'd somehow picked up over the course of his midnight calls. Her wet lashes hit her cheek as she squeezed her blood-shot eyes tightly at the memory of the endless stretch of similar calls he'd tortured her with. Of course, he called; she kept picking up. Even when she really, truly shouldn't have.

On the other line, the crackle of her voice through the small speaker of his phone had the muscles of his mouth twitching to the side in a triumphant grin that shone in the light of the bright phone screen in front of him. His long fingers held the device away from him, letting his coffee-colored eyes roam over the font of her contact and the changing numbers of the duration of their call until he had it committed to memory. He liked the way her small voice echoed through his cold, darkened room in the dead of night when he put her on speaker. Despite himself, Mat liked hearing each crack of her words, as if the syllables were breaking apart along with her will. It became a game to him; the boy relishing every tilt of her unique voice crowding his room as he guessed what word her throat would choke on, and which sentences she pushed past her pretty lips would have her falling apart. When she would break. So he continued curling his lungs around the air meant to breathe life into his meaningless words, trying to drag out her inevitable downfall before he'd have to pick up her pieces.

In the lackluster light of her cold-tiled kitchen, the girl bit back the hiccup of her cries as she clung to every hollow word he gave to her. She knew of his sickening glee over her impending sobs and knew how much he liked the emotion he inspired in her battered heart. The enjoyment originally came from a well-meaning place, the boy in awe of the positive, in-love feelings he gave to her. Too quickly, their love had wilted like a flower cut from its stem, and he was left with the game of how hard he could bend her before she broke in his hands. But it took two to play their catastrophic game of dying love and her games were just as horrible as his.

Fingertips pressed against the faded tile of her kitchen, she curled into herself, back curving as her ribs shook with skillfully internalized sobs. She wondered offhandedly if he could tell she was crying from the unsteady pacing of her shallow breath through the buzz of the poor connection. Her white-knuckled hands shook with familiar desperation; an ache for him and the weight of his arm fitted above the jut of her hipbones as the ends of his dark curls brushed her heavily flushed cheeks, the whistle of his breath soft against the shell of her ear. It was a familiar ache, a feeling that nestled into the junction of her bones and follow every painful midnight call and tears pooling on the kitchen floor.

"I need you here, Mat." She whispered, the feeling of loneliness so overwhelming and ghastly terrifying that she folded to its influence, eyes shuttered closed as she pleads for him. "Can you come over?"

It was always can and never please because can gave him the opportunity to walk away, finalize their disastrous end with a broken promise that he'd arrive at her door but instead left her in the shaking mess of herself, gasping as the morning sun finally rose and told her to get herself together. It meant they could finally let each other go, and they could move away from whatever shreds of their relationship they had left, feet swiftly moving them throughout their life so that in time, they could look back and silently thank the day he broke his final promise.

"I'll be there in ten."

Ten minutes. Mat had ten minutes to pull on his shoes, unlock his car and navigate the midnight streets like he didn't already know the route by heart. She had ten minutes to pick herself off the floor, wash her mascara-stained face and pick whatever color she thought he'd like that night. But he also had ten minutes to stall at a red light, finger drumming against the leather and decide against this, putting his car into reverse as he pulled out of her apartment parking lot. She had ten minutes to stare at her dulled eyes in the mirror, order a new lock, and text Mat to lose his spare key before blocking the eleven-digit number from her phone. They had six hundred seconds to make their decisions, to war with their heart and head, to understand that the feeling tucked between their heart and sternum was no longer love, but the terrifyingly real fear of being alone. But perhaps they already realized this and figured this cruel routine was better than having a cold bed.

In the end, six hundred seconds weren't enough for either of them. Mat pulled the silver key from his pocket, feeling the familiar ridges as he understood its metaphorical meaning. Guilt stabbed at his heart, but nothing stopped him as he pressed the key into the lock.

Only to find the door already opened.

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