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#he looks PHENOMENAL he makes me want to eat glass
starsarefire824 · 4 months
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Fic Recs
In honor of things being shitty in the tag right now and everyone in their depression era, I'm offering a few fic recs in these trying times. Hope you discover something new, friends. 🖤
the comforts that make us feel numb by passerine_in_jade.
“No, but really. If I were a girl,” Mike presses on, looking up at Will with red-rimmed eyes through dark lashes. Leaning in. Somehow, fully unaware that this line of questioning has Will's heart climbing up to his throat. “Would you want to kiss me?”
or, Will and Mike get high in the desert.
Well written, almost dreamy quality to it. Author to watch for me! Can't believe I only just discovered their writing.
A Wish For Something More by @waroftheposes
Seven year old Will didn't have a problem with kissing his best friend on a dare. Seventeen year old Will, however, would not do it if someone held his hand over a fire.
Or: Truth or dare at seven and truth or dare at seventeen.
They're silly and sweet and oh so confused. The writing is lovely as well. Great if you're in the mood for fluff.
On the Same Frequency by @oldfashionedmorphine
Ever since his best friend Will Byers was murdered back in 1985, Mike Wheeler wanted nothing more than to leave his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana and never look back—only each and every year he’s forced to make an exception when it comes to the holidays. And when Mike visits for Christmas in 1995, his mom asks him to help clear out some junk in his room and down in the basement before he returns home to Indianapolis. But when he comes across an old trunk containing his Supercom walkie-talkie and ham radio, he discovers something strange that has the potential to change everything…
(or an AU inspired by the movie “Frequency” from 2000)
I'm only just starting this, but Frequency au?? Hell yes.
Fleeting by olliecoddle. @souverian-are-we
Mike liked Will’s art shows, albeit slightly less the higher class they had gotten. Little paintings in the corner of a cafe morphed into white walls and rich spectators poised with champagne and well-mannered criticism. Still, he had been looking forward to it. He wanted to go. But now, walking up to the glass doors, he had to admit he felt jittery.
or, Will's new paintings are a little too personal
This is one of my absolute favorites ever. The writing of course, it's ollie. But the descriptions, the entire buildup of Mike's reaction in the art gallery, the content of the painting? The entire concept is beautiful. And be sure to look up the painting Will's was inspired by. It will tell you everything.
any semblance of touch by anonymous.
“Nothing,” Will says, right into Mike’s ear. “Still feeling good?”
So good. Mike makes sure to not say it aloud this time. “I think,” Mike says slowly, heart pounding, “I need” — Will pulls back just a little, just enough for their noses to bump against each other, clumsy, and Mike bites the bullet — “one more.”
Will is still in Mike’s lap, which is maybe not very platonic of him, and the joint has smoldered its way down to the end, nearly over, all eaten up by the fire. Will swallows thickly, then leans closer, a perfect imitation of their positions from earlier. Mike isn’t sure how long it’s been, but fire has been eating away at him too, this whole time, leaving him on the brink of going up in smoke, slow and burning and so good.“Yeah?” Will murmurs, realization dawning on him, eyes wide. “One more?”
or: Mike’s still new to this whole smoking thing. Will has a few ideas.
Utterly depressing this is anonymous because the writing is phenomenal. So alive and vivid. Not sure where this fic was hiding, but I'm glad I found it. Highlights: Mike’s inner dialogue, the playfulness between them, the lowered inhibitions finally letting them relax into the moment.
nosebleeds from epiphanies (i took full in the face) by wheelersboy @karenchildress.
Hawkins, Montana, June 1988. When Lonnie Byers catches his youngest son in the arms of another boy, he calls in that favor owed to him by rancher Jim Hopper in Lenora: Will must work as an unpaid ranch hand and learn to "man up." Mike Wheeler follows him to the creepy ranch with electrical problems, like any best friend would.
jo's writing is always fantastic. she has such a unique voice and mike's struggle in this just does things for me.
When The Sun Runs Out by olliecoddle @souverian-are-we
On a dreary day in March, 1989 the population of Hawkins, Indiana dropped to four. Will Byers watched as the final family left, the bed of their truck packed to the brim and tied down with a tarp. Furniture stuck out at odd angles, and the corner flap flailed in the breeze as they turned onto the highway. Will followed the vehicle with his eyes until it disappeared as a dot on the long stretch of pavement. Then, he got in his car and went home.
Or, Will is burning out, and Mike is mesmerized by the flame.
This was sexy as hell and all I'm gonna say is tattoos. I really enjoyed this little rougher around the edges, let down by life, closed off Will after being left in Hawkins alone with El, Hopper, and Joyce to wait for the end of the world that never seems to come.
dirty rain by henrycreel
mike wheeler is an average alpha teenage boy working on keeping tight control of his raging hormones in the wake of being seventeen years old, unmated, and a virgin who's never spent his rut with anyone before. when one of his teachers makes an innocent request of him, he finds himself spiraling almost right away. the omega sitting next to him in class is going to be his omega one way or another even if it means employing some traditional and unconventional means to show him who he belongs to.
will byers is an omega with a tendency toward anxiety and outright fear, marked by years of abuse at the hands of his father. high school should be a chance to open a new chapter for himself, but he only truly finds comfort sitting next to mike, an alpha whose presence seems to keep the usual mocking and bullying at bay. but when mike starts to cross the line from friendly classmate into so much more, will has no time to decide if he's ready to move on to a relationship of his own, to finding a mate to settle down with like his big brother already has.
mike is making the decision for both of them.
A solid Omegaverse fic! <3
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emmyrosee · 1 year
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92
48 touching and 48 kissing
akaashi
💖💖🧍‍♀️
HSOSBSOSJSO THE LITERAL LOML-
92 “that SO classified as a date”
48 touching “dancing together��
48 kissing “to stop them from talking”
-
The air smelt sweet of hot chocolate and muffins, and despite the fact that you narrowly missed the rain after completing the project for school, Keiji notices how your eyes seem to yearn for the trickling droplets slipping down the glass and pounding into puddles.
“We can take the pastries back to the dorms,” he says simply, taking a sip of his coffee and observing you. “If you’d like. Starting to come down heavy.”
“I don’t mind the rain,” you confess, your voice in a dreamy lilt. “I think it’s misunderstood.”
He offers you a small laugh and takes a sip of his warm coffee, admiring the way your eyes dance over the slipping of the water. “Never took you to be such an appreciator of the mundane.” Your cheeks heat up and you snap back to him, slightly embarrassed, only to look even more shy as he laughs adoringly at you once more, “I like it. We need more admiration for the simple.”
“Are you?”
“I like to think so,” he confesses, breaking off a piece of the chocolate chip cookie between you. “I like the little things, far more than focusing on the extravagant. It makes life slow down for a bit.”
You giggle, “relax, Socrates. It’s rain.”
“You started it.” He picks up a sugar packet and throws it at you childishly, snickering to himself as you swat it away. “Though I’m not big on rain.”
“You’re not?” You ask incredulously. He shakes his head, and your jaw slacks slightly. “I took you for the type to love it! It’s always such perfect weather for everything; drawing, snuggling, cleaning, it’s so relaxing.”
Snuggling? He makes a mental note of the way the word floats casually past your lips, and he shrugs with another sip, “I mean, I’m not the type of guy to go dance in the rain, but I guess I’m not opposed to those-“
“You don’t want to dance in the rain?!”
The sheer volume of your outrage has other patrons of the cafe turning towards you; he snorts as you shy away with embarrassment, nudging you softly under the table with his foot. “It certainly isn’t my first choice when it comes to… rain activities. It’s a cliche I never got behind in media, even if it’s cute on the big screen, I never saw it as a particular moment of to prompt falling in love.”
“Excuse you- it’s a phenomenal trope,” you defend, stealing a bite of the cookie. “You’ve just never had a dance-in-the-rain-date, you monster.”
He snorts and moves his hand to cover his nose at the noise, laughter from your booth once again causing some other people to turn towards you. “I’m not a monster, you diva. And I hardly classify dancing in the rain as a date.”
“That SO classifies as a date!” You laugh, picking up the sugar packet and throwing it back at him. “You just have no tastes.”
“Okay, well I’ll just go kick rocks,” he says dramatically, smiling as you titter, and he finishes his coffee. “Eat the cookie we bought, I can’t eat the whole thing.”
And so, you do. You share the last bit of cookie together, and, with an appreciative ‘thank you,’ to anyone in the cafe who would listen, you two pack up and quickly try to shuffle back to the dorms, cowering under Keiji’s umbrella in an attempt to stay dry from the chilly rain. It’s coming down quickly, pittering over the concrete, and while Keiji tries to make a hustle to the warmth of your dorms, he watches, confused, as you pause and stand in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Are you crazy? It’s too cold, get back here.”
“Dance with me.”
“Now?”
“Yes,” you hum, smiling as the rain starts to flatten your hair to your head. You quickly toss your backpack under a bench nearby to try and keep it from the elements. “Come here.”
Conflicted, he looks around for anyone who may be witnessing, and when he sees no one, he sighs as he succumbs to that look in your eye. You beam as he tosses his backpack under the bench, followed by his soaking umbrella, and he shivers. “I’m cold.”
“I’ll keep this quick, I promise.”
With that, one of your arms loop around his neck, a hand gently resting in his as he takes his form with you, a hand resting respectfully on your back. You smile up at him as you allow yourself to sway, “you know what you’re doing?”
“Probably more than you,” he teases, and you raise your brow playfully.
“We’ll see about that.”
Despite the challenge in your voices, you sway with him easily, following his steps with grace from his lead. He’s a strong dancer, the guidance over the pavement he brings you over almost has you floating, and it feels surreal to do this with someone you call a classmate, a friend, someone you’ve kept an eye and hope out for years to call him yours.
It feels right, he looks beautiful as his confidence glides you both in the trancelike dancing; his hair flattened to his forehead while a cherishing smile rests on his cheeks.
“You ready?” He asks suddenly, and you tip your head on confusion.
“Ready for what?”
“This-“ with that, he extends your arm and sends you out into a spin, laughing as you squeal in surprise and come twisting back into his hold, batting at his chest playfully.
Now, your bodies have shifted.
Both of your arms are looped around his neck, his hands slowly slipping to rest on the base of your spine, thumbs stroking lovingly over the dips of your back. Your head rests comfortably against the dip in his sternum, where his heart beats happily, and you close your eyes restfully.
It’s exhilarating how your bodies rest together, like a puzzle that was desperate to be completed and missing a crucial piece- when you found each other in your embrace, it all came together to a beautiful art.
“This is nice,” he confesses, and you chuckle and nod against his chest. “But I am freezing.”
“I know,” you say sweetly. You angle your head up at him, “I just wanted to prove my point to you.”
He rests his chin on the top of your head, “point proven. I see why you could enjoy this.”
You do enjoy it. With every fiber of your being, you’re enjoying it, it feels good, it feels right with him, and despite the way your heart flutters and your soul feels at ease, your mouth has thoughts that demand to be said, even as you try to keep them in.
“Can I tell you a secret?” You pant, blinking the drops of rain from your eyes as you peer up at him. He nods, licking his lips free from his own set of rain drops. “I… I really, really wanted to do this with you because it’s been a dream of mine to, and I’ve just… I’ve wanted you for so long that this was my way of kind of gauging how you’d feel about me in return and being here with you is making me so nervous and happy and I genuinely hope that you-“
You’re cut off by pouted, soft lips that dip down to yours, the movements gentle and inviting and exactly as you imagined how Akaashi Keiji would kiss.
Calm, swift, and loving.
He tastes like mocha and whipped cream, and kissing him is how only how poets could describe, soothing and exciting, and it sets of fireworks and queues the rollercoaster in your soul; it’s fufilling and comforting and you could do it forever if he’d bless you with the chance.
You’re breathless when he finally pulls back, blue pools gazing back down at you with amazement dancing in them.
“I know,” he whispers quietly. You giggle and lean forwards, chasing his lips in another adoring peck.
“Told you it counts as a date.”
“Yes.” He leans down to nudge your nose with his own. “I suppose it’s also a time that prompts falling in love.”
“You gonna fall in love with me?” You tease, albeit the tone in your voice hopeful.
He smiles before leaning down to capture your lips in another swift kiss, letting himself lead once again against you, and you sigh happily.
“I was already there.”
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niilue · 2 years
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Any spicy blue lock head cannons? I loved your bleach ones 😫
Your writing is phenomenal <3
thankss anon <33 i have some spicy blue lock headcanons for;
⠀ sae itoshi - yukimiya kenyu - oliver aiku ⠀
⊹HEADCANONS⊹
cw;  dom reader, gender neutral, breath control play, degradation, oral fixion, mommy/daddy kink, spanking, overstimulation, rimjob, sex with clothes?, crossdressing, gender neutral.. this is kinda LONG
༉‧₊˚ sub sae
well sae, our dear sae despite his personality he is very dirty when it comes to having sex. 
he loves to be choked, to play with his breathing, to fuck him hard while holding him by the neck. also to sit on your face and choke him, why not? he loves it.
the sensation of slowly running out of air, it excites him. too much. i think he doesn't even mind if you fuck him even if he's about to pass out.
sae wants, wants to be degraded. no matter how much he protests and denies that he doesn't like it. he loves it.
to feel like a little slut, to be told how dirty and disgusting he is. to be told that he acts like a needy whore when he's horny.
when they are fucking, slapping his face, biting him, spitting in his face and mouth, making him feel like a toy and nothing more. it makes him wet.
he also has an oral fixation. it drives him crazy. put your fingers in his mouth and tell him to suck on them. he could be doing it for hours. watching his pants rise up from his hardness and he starts to get wet.
he loves to suck you. suck your cock. suck your pussy. whatever. lick him for hours. watch how you enjoy his dirty little mouth. how he could make you come.
he wants to feel whatever is yours in his mouth. he always craves it. when you give him his wish, he won't stop moaning and becoming a desperate boy.
༉‧₊˚ sub yukimiya
this beautiful boy. believe it or not he has a thing for mommy/daddy kink. he's not sorry at all. he loves it. he loves teasing you by saying those words and then looking at you innocently with those cute glasses that make him look more like a slutty hottie.
in the most unexpected places he comes out saying "mommy/ daddy, do you like the way i look?" makes him look so normal, when all you want to do is pound him on the nearest wall. 
trust me, when you're fucking him at home, he's not going to call you by name. he'll just say "mommy/ daddy, go faster." "mommy/daddy, i love the way you fuck me." it drives you nuts.
he loves to be slapped as much as you want. he is always teasing you because he loves to feel the pain of your palms on his butt.
his ass is all red and marked by you. it makes him horny. he even provokes you by wearing very tight pants and walks dangerously close to you.
he gets down to "pick something up" by raising his butt in a pose that is totally impossible not to grab it and give him a few spankings.
and when you fuck, he will ask you to do it many times. he doesn't mind the pain, he loves to feel his skin burning because you can't control yourself.
love cross-dressing. especially if it's to entertain you.
he prepares himself beautifully, looking like a pretty girl. and when he does it, he wants you to tell him what a good girl she is. also when you are fucking her ass, he wants you to say how good her pussy feels.
when he does this he moans so loudly, he whines so much. he loves it when you treat him like a girl, he acts like a whore.
fuck him with his girl clothes on. he loves it, it makes him feel more erotic. see how his suit is being lifted up to be ripped apart, how his panties show. see how his makeup runs from sweat and tears. he loves it.
༉‧₊˚ sub oliver
this bastard. he needs his ass eaten. easy and simple.
you get him in his most submissive state when you turn him upside down, anywhere, drag his pants down and eat his asshole. he'll moan like a poor needy guy. he'll ask you to make it deeper. penetrate his hole with your tongue.
very dirty, he loves to sit on your face too and have you take care of his horniness. it just makes him roll his eyes and drool that you eat him so well. he enjoys it so much, it's unbelievable.
he feels bad? eat his ass. he feels happy? eat his ass. he's scared? eat his ass. anytime, he won't say no to you.
jerk him off, make him come and keep touching him. take him to the limit, over and over again. he doesn't care.
listen to his muffled moans, his unfounded pleas that it's too much, that his cock can't take it. lie. he wants you to suck him dry. make fun of him for being such a hot, insatiable brat.
make his cock hurt, that coming is not so good anymore. make every cumshot that comes out is not pleasurable. he will cry like a baby, but you will see his cheeks warm and his eyes dilated with excitement. he is enjoying it.
sometimes he is so lazy or desperate that he will jump into your arms and start rubbing himself on you even with his clothes on.
he likes the feel of your fluids mixing all over his clothes, making everything very sticky and dirty. he doesn't really care. he just wants to cum.
he'll ride you like you're really penetrating him. he'll suck you like there's no cloth in between. he'll make you touch him the same way. you don't know if he's just too desperate to fuck and doesn't even remember to take his clothes off. or if he just loves doing it too much like this.
one thing he loves to do is sit on his back on your cock/pussy, and start rubbing himself all over it. you watch his big ass rub all over you in those tight pants. it makes you wet and him wet too. he watches you while he does the mini "little dance". he moves his hips so well, there literally isn't a part of your core that hasn't tasted his ass. it's fucking hot.
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smolwritingchick · 3 months
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The Bangtan Gal Chapter 42- BTS Now 2
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Chapter Summary: Jennie gets an allergic reaction to Pineapple as she teams with Hobi for BTS Now 2
Words: 2,000+
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‘BTS Now 2’
‘2 Different Trips’
‘Mission Start!’
‘Which teammates do the members want?’
“I worked with Tae Tae the last BTS Now, so it’s best to work with someone different this time. My first pick is Hobi.” Jennie announced. “Why him? Because he’s a burst of energy! Come on, who wouldn’t want to take photos with J-Hope? Seriously, he’ll make the entire experience fun. My second pick is Jin. He’s flawless and takes phenomenal photos. He’s a King. I would want him in my photos, for sure. And my third pick? Rapmon. His photos are badass. I love his swag. It’d be fun to pose with the leader of BTS.”
The next day, the members head to the Berlin Wall to take photos. The guys were in black suits, while Jen wore black pants, a white shirt and a black blazer. One of the stylists had placed a pair of glasses on her face to complete her look.
“What an adorable nerd.” She complimented herself before checking out the view of the water. “Berlin is so pretty.”
When it was her turn to shoot, she had a mug of tea with her, taking sips of it while the photographer snapped away.
Once the team results were in, the members found out who they were with and came up with team names.
Team Sunshine- Jen and J-Hope
Team Noncommittal- Jimin and Suga
Team High- Rapmon and V
Generation Gap- Jin and Jungkook
‘Mission instructions. Each team should create photo shoots with a theme. Concept: High-end fashion.’
As the members got their makeup retouched, each team met up to discuss what they wanted to do for their concept.
“What do you wanna do?” Jennie asked as Hobi decided to dance around goofily, making weird sound effects. She stared at him before jokingly saying, “Yeah, no.” and shared a laugh with him.
“Let’s do a goofy concept.” He suggested.
“Keep the Sunshine vibe.” She nodded as they thought of some poses. Once it was their turn to shoot, Hobi immediately jumped on her back, causing her to groan. “I thought I was getting on your back!”
“Hehehehe! This is fun!”
“Oh, I’m sure it is!” She sarcastically replied. As they snapped some photos, she began to spin around, causing him to panic.
“Drop him!” Jimin giggled.
“Don’t drop me!” Hobi yelped.
After a while, she set him down. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” She giggled as she watched him try to calm down. 
Other photos they shot were of them using Jen's hair as mustaches, jumping around, and happily smiling for the camera near one of the trees.
After shooting, the members took a lunch break at a pizza place.
“Is this pizza?” Jin’s eyes widened happily when he saw the large pizza stacked with various toppings such as pineapple, mushrooms, and chicken.
“FOOD!” Jennie happily said, taking a seat in front of Hobi as she sat in between Jimin and Jin.
It’s been a while since she’s had pizza.
‘Everyone’s stoked at the overwhelming size of the pizza’
“Amazing. Look at this. Wow...” Hobi gushed over the food.
Grabbing a slice for her plate, Jen took a couple of bites. When she suddenly felt her lips tingle, she stopped eating and placed the pizza down. 
Watching her put her fingers on her lips, Hobi noticed her sudden change in mood.
“You, all right?” He asked with concern.
“I think so.” She answered with uncertainty and decided to take another bite that had most of the pineapple on it. This time, her mouth began to throb. “Okay, my mouth feels weird.”
“What do you mean?” Jimin turned to her as she took a sip of water to possibly stop it but to no avail.
“M-my mouth is...it’s throbbing.” She exclaimed.
“Your mouth is throbbing?”
“I’m serious, my mouth is really throbbing. I-I think I might be allergic to pineapple.”
“What??” Jimin’s stomach dropped as he watched her with worry.
Whenever her mouth met the pineapple, her mouth tingled. Seconds later, her lips and tongue began to swell up.
“Munchkin...” Hobi called out. “Your lips!”
“I think there’s something wrong.” Jin turned to the staff, pointing out that something was going on with Jennie. The rest of the members turned to her and looked in distress as they saw how swollen her lips were getting.
“Oh God, I need to hurl.” She got out of her seat and rushed to the bathroom. The female staff members immediately followed her.
“She’s going to need to go to a hospital.” The members heard Manager Sejin say as he took out his phone in a flash.
As she went into the bathroom to throw up, the staff that followed her, helped her and noticed that she was starting to develop hives.
“Jennie, you’re starting to get hives! We need to take you to a hospital.” She heard one of them say as she rolled up her sleeves to see them, looking at herself in the mirror.
“What the hell is going on!?” She started to freak out.
She felt extremely uncomfortable in her skin. She just wanted this to be over. Why did this have to happen to her? This was the first time pineapple had affected her like this and this was the first time in years since she’s had pineapple.
While Jennie was taken to the hospital to get her allergic reaction treated, the members continued with their shooting, taking individual photos. They tried to stay focused but all that was on their minds was Jennie, as they hoped that she was okay and it wasn’t serious.
Jimin and Hobi seemed to be affected the most as they tried not to look sad for the cameras around them. 
“I’m so worried. She was swelling up so badly.” Jimin frowned. He sounded like he wanted to cry.
“I know...my munchkin....” Hobi sighed, shaking his head. He wasn’t as cheerful since Jennie had left.
“She’s bulletproof. She’ll stay strong. And we gotta stay strong, too. She’s going to be OK. Let’s stay positive.” Namjoon patted them on the back, giving them hope.
As filming progressed, Jungkook called out Jimin as he filmed him. “Is it your turn now?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go.”
The Golden Maknae proceeded to film him taking more shots.
‘Jimin looking cute, seems to be waiting for someone under the sun’
“Who are you waiting for?” Jungkook asked.
“I’m waiting for Jennie.” He replied instantly. “I miss her. I wish she was here. I’m looking forward to her return.”
“She’ll be excited to see you. But she’ll be way more excited to see me, just so you know.”
“You wish!”
‘Miss Bangtan Is Missed Dearly’
Next, BTS heads off to Sweden. Jennie arrived in Sweden later with Manager Sejin. She was told to take it easy today. The staff wanted to be safe than sorry. Her hives had gone away and she felt much better than yesterday. She was in good spirits.
When Sejin and Jen arrived at the spot where BTS’ first shoot in Sweden was kicking off, Jungkook was the first to notice her as a huge grin came across his face. He instantly ran up to her at full speed.
As she watched him run up to her, she prepared herself, letting out a laugh once he collided with her. She stumbled back from the impact as they wrap their arms around each other.
“I missed you too, Kook.” She beamed as he held her tighter.
“Did you see how fast he ran up to her?” Yoongi let out a chuckle. 
Actions speak louder than words.
“Jennie!” Jimin, Tae and Hobi run up to her, wrapping their arms around her and Jungkook to join in the hug.
“She’s back! She’s back!” Namjoon cheered, joining the hug with Jin and Yoongi.
“H-hey, guys, don’t rough her up, she’s still recovering. She needs to take it easy!” Sejin warned. “Don’t squeeze her to death. Let her breathe.”
“Ah, I think I’ll be okay with hugs.” She reassured him after she was released.
Taehyung wasn’t done with his affection as he kept kissing her cheeks.
“Tae!” She tried to push him off, laughing at the constant feel of his soft lips all over her face, from her forehead, cheeks and nose. 
The staff and the members burst out in laughter as they watched her get drowned with his enthusiastic kisses.
“That’s what you get for worrying us,” Jin added with a laugh. “It’s all out of love.”
After his kisses, Jen had her makeup done, putting on freckles like the rest of the members, joining in for the photoshoot.
“He has been holding onto me ever since I got back.” Jennie chuckled on camera as Taehyung had his arms around her from behind, pressing his cheek against hers. His boxy grin appeared on his face as he talked about how much he missed her.
After he was forced to release her to take his individual shots, Hobi approached her with a bright smile. “I’m so happy you’re okay!”
“Thanks, Hobi. Sorry for letting you down yesterday.” She frowned.
“Hey, don’t think like that.” He grabbed a hold of her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze as he spoke seriously. “I don’t care about winning this contest. I’m with you, having fun. That’s all that matters. I’m glad you’re OK. You’re here with us and I am happy that your allergic reaction wasn’t worse.”
She smiled, grateful for how understanding he was. “Thank you.”
“Always, Munchkin. Now let’s continue to have fun and stay away from pineapple.” He kissed her forehead.
Subsequently, the members waited around for a new location to shoot because it started to get crowded where they had been shooting before. Jungkook decided to film to pass the time, checking out the scenery and the weather.
He turned around and spotted Jennie. “Jennie! How do you like Sweden?” He asked
His question made her smile. “It’s lit!”
Jimin got in the shot. “I wanna be on camera!” He grinned. “Sweden.”
“Cute outfit,” Kook commented, panning down to show off what Jimin was wearing.
“This is Sweden. At age twenty, dressed in bulletproof, I aim the gun.” Jimin started to rap goofily on camera.
“Oh Lord...” Jennie face palmed.
“Looking like a number one. We are super popular idol.” He continued.
“How do you like it here?” Jungkook asked Jimin.
“I love it. It looks so pretty. I heard Gamla Stan is a street of cafes.”
“But now there are too many people so we can’t shoot.”
“Yeah, but I think this is so nice. We had a photoshoot there and the streets were beautiful. Don’t you feel a little like a European?”
“Not at all.”
“Agreed,” Jennie added.
As it rained, Jennie, Jimin, Yoongi, and Tae sat at a table together, avoiding getting rained on, while the rest of the members sat behind them. Sitting next to Jimin, Jen rested her head against his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her waist. 
He occasionally glanced at her with a smile as she rested her eyes. He was pleased to know that his great friend was OK and that she wasn’t going too hard on herself, today.
They get treated to dessert as Yoongi and Tae share one plate while the other plate is for Jen and Jimin.
Jimin scooped a small spoonful of the dessert and fed her, causing Yoongi to roll his eyes. 
“Really Jimin?” He bluntly questioned his motives while Jen lifted her head from his shoulder.
She chuckled softly at his kind gesture after enjoying the treat. “I don’t need to be fed.” She kindly insisted as Jimin removed his hand from her waist.
“But you need to take it easy. I don't want you to tire yourself out,” He reminded her. 
It was cute that he cared so much and offered to feed her.
“She doesn’t need to take it that easy.” Yoongi shook his head. “Jennie just tell him to fuck off. He’ll take a hint.”
Taehyung giggled loudly once he heard Yoongi curse while Jimin stared at him, appalled at his rude statement.
“Y-Yoongi! We are being filmed!” Jen shouted, widening her eyes.
“They can bleep it out or not show this part.” He waved her comment away. Seems like he was in his IDGAF moods, again.
“Chim, don’t listen to him. You’re just fine. Thank you for being so sweet to me.” She reassured him.
The next destination was Brazil. All the members received tans from being in the sun constantly. Jen had shot photos with the graffiti background by jumping around, doing the flower pose and having her trademark bright smile shown for the camera.
“What are you doing?” Jungkook giggled, covering his face as he watched her pose playfully.
“I’m tryna pose! What are YOU doing?” She responded, switching to another pose.
“Observing.” He answered as he continued to watch her. He decided to distract her by making derpy faces.
“Kook, stop.” She suppressed her laughter and switched to her next pose.
Determined to make her laugh, he ended up performing his signature derp dance. Once he started dancing, she burst into laughter, unable to control it. Jungkook laughed with her, elated that he made her laugh.
“Go away!” She playfully shoved him back so she can continue her shoot.
Their last destination was America. 
“AMERICAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Jennie shouted loud and proud as she walked with the members to their first shooting, with yachts, portraying Marines.
Hobi held her hand and swung it as they walked around. 
“How happy are you to be back home?” Jin asked as he walked with her and Hobi.
“AMERICAAAAAAAAAAAA!” She shouted again, causing him to laugh loudly. “But for real, watch us get kidnapped again.”
“Let’s not think about that, sweetie.” He let out a nervous laugh, thinking about American Hustle Life.
Greeting the yacht owner, they sail on the sea, while taking turns for photos. Jennie ended up photobombing some of them, as she hugged Jungkook and Jimin from behind while they were smiling for the camera, sharing earbuds.
Jennie watched the sea, as the wind blew in her hair. “This is so pretty. You should always just sit back and enjoy your surroundings.”
After their big trip was done, each team checked out their best photos, back in Korea. Yoongi and Jimin won the best photo and made the rest of the members blur out their faces for their penalty. 
BTS Now 2 became another successful event and the members looked forward to a third one.
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acasualcrossfade · 7 months
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Red Hot
Sicktember Day 2: "What happened to your phenomenal immune system?"
Stranger Things: Steve Harrington/ Eddie Munson
Words: 500 | Rating: T
@sicktember | divider art by @saradika
Summary: Eddie has a cold and knows exactly what’ll help.
Find me on Ao3!
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Eddie sneezed again into another tissue and he blew his nose. 
“You look and sound pretty awful,” Steve grimaced, taking in Eddie’s irritated, red nose and the way he sniffled pathetically. Eddie had resisted the idea that he was getting sick at the beginning of that week, but once the coughing and runny nose started, Steve had stocked up on tissues and cold medicine. 
“It’s just the end of the semester,” Eddie said wearily. “Something always goes around.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “And what happened to your phenomenal immune system?”
It was no secret that Eddie almost never got sick, while Steve on the other hand, had gotten sick enough times for the both of them.
Eddie responded with another sneeze and sniffle. “S’the first cold I’ve had all year,” he defended, voice thick with congestion. He paused to sneeze again and Steve winced sympathetically. 
“You want to try that Sudafed stuff?”
Eddie wrinkled his nose. “No medicine, at least for now.”
“I can make some chili or soup for dinner,” Steve offered. Chili was one of Eddie’s favorites.
Eddie met his eyes and Steve could see the way they looked at him with sudden excitement. 
“No,” Steve quickly rejected. “No, I know that face. No.”
Eddie grinned wickedly. “Do we still have more of that spicy ramen? That’ll be the perfect thing to knock out this annoying congestion.”
“Eds, I don't like the idea of you burning your mouth off just to feel a little better.”
“It’ll be worth it.” Eddie rose to start searching all the kitchen cabinets. “I think we’ve got one of the spicy spicy ones left around here somewhere.”
“You can barely handle Siriacha,” Steve reminded him.
Eddie didn’t respond, but continued searching the cabinets, reaching behind boxes of cereal and saved take out containers. Finally, he held up a crinkly packet of ramen in victory. 
“Found it!”
Eddie boiled an egg first, and then chopped a small pile of scallions before cooking the noodles. When he dumped the spices in, Steve watched in muted horror as the broth cooked to a searing, angry red. The color alone put Eddie’s irritated nose to shame and the smell of it made Steve sweat with heat. The bowl of noodles looked delicious, but dangerous.
“Here goes nothing,” Eddie said and started eating. Pearls of sweat beaded on Eddie’s nose and upper lip in a few bites, and in another few, he panted between slurped bites and sips of broth. His nose ran unforgivingly and Eddie grabbed for tissue after tissue, but to no avail. By the end of it, Eddie’s lips were stained red and was a nose-drippy, soup-brothy mess. 
Steve slid him a pile of napkins. “For your dignity,” he pressed.
But despite the white mountain of tissues next to him, Eddie pulled in a long, satisfying breath through his clear nose with a smile. 
“See?” Eddie sucked in another breath and went to get a glass of milk. “Instant cure.”
Steve only rolled his eyes.
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post-Lucia still rather incoherent thoughts:
was this a perfect production? no. was there a LOT of great stuff in it? yes. did it make me think about and feel the material in a whole different way? HELL YEAH.
loved the sets. LOVED them.
Anthony Roth Costanzo was everything as host and I died when he popped out of the pickup truck at the beginning.
the musical and dramatic performances were PHENOMENAL. chorus, actors, and orchestra TOP NOTCH.
Nadine Sierra is 110% captivating and her mad scene has to be seen to be believed.
Javier Camarena is *chef’s kiss*. no more needs to be said.
Artur Rucinski is perfection itself and King of the Baritone High Notes. also loved him calling Putin “pure evil” in the interview and saying that he was channeling that pure evilness into his role.
Christian Van Horn was great, ultimate luxury jump-in, if you didn’t know (and didn’t catch the one pre-recorded video in which Matthew Rose appeared) you would’ve thought he was originally in the show.
Arturo and Normanno actually had personalities! thanks Eric Ferring, Alok Kumar, and Simon Stone.
and Alisa had a personality! and Deborah Nansteel sounds kinda like baby Stephanie Blythe!
the amount of blood used was even more than photos indicated. utterly correct decision.
Frizza is an amazing conductor.
the harp, glass armonica, and cello soloists all need raises stat.
I’d love to see how this production works in-house—from what it looks like, I think the HD did a great job of showing what needed to be showed between the live action and the videos.
loved Stone’s comments about how his ideas are only the catalyst and a director’s ideas shouldn’t be the endpoint; everyone should get to contribute. ideal tbh
I couldn’t keep my eyes off for even a second for all of Act I.
HOW THE FUCK DID NADINE JUST BLAST A HIGH D AFTER DOING SOME NINJA LEVEL SHIT WHILE TRYING TO GET AWAY FROM ARTUR IN ACT II
I want to eat that cake
the mad scene, once again, pure perfection. SO many good staging choices, you could just see how she was trying to convince herself that she was finally free only for those Arturo zombies to come back and remind her no you never truly will be free (and then she shoots herself).
also LOVE the Alisa/Lucia bond this production had going on.
there was a moment right before the mad scene where Raimondo is asking that heaven not punish the community for Lucia murdering Arturo and suddenly a bunch of shit just clicked—it’s one single moment of self-awareness that everyone has contributed to this mess, this culture has made this mess, and then they go right back to gawking and making a pitiful spectacle of Lucia during her mad scene.
also, for the first time I really “get” the opera not ending with Lucia’s mad scene. maybe this wasn’t what Donizetti and Cammarano had in mind, but the opera is called Lucia di Lammermoor. it’s all about her struggle and beatdown by these men around her. she gets the ultimate showcase. but it’s not the end. she still dies, and the men around her still make it all about them—it’s no accident that there are no women at all in the last scene. the men twist her death to make it about them, which is why nothing can truly change. they get the last word, not her.
just something to think about, I guess.
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thedianadiary · 9 months
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0019.
Do you want the last dream you had to come true? looooooool. so get this. my most recent dream i can recall was that i had been married to K for like 3 years. we had just had twins (our first kids) one boy and one girl. they were like 4-5 mos. old. so we were like super happy and involved in church and like i remember being so happy. but then i found out he cheated. so like i went to one of our pastors and i was like i honestly dont think i can even think about reconciliation because we were happy. we like had no problems. and like i want to be kind to him because he is my kids dad and hes a good dad, but i cannot live life with someone who repeats this cycle to me. so like the dream fast-forwarded and we had gotten divorced and he was so upset by it he just wanted his family back. and we continued to go to the same church and like sundays was drop-off day for him to pick up the kids from nursery and have them til tuesday night. and so like after church we agreed to talk briefly and i told him i was going to start dating n stuff and he was like SO upset and we had this long convo about it. then i like started seeing someone from church. i woke up when K went to like get really upset with me. sooooooooooo i wouldn’t say it would be phenomenal to have it come true.. i love the idea of having babies and such. but idk.
When did you last talk to the person you’d most wanna talk to right now? i honestly dont want to talk to anyone rn lol
What kind of pill did you last take? lactaid
Do you like wearing glasses? not particularly.
Does your mom know the last person you hung out with? Yepppp
What were you doing 4 hours ago? i was playing sorry with my nephews
What would you most like to eat right now? the cake in the fridge but oooooomg my tummy hurts so bad currently.
How long were you last in the car for? Like 5ish mins
What is something good that happened last weekend? my brother got married
Do you like holding hands or do you think it’s stupid? i love it. i am often complimented that my hands are very soft.. and i love to do that whole thumb rubbing fun stuff. makes me happy.
The last song you heard, what does it make you think of? something in an ad
How’d you get your last injury? i jammed my finger and got a big blood blister from it.
What do you like about your birthday? i love gifts and good food and like .. ugh i used to date someone that would send me these gorgeous florist assembled bouquets and i just felt so... idk special. maybe that makes me self centered idk.
Do you like being home alone at night? i seldom dislike being alone
What first comes to mind when thinking of 10th grade? That was not an easy year. my parents were divorcing, i was dealing with some friendship losses. 
What’s the scariest thing that’s happened to you? near death experiences.
Has an ambulance ever came to your house? looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool yes
The person you’re thinking about- what are you thinking about them? our babies tho..
When did you last skip class? uhhhhhh never? once maybe 
Do you like the shape of your fingernails? yes 
Did you look at your fingernails for the question above? after i typed yes lol
Whose pool did you last swim in? My sisters. i am eager to swim again.
What’s something you like about your 3rd hour? uh i never had that considering i was homeschooled.
Is formspring a good idea? idunno what that is.
What’s your biggest problem at the moment? career probably.
What’s the cutest thing someone’s ever done for you? oh man i would need to think about this.
When did you last see a police car? today
Why aren’t you doing something more productive than this? Its bedtime.
How many people know about the last person you kissed? i mean plenty. 
How many different cars have you driven? goodness. many. 
What did you do on Thursday? took care of the cats, went to VBS, went to the grocery store, cleaned the house, etc.
What color was the last thing you drank? gatorade
What do you do on Fridays? usually that has been date day/night
Have you ever had to take desperate measures in a desperate situation? yes im sure i have.
What door did you last open besides any on your house or car? the one at rainbow cone
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applejongho · 2 years
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security so tight not even the performers can get in
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angrythingstarlight · 2 years
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Whatever It Takes
Summary: Bucky is willing to do whatever it takes to get you back. "But I know what I want, and I’ll do anything to get you back. You want me to beg, I’ll beg, you want me down on my knees, I'll get down on my knees”
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Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 2.2K
Warnings: Smut, implied violence, bad dates, overstimulation, choking kink, praise kink, fingering, mirror sex. Exes to lovers.
A/N: Sinday drabble #1. Beta'd by the wonderful @cwbucky and @lunarbuck. Line dividers by @maysdigitalarts
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This is, without a doubt, the worst date you’ve been on. The restaurant itself is stunning, the romantic family-owned spot is only a few miles from your home, and you’ve been dying for a chance to eat here again.
The waiter, Peter, has been fantastic. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had such delicious, decadent food, you’re amazed to see the menu has all your favorite foods. The music coming from the live band is phenomenal, you almost want to join the other couples on the dance floor.
Almost.
Everything should be perfect, your first date at your dream restaurant. It would be if you weren’t sitting across from the most obnoxious, self-centered man you’ve ever met. Lance.
You should have known when he walked in ahead of you, leaving you to pay for the cab he used to pick you up. Then he was short with the hostess, and the way he’s been treating poor Peter is embarrassing. You’ve already made a mental note to leave him a huge tip as an apology.
This is the first and last time you let your friend Kristy talk you into going on a blind date. You wanted to stay at home and sift through pictures of you and your ex but she insisted you get out of your house. So here you are stuck with this egomaniac.
He may be cute, but if he continues to talk about himself in the third person or mentions the words gymnastics or gold metal one more time, you’re going to shove the entire bread basket down his throat. He hasn’t let you get a single word out; you wonder why he didn’t just ask himself out.
Glancing up from your dish, you inwardly cringe as Lance chews loudly, talking around the mottled food in his big mouth. “I’ll show you my medal later, baby,” he winks, picking out a piece of lettuce lodged next to his molar with his pinky. “Let you see up close and personal why they call Lance the god of gymnastics.”
It takes all your willpower to not gag, hiding your grimace behind your wine glass. Does that line work on anyone?
You briefly contemplate if it’s worth the jail time to strangle him and Kristy. No, no, it’s not, you don’t look good in those jumpsuits.
Sighing, you mutter something that weakly resembles okay Lance, not that he’s listening. He’s already talking about some upcoming event while brazenly gawking at you.
His beady eyes drag across down your body, lingering on your breasts, makes your skin crawl. Subtly placing your arm across your chest, you force a smile, figuring it’ll be better to just ditch him after the check.
Needing a distraction from the droll, one-sided conversation, your gaze wanders across the room, taking in the fine artwork decorating the deep burgundy walls, tasteful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling casting a picturesque glow across the bustling room. Placing your chin on your palm, you smile at the band playing. The lithe redheaded singer is stunning; her sultry voice almost drowns out the grating man across from you.
Bucky observers you from his table, his imposing gaze cutting across the room. Silencing his men with a flick of his ring-adorned hand, he studies your every movement, noting every expression crossing your pretty face, willing you to look at him. And when you finally do, when you finally let him see your gorgeous eyes, he knows you’re going to be his again.
Turning your head, you’re gazing at the wall of liquor behind the bar when a flash of black catches your attention. Your eyes flick over to your left, and your heart stalls in your chest.
A pair of familiar intense blue eyes are honed in on you, studying you with a striking reverence, like you’re a newly discovered classical masterpiece, as if he'll blink and you'll disappear.
Bucky always has a knack for throwing you off kilter with a simple look, his presence filling whatever room he's in.
He’s sitting back in his chair with an air of confidence, exuding power and charisma. He’s impossible to miss, and once you’ve got a look at him, you’re captivated. Again. The oh-so-familiar spiral starts in your heart, your belly sinking to the floor.
You unknowingly entranced the mafia boss the second you strolled inside. Bucky’s been waiting for you to show ever since he bought the restaurant. You belong to him, just as much as he belongs to you, and tonight he’s going to do whatever he has to do to convince you.
The fact that you’re on a date is a minor inconvenience.
One he can readily resolve.
And judging by the way you’re leaning away from the grease pit sitting across from you, he knows you’re not happy with your current situation.
And Bucky wants you to be happy. He always has, always will.
“I want everyone out,” he mutters, tossing his napkin on his plate. Keeping his gaze locked on you, he pushes himself out of his chair. His men immediately leap to their feet and begin ushering out the couples sitting at the surrounding tables.
Your eyes widen the closer he gets. He’s impeccably dressed, the black suit tailored to his massive body, enhancing his muscular frame, his startling blue eyes a warm contrast to his dark features. You know what lies beneath that suit, is all firm, ridged muscles tattooed skin, your initials hidden in a design across his heart.
With every step, you find it harder to control your breathing, your chest rising and falling with anticipation.
Bucky grabs an empty chair and places it next to you, sitting down, facing you with a devastating grin. You blink, your fork falling from your listless fingers.
“Hello, malyshka,” he greets, his penetrating gaze pinning you to your seat.
“Who the fuck are you?” Lance spits out, his eyes whipping back and forth.
Bucky takes your hand in a gentle yet possessive grip, the rough texture of his scarred fingers creates a wave of heat between your thighs, but it’s what he does next that has your heart beating erratically.
“I missed you.” Without taking his eyes off of yours, he brushes his soft, chapped lips across the back of your hand.
You’ve missed him too.
Your tongue darts across your bottom lip, the memory of the way he used to kiss you, passionately and thoroughly until you were breathless, flashing in your mind. His smile grows like he knows what you’re thinking.
Given the way his astute gaze is studying your face, you wouldn’t be surprised if he knows your every thought. Bucky has an uncanny ability to read you like a book.
“Hello? Who the fuck-” You blink, suddenly aware that you’re on a date. With Lance.
Bucky takes your chin in his hand, turning your attention back to him. Oh, the way he’s touching you sends icy shivers down your spine. Lance splutters something you can’t hear over the dull roar in your ears.
Bucky cuts him off, leaning closer to you and his eyes darken with an expression you can’t decipher.
“I'm the man she's going to marry and this date is over. You can leave or be taken out in pieces I really don't give a fuck.”
It’s an infallible, confident statement that matches everything about him. Raising your brows, you laugh, a short incredulous yet hopeful sound that drowns out Lance’s outraged huff.
“That’s presumptive,” you respond tentatively. “We’re not together, remember?”
“Perhaps. But I know what I want, and I’ll do anything to get you back. You want me to beg, I’ll beg, you want me down on my knees.” Bucky sweeps his thumb across your bottom lip, his warm cologne drifts over your face. “I think we both know how much you loved when I got on my knees for you.”
The last time he was on his knees, he had your leg over his shoulder and face buried in your pussy, licking and sucking your swollen clit while he was knuckle deep inside you, his rings grazing your walls as the rough pads of his fingers rubbed your sensitive spot. Over and over until you shattered.
His eyes darken letting you know he's remembering that night as well. You’re so turned on, so wet that if you move, you’re going to slide right off your chair and melt into a puddle at his feet.
You swallow thickly, clearing your throat. “And why would you do that?”
“Because I can’t stand being without you, malyshka. These last few weeks have been pure torture. Either come home or put me out of my misery.”
You don’t know what to say, not used to him being vulnerable with you. He's doesnt appear to be upset that you're on a date with someone else, he hasn't even glanced over at the other man.
“How did you even know I would be here?” You ask in an attempt to deflect from his ardent statement.
“You said you loved this place, so I bought it for you. And waited every night for you to show up. ” His simple response shoots straight to your heart. Of course, he did, he loves showering you in gifts and taking care of you.
The reasons you left him seem so inconsequential now that you’re face to face with him. Your fears about his line of work don't compare to the pain you felt when you walked away or the devastation on his face when he let you go.
Bucky smiles softly, placing your hand on his heart. "I can't stop being who I am, I can't leave this life either but I'll make sure you're always safe. I swear to you I will." His sincere cadence washes over you.
It's what he said the night you told him you were afraid to be with a mobster, afraid of getting hurt becauseof his lifestyle. He swore that he would protect you, take care of you. Love you. Worship you. You didn't listen then but tonight he's all you can hear.
Bucky notices the way your eyes soften, and he breathes out. Turning your hand over, he places a kiss on your palm, his lips sweep across your inner wrist. Using his other hand, he gestures for Lance to be removed. You barely notice the way he’s yanked out of his seat and carted out of the restaurant.
“Bucky I-.” Your words come out on an unsteady breath, your legs tightly wound around each other, an unbearable throb pulsating between your thighs.
“Tell me what I have to do. You have all my attention for as long as you want.” He retorts sincerely, hooking his foot around the leg of your chair and pulling you flush to him in one smooth motion.
How did you go from the worst date to this? You know what, you’re not going to question it. Not when he cants his head back and states, “We fit perfectly together, always have, and I’ll prove it to you, malyshka.”
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“Look at that malyshka,” he grunts, his lips skating across the shell of your ear. “Look how well we fit together.”
“Oh Bucky,” you pant, wonder lacing your tone, staring at the salacious reflection of your bodies, you’re spread open, watching his cock relentlessly drive into you. You’re so full, so incredibly full that all you can do is dig your nails into his forearm and take him.
Bucky places his hand on your belly, pushing down hard, increasing the sensations as he thrusts deeper, faster inside your fluttering cunt. He smirks when your moans get louder, needier. “You feel me right here? This is where I belong, right here inside you.”
His sweat-laced chest presses into your back, his grip keeping you upright so you can see him fuck you in front of his large guiled mirror.
“So perfect. Such a good girl for me, feel so good. I’m going to spend all night figuring out different ways to make your pretty pussy cum all over me. You want that?" Resting his chin on your shoulder, he mouths an open wet kiss on your throat. "I know your tight little pussy does. I’m going to ruin you until you can’t walk straight.” Until you can't walk away from me again.
The unspoken words sink into your pleasure adled brain.
You open your mouth to say you'll stay, but all that comes out is a low, needy whine that you don’t recognize. Bucky lets out a short, broken laugh, the gravelly sound ending in a gasp when you clench down.
“Fuck, you’re taking me so well, malyshka. You can give me one more.” He’s not asking, his deep, languid strokes telling you he’s going to make you cum again.
Your eyes roll back, vision blurring, a shower of stars shimmering behind your eyelids.
You’ve lost track of how many times he’s made you cum. You didn’t even know it was possible to have so many orgasms back to back.
Your swollen cunt is sensitive and throbbing, and you can’t stop yourself from trying to keep every inch, every fucking veiny, thick inside your silken walls. He’s stroking your g'spot in a way that has you spasming around him, the coil expanding with every thrust until you’re teetering on the cusp of pure euphoria.
“James,” you sob, tears rolling down your cheeks, blending in with the beads of sweat dotting your flushed skin. Your head feels heavy as it lolls back on his chest, “I-oh please.”
You don’t know what you’re begging for, but he does.
Bucky’s hand drifts down your belly to your clit, his blue eyes dropping from your beautiful face to your cunt. He rolls his hips, the wet slap of skin echoing throughout his bedroom. He can feel how close you are, and it’s pushing him closer to his own climax, his pace becoming frantic; the need to make you cum one more time is overwhelming him.
“Fuck malyshka, that’s it, that’s what I need, one more,” he murmurs roughly in your ear, letting go of your waist. You both fall forward on the bed, his fingers are still on your clit, rolling it viciously as he pounds into you, his weight driving him deeper in you. The steady of thunk, thunk, thunk of the headboard getting louder by the second.
His hand wraps around your throat, his lips move across the shell of your ear. Just as he squeezes, he whispers, his voice strained and gruff "Cum for me. Now."
Fisting the sheets, you let out a shrill scream as your orgasm bursts inside you, shards of sultry pleasure scatter across your body. Bucky eases up, gently fucking you through it until you're whimpering his name.
Gently kissing your shoulder, he turns your face upward, gazing into your glossy eyes. “Convinced yet? Ready to say yes?”
You laugh with a raspy tone, sinking further into the bed. ”James, I can’t even remember my name right now.”
Your smile falters when he nods once. “That doesnt sound like yes.”
Oh fuck.
Before you can speak, he’s slipping out of you and flipping you onto your back, placing your legs over his shoulders.
“You know I'll do anything -” he groans, pushing back into your puffy cunt, both of you gasp as you stretch around him. “-to make you mine again. Neither one of us is leaving this bed until you say yes."
It's good to be home, to be with him. Everything feels right again.
Another laugh wells up, slipping past your slack lips. You place your arms around his back and gaze up at him. "I'm yours Bucky-" you preen when you feel a tremor roll through his large body, he's been waiting for you to admit that. "But I think I need a little more 'convincing'."
Resting his forehead on yours, he grins. "Like I said, I'll do whatever it takes."
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i-cant-sing · 3 years
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Yandere RE8: TRP Part 4
Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
Part 3 is here.
Part 5 is here.
Check out my MASTERLIST for more!
"Uhh... hello?"
You looked at the woman standing in the stairs. She was wearing a dark veil that matched the rest of her outfit- oh shit, that's a funeral outfit.
I really did pick a bad time to come here, didn't I? She's in mourning, she sees an intruder, and her day went from bad to worst. Yep, she's gonna kill me.
You took one look at the woman and then at all the possible exits: the doors- no, they'd be too heavy to move and what if they're locked? The window- but I'd have to jump out and just because it looks cool in movies to jump through glass, doesn't mean it'll work, Y/n.
So, the only option was to eliminate the threat. Or maybe... defuse it.
"This is your doll, right?" You asked, pointing at the doll, judging by the lace designs on both of their dresses. The woman didn't reply. "It looks like its been... used a lot. To be honest, she's very different than most dolls I've seen, definitely a lot more spookier." You nervously giggled, hoping she didn't mind. "But... she looks like she's been loved. A lot. Despite being broken from a lot of places, someone still took their time to fix her." You smiled sadly, remembering your own doll that Mia had ripped. "Wish I had someone like that. To sew up the wounds and fix them."You mumbled, not really sure if you were talking about your doll or yourself.
"Your doll, she's- she's very pretty. My sister would've liked her." You began. "Which is why I'm here. My family, we were in an accident- I know it was wrong of me to come here without permission, but I need to find my sister, Rose and my father, Ethan." You took a step closer. "They both of have blonde hair. Rose, my sister, she's just 6 months old. She was dressed in a baby pink onesie, bundled up in a blanket. My father, Ethan, he's about this tall and has big blue eyes. I think he was wearing a jacket, with blue denim jeans. H-have you seen them?" You asked, eyes full of hope and voice laced with eagerness.
Please, please let her have seen them. God, please.
Unsurprisingly, the woman didn't reply, but she did turn her head towards the left window. You didn't know whether she was telling you to get out of her house or signalling that they are out there, but you knew you had to leave.
Nodding, you slowly walked towards the window, your heart beating faster as you prayed that this wasn't some sort of trap, hoping she wouldn't attack you from behind because that would be like... really shitty.
But you left the house unharmed, and without looking back at the window because you didn't want to jinx it, you walked towards the forrest once again, thankful that the sun had finally came out.
Where are you guys?
You had been walking for a couple of hours now, the sun had been a bit warmer today, which was good since you hated the snow that surrounded you now. You looked at the map, tracing the path to your new destination. The Salvatore reservoir. It seemed like it would take you a day's journey to get there, and you sure as hell weren't seeing any lake in sight.
God, when will this nightmare end?
You decided to sit on a stone and take some much needed rest. Your feet ached from all the walking, and your calves were cramping. You rolled your head, popping it from the side, before taking off the rifle that had been weighing down, stretching out your arms. Digging through the little back pack you bought from Duke, you pulled out a thermos of coffee and twinkie. You don't know how or where he got it, but Duke had filled your bag with a couple of snacks; saying its for his loyal customer.
So, here you sat, in the middle of the snowy woods, eating a twinkie and drinking a lukewarm coffee. Both didn't taste good, but they're gonna keep you alive so, no complaining.
After drinking the coffee, you rested your head against a tree, recalling last nights events as you waited for the caffeine to kick in.
You tried to make sense of what happened when you got... locked in the basement. You thought you had forgotten about her, Angel. Guess not.
Wait- didn't that lady lock me in the basement? Maybe, she didn't look very hostile, her creepy doll looked scarier than she did.
You laughed at the irony. You always made fun of the horror movies where the family would become so attached to the most horrifying doll, and you'd scream at their stupidity, And yet here you were, falling for the cliche as you found comfort in that creepy doll.
Man, I'm really losing it here.
You sighed, closing your eyes as you tried to come up with the next plan. But the warm coffee had lulled you right to sleep, which was dangerous but you were too tired to care.
Just for a couple of minutes...
You woke up to the sound of growling and heavy steps. And as soon as you opened your eyes, you knew you had definitely slept for far longer than a few minutes. But that was not of concern at the moment. No, it was the source of the growling that had woken you up.
Just about 40 feet away from you were lycans. Plural. Not one, not two, but 5 lycans, and one of them was a really big one.
You held your breath as you watched them wander around; they hadn't spotted you yet, and if you stayed quiet, you hoped they would just go away.
Stilling yourself as much as you could, you watched them with wide eyes. One of them started to walk in your direction, it wasn't looking at you, which meant that it hadn't seen you, but he would if he kept on walking this way.
God, I know we haven't been on good terms, but like c'mon, you gotta give me a break. Please, I love you? Come on, you know this is not how I want to go.
You sent a silent prayer, and perhaps it worked, since the lycan suddenly turned the other way, joining its pack as they started walking deeper into the woods.
Slowly, you began to gather up your things, silently shoving them in your bag, one eye on the lycans and the other one making sure that you don't accidentally drop something that'd cause noise.
Fortunately, you didn't. You swung the bag over your shoulder, and took a step forward, careful not to step on any twigs.
Maybe God did love me. All that time in church-
THWACK!
You jumped back as a huge sheet of snow fell from the trees in front of you. You whipped your head towards the monsters and they all had stopped dead in their tracks. Slowly, one of them turned and if they hadn't heard the snow fall, they'd definitely heard the way your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Then, it growled.
Motherfucker.
You pulled out your gun just as the two of them began running your way. With a quick jump to the side, you dodged them and shot them two times each. Hearing your gun fire, the other two began running your way too, while the larger one stayed behind as it watched. This time, as you shot one of them, the other managed to kick you in the chest hard, throwing you against the rock. Luckily, you didn't hit your head, as you rolled and shot it dead.
Spitting out the blood, you looked back at the last lycan who had already started running your way. You began loading up your gun with trembling hands, but just as you aimed, the lycan took a giant leap and knocked the gun out of your hand.
Fuck.
The giant grabbed you by your neck, lifting you up high before throwing you across the ground. You wheezed, scrambling up to your feet as you began running away from it, its heavy steps following you. It roared angrily behind you, and that only made you ignore the burning pain in your chest as you ran faster.
But of course, God had decided to make you live a cliche horror movie, because you tripped over a fucking branch, making you fall on your stomach. You flipped over instantly, and saw your nightmare come true as the lycan jumped on you.
On pure reflex, you punched it square in the face, which you doubted hurt it more than it hurt you, if anything, the monster was momentarily perplexed, but that was enough for you to slip from under it.
But you were only able to take a few steps away when it suddenly grabbed you by your neck and lifted you up again, snarling as it began opening its mouth, revealing its razor-sharp teeth at you.
God, if you're hearing this, I'm converting to atheism because I did not need this today.
Looking at the horrifying lycan, you prayed one last time before you were eaten by it. Surprisingly, your life did not flash before your eyes, which you were kinda grateful for because you did not need to relive that before your death.
But that moment didn't came. No, what came were familiar moans of pain, and then the sound of a drill, followed by blood splattering on your face as the lycan was sliced vertically from the head to the toe by the aforementioned drill.
The lycan fell to the ground, revealing the pair of soldats that killed them and behind them a smirking Heisenberg, who rested against a tree, tipping his hat at you.
You were far too shocked to say anything, and after a few seconds, the man walked over to you, blocking the view of his monstrous creations just mutilating the lycans.
"So... that was a bit traumatising." He started, chuckling at your stunned face. "You okay, kid?"
What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck-
"Yeah." You took his hand, and he helped you up. You groaned at the pain, touching the tender side around the chest where the lycan had hit you. Yeah, you probably broke a rib.
Heisenberg helped you sit down on a tree stump. "Hmm, that bastard kicked you hard didn't it." Wait- "But that was a phenomenal punch you threw at it. Nearly made me burst out laughing."
"You were watching? Why the fuck didn't you come in before!"
He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you could really handle yourself- which you were pretty good at, but then you lost your gun and it was kinda an unfair match from there on." He pulled out some pills from his coat. "i was just passing by when I saw those lycans moving away. Thats when I pushed the tree which made snow sheet fall and you know the rest from there on."
Your eyes went wide. "You did that on purpose? What the shit, Heisenberg-?! Fuck." You doubled over in pain, clutching your ribs, heaving.
"Shh, stay still, kid. Here, take these. They'll help with the pain." You eyed the bottle before popping two in your mouth. Hey, if he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have saved me from the lycan. "I just wanted to see if you were worth the trouble, and as it turns out, you are."
"You didn't have to almost kill me to see that. And now I've lost my gun. And I don't have any money to buy a new one. I doubt Duke gives freebies." You huffed out.
Heisenberg rolled his eyes. "God, you sure do whine a lot. Here-" He dropped a tiny pouch in your lap. "There's some coins in there. That should be enough to buy you a new gun. And for fucks sake, get a gun with more rounds! You don't have time to be loading a gun mid battle." He huffed. "So, where are you going now?"
You rolled your head from side to side. "Well, I went to the Beneviento house. Didn't find Ethan or Rose there. Now, I'm going to the lake."
"The lake? Huh, well if you survived Donna, then Moreau should be a piece of cake. You got the map? Let me show you the short cut, it's not far from here." You gave him the map and he showed you the directions.
"Where are you going then?"
"Mother Miranda called. Don't worry, I'll keep our meeting a secret." He then nodded at you. "Alright, I'm off now."
"Wait!" Your voice stopped him. "I don't know when I'll see Duke again. And I don't have gun, so what if another pack of lycans come?"
Heisenberg slumped his shoulders as he let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. I gotta do everything by myself." He dog whistled and one of the soldats stopped maiming the lycan and ran to Heisenberg. "From now on, you're gonna listen to her."The soldat looked at you and nodded. "If she tells you to kill, you kill. If she tells you to die, you die. Follow her around and keep her safe." The soldat nodded. Then Heisenberg turned to you. "He's already dead, so don't worry about throwing him in danger. Oh and also, just take him into the sun every once in a while so that his engine can recharge. You'll know when he needs the sun."
You were baffled. "Wait, Heisenberg- how the- what the hell am I supposed to do with him?"
"Figure it out, kid. Think of him as a guard dog."
You looked at the soldat then at Heisenberg's retreating form, then back at the soldat.
"So..." The soldat stared at you. "You got a name?"
"Handsome." You nodded to yourself as you trudged, using the soldat's arm to support yourself. "That's what I'm gonna call you. Handsome. What do you think?"
The soldat was wearing a metal contraption over its eyes, so you couldn't really tell what it was feeling.
"Well, you don't seem to have any complaints, so from now on, you'll respond to the name "Handsome". Do you understand?"
The soldat nodded.
You laughed. God, the pain meds were either making me stupid or everything else funnier.
You looked at the map again. Just a couple of more minutes and then a right turn. And then you should see the lake- god, this map was confusing as hell.
"So..." you wondered what you should ask the cyborg. Oh right. "You seen Ethan? Blonde man, crazy big eyes. Or a baby, Rose?" The man shook his head no.
Sigh. What else could I ask him? What about how did he die? No, what if that's triggering? I can't handle a Terminator right now. And I don't think I should ask him about his past or anything that'll cause him to have a existential crisis. Ah! I've got it!
"Hey, how do you see?"
The soldat looks down at you for a few seconds then points at his metal contraption.
Wait- is that sarcasm?
You scoff. "Of course, you see with your eyes! I meant, with the whole metal thingy covering them, how do you- oh, there's this vision specs in them."
You smiled. "Hey, you're kinda like Cyclops, yknow-" you were cut off as Handsome suddenly pushed you to the ground, turning on his drill.
"Wait, shit- you don't have to be Cyclops! We can talk this out-" but Handsome was focusing on something else, and that's when you saw it. Two lycans.
Handsome ran and easily maimed them to pieces, I mean, you had to look away from the horrific scene midway.
The soldat returned five minutes later, covered in blood. He extended his hand and you reluctantly took it, letting him support you as you began walking again, your heart still beating like crazy.
But you calmed down when you finally reached the lake, the setting sun gave serene feel to the entire reservoir. You inhaled deeply before looking at Handsome. "Lets go down there." You pointed at the lake.
You were both sitting at the wooden broadwalk, your legs hanging off the ledge. You looked at the water, it wasn't crystal clear, but you could see some fishes swimming around, so at least it wasn't dangerous to life. You looked at Handsome, then at his drill and you realised he was still covered in blood. "Lets get you cleaned up, hm?" You said, pulling out a rag from your bag and dipping it in the cold water below. You began with cleaning up his drill, then dipping the rag back in cold water and cleaning his chest and his other arm.
"Good job back there, Handsome."You smiled as Handsome nodded. "Heisenberg was right, you are kinda like a dog. Hmm, I wonder if..." You tested your theory as you petted him on the head. "Good job, Handsome!" But the soldat only tilted its head in confusion.
"Hmm, perhaps not." You cupped the cold water in your hands and washed your own face, You looked at your reflection in the water. "You wanna go for a swim? I don't mind." Handsome shook his head. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of swimming either."
Handsome stared at you. You scoffed. "Oh so you pretend you don't understand what I say, but you want to hear the story? Fine, but I'm only telling you because it might be important later."
You both stared at the water as you began your story. "Well, when I was 15, I had snuck out of the house to go to a party. It was at this rich girl's house and I knew she didn't like me, but I was surprised when she had invited me to her place. Yes, a red flag I should've seen from miles ago, but I was young and dumb and desperate to climb the highschool social hierarchy." You chuckled. "Anyways, long story short, one of the guys there pushed me into the pool because I don't know if they thought it was funny to see me drown? By some luck, I managed to grab onto the pool ledge and pull myself up. I immediately left the party, embarrassed and cold and on the verge of breaking down. Then on the way back home, there was this car following me and then some weirdo catcalled me and tried to get me in his car. Now, scared for my life because I watched a lot of Criminal Minds, I ran all the way home, praying that he leaves me alone. I think he stopped when he saw a Range Rover following him, but I don't know. I just rushed back home." You sighed. "You know what happened next? I bursted through the front door, slamming it shut and I turn around to see my dad in the living room, looking surprised to see me. He stood up and looked me up and down and then said, "Y/n? You're drenched completely. And you're messing up the floor. You know what? Mia's in the bathroom right now, why don't you go upstairs and I'll clean up here. You know how she gets when there's water on the wood." And I was just so shocked, that I didn't say anything and went back upstairs. Once I was in the shower, that's when I broke down crying. I almost drowned, almost got kidnapped and my father was worried about me messing up the wooden floor? Hell, he didn't even ask me why I was coming home at midnight." Your tears fell into the lake, making small ripples. You chuckled, "God, I always wondered how tired he must've been from work that day to ignore all these visible signs of distress. I always hated his job, you know? They made him work way too much." You looked at Handsome who was looking at the lake. "Anywho, now you know I can't swim so, save me if I fall into this lake, okay?" He nodded.
You guys sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before a question popped up in your mind. "Handsome?" He turned his head towards you, only to see a mischievous smile on your face. "Are you seeing someone?" The man turned his back to the lake, making you laugh. "Ahh, so you like someone. Tell me, is it someone from the village?" The man further turned his head away from you in embarrassment. "Oh come on, tell me! Is it a girl?" He nodded reluctantly, making you punch his arm. "You dog! Does she know?" Handsome shook his head, making you smile. "Tell you what? As a payback for saving me back there, I'll help you get her. I'll be your wingman, Handsome, hm?" He nodded a bit enthusiastically.
"We all deserve good things, Handsome. No matter how we look, or what we are, these things don't really define one's self worth. Its our intentions, you know?" Handsome didn't know, but he nodded anyways.
"Good. Now, lets go check out this place. Keep an eye out for Ethan and Rose, okay?" You told him, not knowing someone was already watching the two of you.
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So... thought?
What did you guys think about Handsome? I'm gonna post a pic of him soon if you guys want.
Part 5 is here.
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fantasiesinflight · 2 years
Text
I'm Your Man - Napoleon Solo
Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Reader
Rating: General to Mature
Word Count: 1,439
Warning: Implied smut, jealousy
Plot: Napoleon makes you jealous, so you make him jealous with a fluffy make up.
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Taglist:
@kebabgirl67, @undisputedchick , @retrobuckybear, @kaylamontaniz , @inlovewithhisblueeyes , @beck07990 , @poledancingdinos , @foxybunny , @summersong69 @ysmmsy @identity2212
It all started because Napoleon got a little too close to the female mark on the last mission for UNCLE. He claimed she knew more than she was letting on and he knew if he pushed just the right buttons, she would talk. Of course Illya and Gaby agreed with him and told him to do whatever he needed to to get the mission over with; while you were left with your arms crossed and a scowl.
You never wanted to admit that the green-eyed monster got the better of you, but it's true. You were jealous over seeing him flirt with another woman; holding her hand, hugging her, even gently kissing her. He treated her like he would you in your time alone. The sight sent a dagger through your heart, even if you knew it was all an act.
"It's just for the job; it means nothing to me. Trust me, my darling, I am yours and yours alone. No one else comes close to capturing my heart the way you have. I'm your man, and you are my lady." He tells you, nuzzling his nose against yours, kissing your lips before leaving to finish the mission.
You let out a huff, and avoid him for the rest of the time.
Two weeks go by and you seem to have let it go, coming to terms with the fact that it was just for the job. It did help that afterwards Napoleon took you away for a couples weekend in Paris. While there he romances you, loves you, spoils you, and fucks you, any and everyway he can.
After your trip, there is an art exhibit opening where the U.N.C.L.E agency was hired due to the high profile guests and art.
Napoleon and Illya were asked to keep an eye on anyone who might be up to no good, while you and Gabi tried to gain Intel on all invited to make sure they are who they claim. Basically playing as extra security for the event.
As you walk the room, you feel eyes on you, watching your every move and you know it is not Napoleon watching you as he is talking up the artist; clearly letting his inner art geek out instead of working. With a roll of your eyes, you turn to where you feel the man's gaze coming from; leaning against a far wall, holding a glass of what looks to be whisky, and making it very obvious that he is watching you.
He was tall, maybe around Napoleon’s height, but of slimmer build. He was a very good looking man, with sharp features, and steel blue eyes. With a smirk he pushes off the wall and makes his way over to you,
“I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be all alone tonight, and I feel it would be a shame to let such a beautiful woman spend the night alone.”
You smile, “Thank you sir, but I’m not alone. My friend is around here somewhere.”
A large grin takes over his face, laughing, “Ah a friend of course. Well then, would you allow me the honor of keeping you company until they show back up?”
With a glance back to see Napoleon still distracted, and remembering his flirting before, you turn back to the man, “I would be honored.”
Giving him an alias of yours, you hold out your hand as he takes it, bringing it to his lips to place a light kiss on the back, “Charles Blackwood at your service. Would you like to tour around the gallery?”
“I would love you.”
You and Charles spend the next hour laughing and talking while looking at the different art, giving your interpretation of it. He was a very smart man, clearly knew his stuff when it comes to art; but it was also clear he was just trying to impress you. And he wasn’t doing a bad job of it. You forget that you are there for a job and just enjoy being with Charles.
“Would you like to get something to eat? The food here is phenomenal.”
“Yes, I’m famished from all that walking around.”
He grins, “Well, we cannot have the lady starving. Come with me and we will get you something to eat.”
Making your way towards the catering table, you catch Napoleon’s eye and smile at him, giving him a small wave.
“Find your friend?” Charles asks, noticing your wave.
He tries to follow where you are looking but doesn’t see anyone, “Yes, just real quick. I’ll catch up with them la… OH! Leon!”
Napoleon suddenly appears in front of the two of you, a scowl present on his face but forces a smile on his face, standing to his full height which has him just barely staring down at Charles.
“Charles Blackwood, such a pleasure to meet the man of the hour, Napoleon Solo.”
He holds his hand out to Charles in offer of a handshake, which as a sign of respect, Charles accepts. You notice how Napoleon clenched his jaw and Charles tries to jerk his hand out of Napoleon’s grip. Clearly Napoleon was trying to assert his dominance with a show of strength, making you want to laugh.
“Napoleon, Charles was just showing me around. We were having a lovely conversation about all the artworks. He really knows his stuff, probably just as much if not more than you do.”
“How lovely, I’m sure he does since this is his event and all.”
You look over at Charles, finding him with a shit eating grin, “Really? I didn’t realize I thought Mr. Blackwood was older. But this explains why you know so much about all the pieces here.”
He laughs, “Sorry, I thought you knew, but this means I was able to impress you more with my knowledge and not my money.”
Napoleon scoffs, “Right. Well, I’m sorry Mr. Blackwood, but I need to steal Y/N, from you now. Excuse us.”
Not letting Charles say another word, Napoleon grabs you by the hand and starts dragging you away.
“Leon, what the hell was that about? Where are you taking me?”
He doesn’t answer, just pulls you until he finds an empty corridor and pushes you up against the wall, pinning you there with his hands on each side of your head,
“What the fuck do you think you are doing my Dear? Flirting with that man right in front of me? Did you forget that you are mine?” he growls.
You stare up at him with wide eyes, heart pounding in your chest both a little frightened, even though you know he would never actually hurt you, and turned on, because he will give you the most pleasurable pain imaginable.
“What do you mean? We were just talking.” you reply innocently.
He sighs, “This is about 2 weeks ago isn’t it? I thought we were past that my Dear. It was for a job and nothing else.”
You give him a small smile, as he just confirms what you assumed, “You’re jealous aren’t you Leon? Not a fun feeling is it?”
He lets out a curse, “So you were trying to make me jealous? Fine I’ll admit it, yes I was jealous seeing you with him. Wrapped around his arm, laughing and giggling, letting him touch you no matter how innocent it was. I hated it.”
You cup his face in your hands, “Now you know how I felt. I wasn’t fully over the last job like I thought and decided to give you a taste of your own medicine. I knew who he was when he introduced himself, and in a split second decided he would be the perfect person to use to make you jealous. I’m sorry, but also, not really.”
Napoleon lends down to press his forehead to yours, “I am sorry my Darling. But please trust me, I mean when I say I am yours and yours only. Just as you are mine, and only mine. No one else holds my heart, no one ever will. And I hope that I have yours as well. I love you so much darling, please never do that to me again.”
Gently, you kiss him, slow and sweetly. His hands find your face to hold you there as he conveys all of his emotions into that one kiss. You feel your heart ready to explode, but put just as much emotion into the kiss, silently letting him know that you are sorry for making him jealous and that he is the only one for you.
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kueble · 2 years
Text
If You Need Me, I'm Your Man
Here is my "gift" prompt fill for today's @witcher-bows-and-arrows. It's the next installment in my Viper Starship series.
Teen. Warnings: None. 2,100 words.
Geraskier
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Jaskier isn’t nervous, not at all. Hell, he gets on stage all the time, works the crowd while hundreds of people watch him sing and dance around and make a fool of himself. He isn’t about to lose it over a little date night. Sighing, he runs a hand through his bangs and frowns at Geralt’s front door.
He fucking hates Valentine’s Day.
Correction, he hates not knowing what to do on his first Valentine’s Day in an actual honest to goodness relationship. This isn’t just getting off together, it isn’t hidden make-outs in dark clubs or backstage. Geralt is making a spot for him in his life, and Jaskier knows how serious that is, which is why he’s currently so fucking nervous his knees are about to shake.
His phone goes off, and he looks down at it before rolling his eyes. I see you standing there. Just come in. Thanks, Geralt. Way to make a man feel good about himself. He shakes out his hips, just a little dance to get his nervous energy out, and is smiling by the time he swings the door open.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Geralt says by way of greeting, immediately sweeping him into a hug. He presses a quick kiss against Jaskier’s cheek, his stubble scratching in a fantastic way, and pulls back to grin at him. He’s dressed in a cream colored sweater, the ribbing highlighting every muscle on his frame, and Jaskier wants to climb him like a fucking tree. He is an adult though - thank you very much - so he just grins and holds out the poorly wrapped gift in his hands.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he responds. Geralt takes the heavy box from him, quirking an eyebrow in question, but Jaskier just shrugs. “You’ll have to wait until we open them later.”
“I can be patient when I need to,” Geralt tells him, his cheeks flushing with a hint of pink. Jaskier knows he’s being mocked for his actions at the house party the other weekend, but he’s too far gone for this man to care, even just a little.
“And that’s precisely why I’m impatient enough for the both of us. Now I demand one of those glorious steaks you promised me,” he says before hooking their elbows together and leading Geralt to his own kitchen.
“Steaks are finishing up on the grill. I’ll go grab them. Why don’t you pour us some wine?” Geralt asks before snagging his winter coat from the back of a kitchen chair.
“Outside! It’s fucking snowing out!” Jaskier squeals, and Geralt just scoffs at him.
“I’m not about to eat steak cooked in a fucking frying pan,” Geralt grumbles. He zips up his jacket and gestures towards the bottle of wine on the counter. “I’ll be back in five or so.”
“You got it, Sir,” Jaskier teases, but there’s a hint of something in Geralt’s eyes that he definitely plans on circling back to later on. He watches him fight with a flurry of snow, using his body to keep it from blowing into the kitchen as he heads outside. The man is clearly crazy, but Jaskier knows dinner will be phenomenal.
He finds a bottle of his favorite Riesling on the counter and makes quick work of opening it. He pours heavy, not bothering with social etiquette. They both know he’s staying the night, after all. It’s odd how slowly things are playing out with Geralt, but it feels so natural. He doubts they’ll even fuck tonight. There’s something to be said for just curling up with someone and existing.
His stage life is all the time in the spotlight he needs. This - this gorgeous man and his welcoming home - this is something he could quickly come to rely on. Geralt is every stable thing his mother has been harassing him about for years, and for once he doesn’t want to ruin this just to spite her. Fuck, he must be growing up. He wonders if this is how Peter Pan felt.
Jaskier carries the glasses to the table, which is already laid out with quite a spread. There’s a huge chef salad, baked potatoes and all the toppings for them, green beans coated in butter and garlic, and a heaping bowl of what looks like roasted bacon and brussel sprouts. Geralt might have to carry him upstairs at this point.
The door flies open in a swirl of snow, and Geralt slams it shut behind him, clearly trying to look like the weather isn’t bothering him. Jaskier smirks at him, but Geralt just shrugs and sets the plate with their steaks down on the table. He throws his jacket in the living room and comes back to help Jaskier into his chair. It should be awkward, but it ends up being oddly charming, even as the chair bumps the backs of Jaskier’s knees.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” Jaskier comments, waving a hand at the food. “No wonder you didn’t want to go out.”
“I uh,” Geralt wets his lips and looks to the side, cheeks darkening again. Christ, he’s gorgeous. “I don’t trust anyone besides me or my dad to cook my steaks,” he admits before scrunching his nose in the most adorable way possible.
“You do realize you’re precious, right? Clearly insane, but precious nonetheless,” Jaskier points out.
“Well aware,” Geralt grumbles. “Now let’s eat before everything cools down.”
They keep the conversation light, mostly because Jaskier is making an effort to stuff as much food into his mouth as humanly possible. Everything is delicious, from the salad dressing to the fresh bacon on his baked potato. At the first bite of his steak, he gives serious thought to proposing marriage.
Geralt blushes at every compliment, which just makes Jaskier even more persistent. It becomes a sly little dance, trying to see how flustered he can get him, which ridiculous turn of phrase will be the one to send him over the edge. Nothing does, though, and they spend the meal bantering back and forth good-naturedly.
By the time he admits defeat, Jaskier is rambling about the direction the new album is starting to take. Geralt sips his wine and watches him with adoration in his gaze, and it warms something in Jaskier’s chest. He looks at Jaskier like he actually cares about what he has to say, and he’s not used to being more than a pretty face with a loud mouth.
“It’s been over a year since the last one came out, but it’s hard to gather funds when we’re on our own, you know? Like, if we’re ever lucky enough to get signed, it would be so much easier, but we’re paying for all our time in the studio on our own. Tips at the bar don’t really cut it for that, and the crowds who come see us are rather enthusiastic, but still just teenagers and poor college kids,” he explains, and Geralt hangs on his every word.
“Your shows seem pretty popular. Do you think you might get a contract someday?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier can only shrug.
“I would love that, but all we can do is keep rocking out with our socks out and hoping someone notices,” Jaskier says, giggling at the face Geralt pulls. “Why yes, I’m utterly ridiculous. You should know this by now.”
“And yet for some reason I can’t seem to mind,” Geralt tells him softly. Jaskier beams back before taking a long swallow of his wine.
“But enough shop talk. It’s time for presents!” Jaskier declares, clapping his hands together and bouncing out of his chair to grab the gift he brought. Geralt follows suit and pulls a small box off the top of the fridge.
“I’ll clean up after dessert,” Geralt says before leading him into the living room. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, gifts in hand, and stare at each other like awkward teenagers.
“Christ, this is ridiculous,” Jaskier says, snorting at himself. “Sorry, I haven’t wanted to impress someone in awhile, and I just hope you like what I got you. It’s a stupid holiday anyway, who puts this kind of pressure to be perfect on people? Fucking Hallmark.”
“Just sharing a good meal with you is a gift enough,” Geralt whispers, and Jaskier’s breath catches in his lungs. He smiles sweetly at Geralt and practically thrusts the large box into his lap.
“Oh just stop being so sweet for five seconds and tell me if this is ok,” he begs. Geralt shakes his head, but hands over his small package before tugging at the wrapping on his gift. Jaskier did it himself, which is why there’s entirely too much tape and none of the edges lay flat. But, he’s been told it proves he cares enough to do the job himself, which has to mean something.
“Ciri watches all these fancy wrapping videos on YouTube. You should probably consult with her next year,” Geralt teases, and Jaskier lights up at the thought that Geralt wants him around for another year.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Jaskier watches him open it, his heart racing as he realizes how fucking stupid his gift is. He should have thought about it harder, or bought some kind of jewelry. That’s a couple–ish gift, right? He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and tries to keep a smile on his face while Geralt fights with the wrapping paper.
“The Man’s Man Meat Box. For the manly man in your life,” Geralt reads, snorting to himself before grinning up at Jaskier. He wiggles his eyebrows before adding, “is this some kind of sex toy? Because I didn’t know we were at that point in the relationship yet.”
“What? Oh god, no!” Jaskier rushes out, giggling as he tries to explain. “It’s totally PG. Priscilla was buying one for her boyfriend and it sounded like a good idea. Just open the damn box.” Geralt does, picking out jars of spices and little bags of meat rub - whatever the fuck that is - and different steak sauces. There’s even a plain black apron with the word “Grillmaster” in bold white font.
“I love it!” Geralt exclaims, and he doesn’t seem to be lying. He tosses everything back in the crate and smiles warmly at him. “Seriously. It’s perfect. I love trying out new things for the grill. You did well.”
He leans in and cups Jaskier’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone before closing the distance between them. His lips are soft and plush as they move against Jaskier’s, and he tastes like sweet wine. He brushes his thumb across Jaskier’s bottom lip, eyes going soft as he stares at him.
“Perfect, just like you,” Geralt tells him softly. Jaskier isn’t used to this, so he makes a face and hides behind his hands. Geralt just tugs them out of the way and darts in for another quick kiss. “Sorry for gushing. My boyfriend is pretty adorable, though. Now open your gift, because you’re not the only one stressing out right now.”
“Good to know we’re on the same page,” Jaskier jokes before picking up the small package. He slides off the ribbon holding it together and gasps when he opens it. Nearly dropping the box in his excitement, he shoots Geralt a sheepish grin before picking up the bracelet inside. It’s a bronze bangle, not too clunky but definitely a statement piece. The bangle is the body of a viper, and the head and tail meet when it’s closed. He quickly opens it up and secures it around his wrist, holding up his hand and moving it around to see the metal catch the light.
“That was a good gasp?” Geralt asks, a hint of worry in his tone.
“Geralt, it’s amazing! I’m going to wear it all the time,” he says, still staring down at his wrist. It looks well-crafted, something sturdy and gorgeous, just like Geralt. “Seriously, I fucking adore it. Where did you find something this cool?”
“Ciri helped me find it on Etsy,” Geralt admits, his cheeks turning pink. He looks so cute that Jaskier can’t help leaning in and kissing him again. He means to tell him his daughter clearly has style, but somehow he manages to slide into Geralt’s lap. He’s not sure if he was pulled or if he climbed in himself, but once he’s there it’s game over.
They spend the rest of the night making out on the couch like teenagers, giggling and sharing stories in between. When they eventually collapse into Geralt’s bed, Jaskier hasn’t felt happier in years. They curl up together, no need for anything more than touch tonight, and Jaskier falls asleep faster than he has in a long time.
It’s the best Valentine’s Day he’s ever had.
---
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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!
1)
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. 
2)
“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.
3)
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. 
4) 
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.”
5)
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.
+1
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. 
730 notes · View notes
ragingbookdragon · 3 years
Text
I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 2
Batfamily x Batsis Story!
Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language and Angst!
Author's Note: It's amazing how much one can write when they've got a story to tell, eh? Enjoy! -Thorne
Set Three Years After PT. 1:
Life for her revolved around work in the A.M. and community college in the P.M. If she wasn’t brewing cappuccinos and baking apple turnovers, she was writing research papers and taking physics exams. It was hectic and it was hard, much harder than anything she’d done, but it was her life, and she was going to make the best of it. The money she’d taken from her savings account had only lasted her long enough to get a decent one bedroom one bathroom apartment in a small complex and the rest went towards tuition. The coffee shop two blocks from her building had fortunately been looking for a new hire when she arrived, and she took the chance where it was, not going to look the gift horse in its mouth.
The life she lived now was a complete 180 from her old one. Back then, she didn’t have to work (though she did at a high-end department store in the mall—her father got her the job but at least she had one) and there wasn’t anything she couldn’t get with a swipe of a credit card. Now she was on a budget that consisted of five and ten tips and the last time she actually bought a new pair of shoes over a hundred dollars had been last year when she needed them for an interview, and even then, it cost her a limb.
Everything was so different, but she didn’t want to go back, preferring to be on her own and away from Gotham. From the newspapers and media, her family had convinced the world that she’d taken a few years to go overseas and spend time in Europe. A mental reprieve, they’d called it. Partially true if she was honest, but she wasn’t going to open her mouth about it lest they learned where she was. She didn’t go through all that trouble to be found within three years.
“Melisandre.”
Maybe I should move again?
“Melisandre?”
Moving would take a long time but it would be effective.
“Melisandre!”
Someone grabbed her arm over the counter, and she jerked with a start, eyes widening as she finally realized someone was standing in front of her.
“Barry?” she asked, and he smiled.
“Finally,” he snorted. “I’ve been calling your name for like ten minutes now.”
She felt a flush creep along her cheeks, and she smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. Usual?” she murmured, marking a disposable coffee cup with a marker.
Barry nodded with understanding and handed her a credit card. “I hear you. How’s studying going for that physics exam?” His blue eyes darted to the science book she had sprawled over the counter.
“It’s going,” she muttered and turned, starting to mix together his latte. “I still can’t get the thermodynamic laws down. They’re a bit confusing.”
“Yeah, it’ll take a while. You know if you need my help, all you gotta do is ask, right?”
Shrugging, she glanced at him as she poured. “You’re a busy man, Barry. I can’t have you trying to help me while trying to solve cases too.”
Barry chuckled and accepted the freshly poured latte. “I’m an excellent multitasker, Melisandre. Besides, you don’t have to worry about it messing with my work.” She opened her mouth to retort but he cut her off. “Seriously, shoot me an email about whatever questions you’ve got, and I’ll take a look at ‘em, okay?”
Her eyes narrowed warily, and she inquired, “You’re sure it won’t interfere? I’d hate for you to get in trouble for working on non-work-related things.”
“I promise, Melisandre,” he smiled and accepted a bag of apple turnovers too. He couldn’t help but pull one out and bite into it, letting out a delighted noise. “God, what do you put in these things? They’re phenomenal.”
She giggled and winked as he handed her a twenty. “A baker never reveals her secret, but if you really want to know, I use a little vanilla extract.”
Barry shook his head with a chuckle and started making his way to the door. “See you later, Melisandre!”
Waving at him, she called, “Bye Barry! Take care!”
Just as he opened the door, he stopped and spun around, suddenly asking, “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?”
Blinking, she glanced at the physics book then back to him. “Well, I was going to be studying for the exam…why?”
“My nephew is in town and I wanted to introduce him to you. I’ve already mentioned you a bunch of times and he wants to meet you.”
Her face pinched. “Barry Allen, what did you tell that poor boy?”
He stuck his tongue out at her. “That there’s a lonely college student who has no friends but has the greatest baking abilities in the world.”
“I cannot believe you told him I had no friends! Why!”
“You don’t.”
“Well, yeah! But still! You don’t just tell someone that! It makes me seem like there’s something wrong with me!”
Barry waved a hand. “Relax. Wally’s the least jerky person you’ll meet.” He smiled. “You’ll like him.”
She frowned. “I still don’t think this is a good idea, Barry.”
“Why not?”
“Well, he’s here to see you and your wife, not come meet the person who feeds your apple turnover addiction.”
The blonde’s cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson and he spluttered, “It is not an addiction!” he spun around and marched through the door. “I’ll send him over tomorrow! Bye!”
And he left before she could even say a word.
***
It had to be hieroglyphics. It was either that or some ancient cuneiform he’d recently taken up interest in, because there was no way whatever he’d written on the paper was English.
She cocked her head to the side, muttering, “Jesus Christ, Barry, did you write this on a caffeine bender? Your writing is like chicken scratch.” She tipped her head to the other side trying to decipher it when someone leaned over her shoulder.
“Which problem do you need help on?” they asked, and she pointed to the sheet.
“I have no idea what that says.” She turned and saw a red-haired stranger. “If you think you can, be my guest.”
He took it and read over it a moment, green eyes scanning over the page then he said, “Let’s see, he wrote first, ‘The third law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of a system at absolute zero is a well-defined constant. This is because a system at zero temperature exists in its ground state, so that its entropy is determined only by the degeneracy of the ground state.’”
Pausing, he scanned it again and added, “Then he marked a note beside it and wrote, ‘In simplistic terms, if an object reaches the absolute zero temp. of (0 K = -273.15C = -459.67°F), its atoms will stop moving. In other words, at absolute zero, the entropy of a perfectly crystalline substance is zero.’”
Glancing at her, he smiled. “Make sense now?”
She huffed and nodded, taking the sheet back. “Yeah, thanks. I don’t even know how you managed to get all that from his writing.”
He nodded. “Yeah, Barry’s handwriting is deplorable.”
Her eyes went wide, and she immediately questioned, “How did you?”
Sticking a hand out, he greeted, “Wally West. I’m Barry’s nephew.”
Shaking his hand, she couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe he actually told you to come up here and meet me.” A smile came across her lips. “I’m Melisandre Hale.”
“That’s a pretty name, Melisandre.”
“Thank you,” she grinned and waved him to one of the bar-stools on the adjacent side of the counter. “Have a seat and I’ll get you something to eat and drink.” As she slid behind the counter, she inquired, “Anything specific?”
Wally stared at the bored, offhandedly mentioning, “Barry said something about apple turnovers that could make you cry with joy, so I’ve gotta have one of those.” His evergreen eyes met hers. “Maybe two if I’m being honest.”
She grunted, but a grin crossed her lips, nevertheless. “Barry exaggerates a lot, Wally. They’re good, but they’re not mind-blowingly good.”
“Then I guess that leaves me to be the judge,” he countered with a smirk. “What should I drink?”
She thought for a moment then offered, “Have any judgments about drinking before five o’clock?”
He let out a startled laugh and shook his head. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
With a grin, she turned and started working her magic and a moment later, she was sliding a plate with two iced apple turnovers over along with a clear steaming mug of dark coffee with cream on top. She leaned her hip on the counter and watched him pick up one of the apple turnovers and take a bite.
Immediately his eyes went wide, and he exclaimed, “Holy shit.” He gaped at her. “This is delicious, Melisandre!”
Despite herself, her cheeks warmed, and she gave him an easy smile. “Thanks, Wally.” She nodded to the crystal mug. “Try the Irish coffee.”
He did so and tossed his head back, letting out an exaggerated groan that had her laughing until her stomach hurt. Wally was on his second turnover and he looked at her.
“You’ve gotta open up a bakery or something, Melisandre. Your pastries are awesome.”
She huffed and took the plate from him as he finished the last bite. “Let me get through college first and then I’ll wonder how to rack up enough to open a shop.”
“What are you studying?”
Pausing, she tossed a quick glance at him. “There’s no specification right now. I’m just doing general studies to get all the basics out of the way.” She put the dish in the sink and started rinsing it. “I’m at the four-C right now.” His brows pulled together, and she added, “Central City Community College.”
He snapped his fingers. “Right! It’s been a while since I went to the four-C.”
Her eyes found his and she curiously asked, “Did you go there?”
“Yeah, a few years back.”
“You don’t look that much older than I am. How old are you, Wally?”
He sipped his coffee and set it down as he replied, “I turned twenty-eight a month ago.”
“Happy belated birthday,” she smiled, and he gave her one in return.
“Thanks. How about you?”
“I turned twenty-one a few months ago.”
“Hmm, happy belated birthday to you as well.” He grinned, quipping, “How’s it feel to finally be able to legally do all the things you were doing before you turned twenty-one?”
She shot him a look. “Shame on you, Wally West, for assuming I was doing illegal things.” He chuckled and she shrugged. “But to answer your question, it feels great, so thanks.”
Wally snorted at that. “My best friend and I got absolutely hammered on our twenty-firsts and swore to never drink hard liquor again after we woke up in the bathroom in our underwear after passing out on the floor.”
A shudder passed over her at her own memory of waking up beside the toilet after her birthday celebration with a bottle of white rum. She cocked a hand up with her water bottle in it. “Here, here,” she toasted and took a sip as Wally raised his coffee and drank too.
She glanced at him. “Are you in school, or are you done?”
“I finished a while ago. I work out of a tower with a group of friends in Manhattan.”
For a moment, her eyes drifted to the simple pair of jeans and graphic shirt he was wearing. She lived in the upper area of Gotham and she knew what uptown Manhattan was like, and it wasn’t jeans and t-shirts.
Evidently, he did too because he scowled, “I have suits and ties, thank you very much.”
She snorted and took the empty mug from him. “I didn’t say anything, Wally.”
“You made a face.”
“Is a face a ground to be hostile?” she grinned. “I was just wondering what type of business in Manhattan ran on flash t-shirts and skinny jeans.” She eyed him. “Tech?”
He shrugged. “It’s…a bit of everything if I’m being honest.” It sounded like he didn’t exactly want to say, and she let it be, rinsing out his cup before setting it to dry.
A buzz sounded and she felt for her phone when he said, “That’s mine.” Wally pulled his phone out, read the message, and stood up. “I’ve gotta go, Melisandre.”
She nodded and took the twenty-dollar bill he handed her, waving her off when she tried to hand back the change. As he started towards the door, she called, “Wally?”
He turned on his heel and waited and she felt foolish for saying it, but she admitted with warmth in her cheeks, “It’s been a while since I had any semblance of a friend…so thanks for this afternoon.”
Wally gave her a pearly white grin. “Barry said you’d say something like that,” he chuckled as she scowled and he added sincerely, “Can never have too many friends, Melisandre…and I hope you’ll become a great one of mine. So far, you already are.”
She smiled, “Same here, Wally.” The bell signaled his exit and she let out a heavy sigh as her heart warmed in her chest at the feeling of a newfound friendship.
***
She was dead on her feet when she finally got through her front door and into her living room, practically collapsing onto the couch. Though it wasn’t far from the truth as she flopped down and toed off her shoes, heaving a long and winded sigh as she stared at the dark ceiling. She wanted to turn on the lamp on the table beside her, but she didn’t want to move. Hell, she barely wanted to get up and take a shower, so she didn’t go to bed sweaty.
Just a moment. She thought. Just a moment to close my eyes and I’ll get up and go shower.
Of course, the second the shut them, she was opening them to her phone telling her it was two A.M. She groaned and picked herself off the couch to shuffle into her bedroom, and when she got there, she peeled off the clothes from her body and let them fall, not caring about the hamper just a foot away. She’d do it tomorrow after class.
The shower was quick, and she crawled into bed a few minutes later, glancing out the window at the stars that were still in the night sky. Even if she tried to avoid thinking about it, she couldn’t, and her mind drifted to when she was a young girl and would stare out the window in her bedroom back in Gotham, watching the spotlight come alive and paint the silhouette of the bat symbol against the night sky.
She missed them. She missed them a lot. Missed eating meals at a full table and the laughter in the manor. Hell, she even missed being ignored, because at least then she could see familiar faces every day. Now, it was wake up, go to work, go to class, then come home. And the process repeated every morning. She was alone in a city where she didn’t know anyone except for one forensic scientist and his wife, going to a college that didn’t even have her real identity. She’d not even said the name “(Y/N) Wayne” out loud for fear that someone with super hearing would hear her and tell her father, instead going by “Melisandre Hale”, a twenty-one-year-old born and raised Central City citizen going to community college. It pained her to admit, that with her decision to grant herself the freedom she desired, it came with a heavy price, and that was the loneliness. And it was worse compared to what it was like back then.
Sighing, she rolled over and pulled the covers up over her head, hoping that when she shut her eyes, she’d stop thinking about what she left behind. Unfortunately, the universe and her mind were never kind, and as she drifted to sleep, she saw the pained faces of her family.
527 notes · View notes
kyberphilosopher · 3 years
Text
Cerise
Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died They were all my friends and just died.
Word Count: 5736 Warnings: Crime, Weapons, Mentioned Murder of a R/pist, Crude humor.
Jason’s friend and roommate, another Gotham villain, is ordered to return to Task Force X.
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ce·rise/səˈrēs,səˈrēz/ [noun] a bright or deep red color.
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
Let’s open up our story on a colorful note: Fuck Amanda Waller. 
Nobody likes her. You don’t like her. Jason doesn’t like her. None of the characters in this story like her. Arguably, none of the characters in your present universe like her, either. There’s a reason why people call her “The Wall”. It’s because that’s what it’s like talking to her. And that’s what it would be like trying to deny the request she’d passed on to you in her letter. 
It weighed on your mind briefly as you walk up the stairs of your apartment building. By the third flight, the weight’s pretty much disappeared. Sure, there’s anger at Waller for violating your agreement, but it’s so useless being annoyed with her that it washes away fast. So by the fourth flight, the whole thing is settled in your head to completion. You’ll go back to your Suicide Squad- or a Suicide Squad, considering most people Waller selects are idiots. Then you’ll do the job, and walk away bing, bang, boom. 
You tip your head politely as if in salute to the older woman, Mallorca, who occupies the apartment across from you. She returns a warm smile that raises her prominent and wrinkled jowls, igniting the fire in her warm brown eyes. “You need me to do your laundry again?” 
Of course an angel such as Mallorca would make such an offer. It’s not a bad offer, either. Your dark, silver lined chest plate is splattered with blood all over the front. It’s nobodies blood that doesn’t deserve it, as per your agreement with Waller. Just some perverted little prick who thought with his dick instead of his brain with the wrong girl. She looked frightened, and you saved her, and since the prick had just hit 18 (a fact you learned after rummaging around his wallet after), you had permission to bash his brain in. Hence the blood splattered vigilante armor. 
The first time Mallorca had seen such a sight, she had no reaction whatsoever. You weren’t sure what else you were expecting from an old woman living in a back alley apartment building, but it certainly wasn’t that. She offered no shock to your red masked, blood stained roommate either. Mallorca is simply an otherworldly being. And is that cocaine you see on the collar of her shirt?
“I got it,” you throw in return, rounding the corner so she’s at your back, and nearing the climb up the next and last flight of stairs. “Hey, is Jason home?” But when you turn around fully, Mallorca shows no intention of responding and has disappeared down your previous staircase. You clasp your hands against the sides of your thighs, “Oh, okay.”
You make your way up the final steps and stick a hand in a secret back pocket to fish around for your keys. You wince when you begin the rigorous task of tugging the lanyard free from the depths, which unfortunately fell near to your back hole. Then you slip the key into the lock and twist. 
Inside your apartment is near emptiness. There’s a couch, a rug, some windows, a TV, and to your immediate right is a small kitchen beside a hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. You see the large plant you’d stuck in the corner is wilted and tinged brown, and the TV is playing some movie with the sound muted. No sign of your roommate, however. 
You toss your helmet and keys onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to search the fridge for a snack (that you know is not there) or perhaps some water. You bend down to peek an eye in, only to stand back up and close the thing. Then you pass over to the counter, and reach up to now peek an eye in the overhead cabinet. 
“You’re home early.”
You let out a short-but cathartic- scream, jumping as you turn around. You relax quickly. It’s only Jason, and your face changes from shocked and panicked to simply annoyed. 
The man at the other side of the room pulls his infamous red helmet from atop his face. Underneath is a classically masculine, handsome face with eyes that blend between green and blue. Black hair falls free in messy strands, accented by the one white tuft that you’ve claimed reminds you of a skunk. You tilt your head lazily in defeat. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”
Jason shrugs in his red hoodie and jeans, walking across the room to set the helmet on the coffee table. “Four. Any particular reason you’re home so early?” he flops himself onto the couch and kicks his feet up, crossing them tastefully next to the Red Hood helmet. 
You turn back around to continue the task of grabbing a cup from the top cabinet. “It’s been five, and I apologize for assuming I could do what I wanted in my own home.”
“If you have to ask me to stop sneaking up on you five times, you’re probably a really bad vigilante.”
“Fuck,” you mutter as you fill the cup with tap water. “That’s true.”
You turn around to face Jason. His eyes are already on you, illuminated by the blue glow from the television. They linger purely on your form for a moment, then they dip down to narrow at your armor. “Were you the one who killed that guy on the back of main?”
You furrow your brows and look up with pursed lips in thought. “Are you talking about the main diner or the main records shop?”
“Main diner on main street.”
“No, that was Azrael. This was by the records shop.” You raise the glass to your lips.
Jason snaps his fingers. “Oh, that guy. The kid?”
You nod and take another sip of the water. “He just turned eighteen, so you know. Free game. So, what do you want for dinner? Pick something good. I’m going back to the squad so I won’t be here for a few weeks.”
Jason’s brows furrow for a split second, then he perks up attentively. “You’re going back to the task force?” he repeats, though it sounds defeated and disbelieving. Distraught- is that the word you’re looking for?
“Yeah,” you shrug. “I got the letter-” you set the cup of water down and reach a hand into your pocket. Then you pull the crumpled envelope free of its confines and toss it onto the counter, “-today.”
Jason’s eyebrows furrow again. This time the movement is quick and curved and almost offended. “So, that’s it then?”
“What’s wrong, Jason?” you smirk. “Did you finally fall in love with your roommate turned friend? I always knew this day would come.”
“Uh, no?”
“Suit yourself.”
You turn back around and begin rinsing the cup out. Jason watches your back, something in his chest sinking. You weren’t his best friend. Besides living together, you weren’t really all that close. You were living a life a lot like his, running around at night as some antihero vigilante. The only difference was that you’d crossed paths with Waller and had managed to make it out of her system alive. Most antihero vigilante’s weren’t so lucky. Most of them died. But now you’re telling Jason right to his face that you’re going back. That you think you’ll only be gone a few weeks when it could just be forever. Sprayed with dark blood all over... what if it was yours?
“Actually,” Jason leans forward. His legs drop from the table and spread open, elbows resting against his knees with a hunched back. “Why don’t you pick dinner tonight?”
The glass clinks against the metal of the sink as you set it inside. Jason almost always picks dinner. Most of the time he chooses burgers or Chinese. Your apartments stove isn’t working, so eating from home really just means a BLT sandwich for the both of you. 
“Are you offering because you’re hoping I’ll choose that new steakhouse?” you smile.
“I’ll get you anything you want,” the man replies. “It’s on me.”
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
Jason meets you on the roof of the building about an hour and a half later. You wanted to go with him, since you’d say his behavior is different from usual, but he was very adamant about you staying in. Jason even encouraged you to go ahead and pick your favorite movie to watch while he’s gone. 
When you told him you’d decided on the steakhouse option, you meant it ironically. Between the two of you, money could be described as ‘tight’. Going to a new place like that would mean saving for a while. Furthermore, you hadn’t even given him your order before Red Hood was gone. 
To his credit, looking at him now, you wouldn’t change a thing. The first bite of the food is phenomenal. The second bite is just perfect. Jason must have mind reading powers to be so aware of your taste in food- you’d thought he never noticed. 
He gets a steak, as predicted. Jason loves steak. 
Gotham looks most like itself at night, a view shared between the two of you. Two sets of legs dangle over the side of your building, both of which are clad in heavy boots and armored knees. Jason had decided to go out as his alter ego- a fact he thought he could keep from you by putting his hoodie under his leather jacket. 
“I saw you put your helmet by the door,” you tell him. “I know what’s under that sweatshirt.”
“No you didn’t,” is all he says back. 
The wind tickles the back of your neck. It ripples through the air in lazy waves, making Jason’s hair ruffle. The white skunk streak disappears and reappears between the darker-than-midnight-sky strands. Behind Jason, the moon is full and lonely. Its only company is the two of you. 
“Oh my god,” you stuff your mouth. “This is so good.”
“Hm,” Jason hums in agreement, stabbing his steak once again with a fork in his black to-go box. It’s the next movement of his shoulder that catches your eye. 
“Jason, is that cocaine, or powder donut dust?” 
Jason glances over at you. 
Your eyes linger on the white splotch of something in the wrinkles of red fabric. “Because I asked you not to eat them since there’s only two left.”
Your face slowly falls to one of horror as Jason stays still. With a face of steel, he finally says, “It’s cocaine then.”
“Then?”
“Look what I got you.”
Jason sets his box to the ledge beside him and leans down. 
“Worst subject change ever.” You take an angry bite of your meal in an attempt to both silence yourself and to make you feel better. Unfortunately as you pull away from the bite, crumbs attach themselves to your chest plate and stick to your fingers. “Crap. Jason, your dumb food is getting shit all over my stuff!”
When you look over, Jason’s orbs are already on you. His eyes pierce yours, almost unintentionally daring them to look away. The skunk strands glow this close. He holds two things in his hands. The first is a small, brown pot you could balance in the palm of your hand, filled with miniature yellow and red flowers. Scarlet tulips, golden sunflowers, and blonde alstroemerias. In the other hand is a Blu-ray copy of your favorite film. 
“Oh,” is all you can muster out. 
When was the last time the two of you had actually exchanged gifts? You weren’t lovers, or best friends. You were just friends. It had to have been last Christmas, when you had gotten him a TV subscription for South Park and a pair of socks. Jason had gifted you a new bedframe that he later helped you put together. 
A big smile reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks sore. “I haven’t been able to find this anywhere,” you say, taking the movie from his fingers. Your voice comes out pure and genuine. “Thank you.” Your smile grows even larger when you cup the pot of flowers with both hands. 
“All of the flower shops were closed,” Jason explains. “Those are plastic. They won’t die anytime soon.”
At that moment, you swear you could’ve kissed him. He’s looking at you like this is all nothing, like he didn’t just drop big money on dinner and flowers for you. Jason knew what food you wanted before you did. He knew your favorite movie when you can’t even remember saying a thing about it. When had any other man or woman been so thoughtful? So romantic? So caring?
You glance down to the film in your lap. “I didn’t think you payed attention this well.”
Jason’s brow quirks upwards. Something flashes in his eyes as he adjusts his position, seven stories up from the ground. “What kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t?” he asks. Something tells you there’s a shyness blooming in that broad chest of his. Jason’s eyes flit downward to the blood on you, before his head dips back upwards to lock a stare with you once more. “You smell nice,” he states.
You look up at him simply. You know your eyes are filled with pure adoration, and that it’s showing all over your face, but you don’t care. Your red hooded, drug pedaling, bat wrangling, gun toting equal roommate is your favorite person in all of Gotham at this exact moment. 
Behind Jason, a small bird flits overhead with a flash of crimson. “Hey, look,” you pat Jason’s shoulder. His eyes follow yours until they land on the floor of the roof behind you. “I think it’s a robin.”
“I know that bird,” Jason scowls. “That’s the son of the bitch that keeps waking me up in the morning.”
“Hm?”
You watch as Jason swings his legs over the side and pushes himself from the ledge. One hand reaches into the back of his pants while the other searches his leather jacket pocket for something. After a few seconds, he produces both a clip of ammo and a gun, which connect with a click. 
“Ah!” you yelp, placing both the flowers and movie on the brick before copying your friends actions and standing on the roof. Jason hasn’t shot yet, but the gun in his hand is aimed right at the little birdie. He’s got a clean shot. His face remains neutral and unmoving as you take your place beside him. 
It’s a full minute, and the robin is still alive and intact. He nibbles on a little crumb of bread. “He looks happy,” you think out loud. The air of Gotham goes quiet up on that roof, despite the distant sirens, music, and people throughout the city. “Are you gonna shoot?”
Jason’s finger lingers over the trigger. Even the slightest of a squeeze would set the weapon off at this point. The balls of your feet move to and froe, anticipating the bang you’re so familiar with. But then Jason lowers the gun completely, and the robin flies away at the movement. “Nah. He’ll feel the pain I dish out in the morning.”
“Don’t be sad,” you nudge Jason. “He’ll be back at six AM tomorrow to wake you up.” You turn to return to your beckoning food on the ledge. “Thanks for all this, anyway.”
“You’re welcome,” you hear Jason respond. “Hey Y/N?”
Jason watches you spin until you’re completely facing him. He can see the blood again. How it’s completely standing out against the darkness of your outfit. You look powerful, yeah. And you look like the antihero you’re labeled as. But all Jason sees is a corpse of a... of a friend. “Yeah?”
“You’re sure about this Waller thing?”
“Yeah?” you reply, as if it were obvious. The stain on you is so haunting it’s easy to think otherwise. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. It’ll only be a few weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. Then I can show you this sick ass movie.”
Then you go back to walking towards the ledge to retake your seat. But Jason remains standing. He watches as you, the person he thinks of naked so often, get comfortable, your back facing him. And, despite your word, Jason has the sinking feeling that some Suicide Squad mission isn’t the only place Amanda Waller will send you to. 
This time, Amanda Waller will send you to your grave.
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
This was supposed to be out on August 16th, for Jason’s birthday. But the concept came to me too late and I spent too long on it. Anyway, here’s some symbolism for ya.
Tulips symbolize unconditional love. Sunflowers symbolize adoration. Alstroemeria’s symbolize devotion. The reader describes the plant in their apartment as turning brown, suggesting it may share a similar fate as the reader as plants go brown when about to die. Robin’s symbolize optimism, a trait the reader displays towards the idea of returning to the Suicide Squad. Robin was also a former identity of Red Hood. Both of which could be why Jason decides to spare the bird. 
I’ll go back and proof read this in the morning.
226 notes · View notes
opluffys · 3 years
Text
Reverse Captain- Killer x Reader x Eustass Kid
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okay okay this is like the last old story from my archive account that i’m posting here *maybe? lmao idk* :,). i’m head over heels in love with killer so i got like ten wips for him lololo. lowkey don’t like how this one turned out, but it’s a couple of months old so idc anymore hehe. anyway i hope you guys enjoy! oh, also sorry if the spacing looks weird, i was too lazy to go through the whole thing and edit it...
-smut/nsfw-
You felt deliciously full and sore, the quick sliding of your captain's cock against your tight walls nearly made you lose consciousness.
"Fuck... Kid..!" You yelled, feeling his girth stretch you.
He grunted behind you and continued to thrust into you wildly, almost as wild as that red hair of his, which was now stuck to his forehead.
Your breasts were flush against the table of his office, rocking back and forth, creating a wanted friction that fueled your desire.
It was no surprise that Kid was rough in bed, just one look at the man and pretty sure anyone could tell. But you just weren't ready for it all, the way his cock just hit every spot inside of you so perfectly... When he leaned down to nip your ear and leave harsh markings on your neck, you felt like you couldn't keep up with him.
You broke the eye contact you had with countless papers and unfinished works in progress on Kid's desk, and looked fervently for your sword. You took that damn thing with you everywhere you went, you would risk your own life for that sword.
When you finally made eye contact with that beautiful blue casing, your face illuminated, you quickly grabbed it, using the hilt of the sword to press against Kid's chest.
"What the fuck..." He started angry, then stumbling backwards onto a stray chair in the middle of the room that fell victim to you and Kid.
"I think you need to slow down a bit, Captain." You said, your voice like sweet honey as you sauntered over to where he was sat, straddling his thighs.
"So you used Sea Stone to tell me that?!" He snapped, about to get up before you pressed the hilt against him once again.
"Ah ah. Feisty are we? I think it's my turn to take charge for the night, don't you, my Captain?" You asked, raising your hips to line yourself up right against his shaft, teasing the redding head with your slick entrance.
"Damn woman..." He growled, trying to get up again, but you were barely faster than him, trailing the hilt of the sword all over his body, making him groan tiredly.
"I would fucking end you if you weren't such a good doctor." He grumbled, still attempting to take charge every few minutes, evidently failing.
"That's all I am? Your doctor?" You responded, faking a disappointment tone. You still continued to rub your folds teasingly over the painfully hard head of your captain.
He raised his hand and you raised your sword, he almost chuckled, instead sending a smirk your way.
"Relax, princess. If I still wanted to actually take charge, you would've been screaming my name over my desk years ago. I guess I'll let you dominate this one time, but next time," He leaned into your ear, nipping it and taking the sensitive cartilage into his mouth. "You're gonna be wishing that you had done it my way." He finished.
You gulped nervously, the tone of his voice nearly made you want to bend yourself back over that desk, forgetting the thoughts of ever wanting to dominate your captain ever again.
Kid let out booming laughter at your reaction, about to come up with a snarky retort, but he was soon silenced by a grunt of pleasure as you finally decided to lower yourself onto his hardened arousal.
"Oh, fuck... So tight..." He whispered, biting his lip as he tried to silence his sounds.
You shuddered noticeably as he filled you to the brim, no, even further than that. He never let you ride him before, because 'You're too slow.' as he said. But as of now, being slow worked in your favour, making the red haired captain begin to lose his cool, grunts and groans of frustration leaving his full painted lips.
"Oh! Oh Captain!! Yes!!" You yelled, feeling his strong arms just tightly wrapped against you and feeling his warm pants fanning across your equally warm face just did something for you.
"Keep talking like that... I won't fulfil my end of the deal." He panted, hands attached to your plush hips, grinding against him thoughtfully.
"That'd be a shame, Captain... Because next time, I'm up for whatever you wanna do. And I mean anything, Kid." You said, sultrily pulling him in and out of you, your wet insides protesting him pulling out every time.
That seemed to shut him up for a while.
"So I've been thinking." You started, bottoming out on his lap, hissing in pleasure after feeling so full. "Your first mate, Killer... He doesn't like me much?" You asked, warming his cock, leaning your forehead against his pectorals.
"I know how Killer ticks. He doesn't hate you or anything, just no reason to make conversation with you. Why do you ask?" Kid replied, unconsciously bucking his hips upwards once in a while, earning you to pull your sword out and poke him with it a couple of times.
"No reason. I just think he's kinda sexy. What's under that mask leaves my imagination running wild, ya know." You said playfully, using your agile hands to tweak and pinch every inch of his built torso.
"What are you really getting at, (First Name)." He said, tone now completely serious, and even though he was stilled inside of you, length twitching and just dying to ravage your insides, the captain's voice never faltered, remaining serious.
"Okay, maybe I daydream of being pinned under your first mate, childhood friend, whatever. But hey, I admit it that he's really, really hot. Okay, happy now, Eustass?" You groaned, hitting your head against his chest in embarrassment, ready for him to scream at you for wanting to have sex with his best friend.
"Okay."
"Yes, I deserve whatever punishment you think is fit- wait, what?" You paused, thinking that you didn't hear him properly.
"I was your first, but by no means were you mine. So if you wanna fuck another dude, at least do it when I'm gone, or some shit." He grunted, rolling his eyes when he saw your surprised expression.
"Fuck, Kid. Please bend me over and fuck me as hard as you want." You whimpered, feeling so pleased at his response.
"With pleasure, princess." He replied, sending a wicked grin your way, harsh hands attached to your sides.
You stood at the edge of the ship, waving goodbye to your captain, who stood alongside Heat and Wire, going into the next island that you all had drifted to.
The two of you decided to hatch up a not too great plan of leaving you and Killer alone on the ship, which was 'I leave with Heat and Wire to the next island, because I'm captain, I do whatever the fuck I want.' which, had actually worked out well.
He sent a shit eating smile your way, then turned around to take his leave, the two other men following their captain.
Killer stood by your side silently, he was never one for being chatty, you knew that much. You took a few looks at the man, his plain black shirt hugging his muscles so tight, that scar on his arm made you tighten your legs, feeling an undeniable warmth flood your senses. You continued your not so subtle stares, the way his blonde mane fell down his broad shoulders and framed his body looked phenomenal, and the only thing you couldn't see was that damn face of his. You stared at the dozen holes on the striped mask, almost like trying to see through it.
"Is something the matter?" He asked, sounding more like a statement than a question. You stiffened, looking upwards towards the blonde, feeling so small in his presence.
You didn't get to be in bed with Eustass Kid for feeling small, though.
"No, Killer." You said, dragging his name out from your tongue, walking closer to his stature. You leaned against his strong chest, a gentle hand laying on his rippling muscles.
"But I think that you have something the matter with me." You said, taking your hand off of him, giving him a sly smile.
"You must've imagined it." He replied coolly, walking away to his quarters, not even giving you a chance to further your attempt at a conversation.
You clicked your tongue and walked past Kid's lackeys, who were all staring at your ass while you passed by, going to wandering into the kitchen.
You turned your head to look at them, smiling at how painfully obvious they were being while gawking at you. If only Killer sent a single gaze your way like these men here, it'd make your job of seduction a lot easier.
You took a seat in the kitchen, a stray chair in front of the stove. You picked at your nails, desperately waiting for someone to scream for your help, claiming they've been injured and needed your help. Though it was a bit bad to wait for someone to become injured, it was your role to assist them.
You didn't know when, but you leaned your head over onto your hand and started to doze off for a while, only jolting awake when you heard the sound of running water from behind you.
"Finally awake?"
You turned to where the voice came from, swallowing hard when you saw that mess of blonde hair.
"There's a plate in front of you, if you're hungry." He said, continuing to wash dishes. Yes, of course you were hungry, but not for food.
You hummed softly, getting up to smooth your skirt and walk over to Killer, offering your hand to help. "Maybe later. How about some assistance?" You asked, settling next to him to dry the wet plates. He shrugged lightly, his blonde tendrils swaying along his strong shoulders. Oh, how you wanted to just grab onto those shoulders while he thrusted into you wildly, grunting and groaning in your ear how you took him so well-
"Here."
You snapped out of your daydreams and took the plate from him, drying it off and placing it onto the shelf.
The two of you sustained a steady rhythm of washing and drying for a while, until you accidentally had dropped a glass cup, seeming to smash into a million pieces upon impact.
"Shit." You mumbled, crouching down to pick up the glass with your bare hands, of course, a bad idea, but you weren't weak, you could take a few cuts as long as you cleaned the mess.
Killer stood silently behind you, admiring the view of you bent down, even though he really shouldn't be. He pulled you up by the arms, surprising you, nearly dropping the glass shards.
You looked at his mask with a perplexed look on your face, dropping the bits of glass into the trash bin, dusting your hands off.
Killer started walking over to you, and you, being confused of what he needed, continued to back up, until your back hit the wall.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drop it or anything. Besides, I cleaned it up. We all good?" You asked, looking up at him.
"Why do you do this, (First Name)." He asked, grabbing your chin in his calloused hand, forcing your wandering eyes to peer into the mask.
"Do what?" You replied, resting your hand atop his sculpted arm, his muscle twitching at your touch.
"Make me want to pin you against the wall and fuck your brains out." He said, not moving his hand from your skin.
You froze in place, it seemed your job was easier than you had thought. "So do it, Killer." You smiled, tracing your hands over his strong torso.
"I can't." He answered, moving away from you, back to the sink to dry the rest of the dishes. You frowned, your painted lips then creating a flat line as you stood in thought.
"You can. I'm the captain's girl, right?" You said, walking behind him, trailing your nails through the material of the black shirt, feeling his muscles tense under you. "And you're captain when he's gone." You said, standing on your tippy toes to nip at his strong neck, leaving a barely visible mark behind.
You were sure you didn't even blink before you were over the counter, Killer's arm against your back, preventing you to move. A smile spread across your features, sighing contently as you felt his other hand squeeze and pinch along your clothed body.
"Mm, Killer..." You whimpered softly, grinding against his crotch. His breath hitched, but he easily retaliated, a loud hiss of pleasure leaving your lips as you felt a stinging sensation on your ass.
"I guess you're just like captain. Always wanting to take charge." You sighed, feeling the cool air hit your dripping cunt, accommodating the size of Killer's digits. "I guess so." He said, his gaze on how you took his three fingers.
You moaned loudly, biting your lip while shifting your weight from foot to foot, unable to take the torture any longer. "I didn't come here for your fingers." You grumbled, closing your eyes as he curled his fingers deep inside of you.
"Yeah, but this is probably the only time I'm going to be able to enjoy you. Gotta take it nice," He stopped, pulling his fingers out to circle your clit. "And slow." He finished. You were sure he was smirking underneath that mask.
"It doesn't have to be." You whimpered, backing your hips against him again, feeling his bulge rub against you. You heard him take a sharp inhale, contemplating whether to continue the teasing, or to just give in.
"Please." You begged, placing your forehead against the hard table.
And he had his answer.
The sound of a fumbling belt buckle behind you put a smile on your face. "Finally." You mumbled, feeling his tip press against your entrance. You bit your lip from letting out a scream as he suddenly filled you, a shaky sigh leaving Killer's lips.
"Ah... Fuck, Killer!" You panted, your hands grabbing the counter harshly. His tan arm lifted from you, now squeezing your hips tightly, pulling you back against him, relishing in your warmth.
"Killer... Fuck... You stretch me so good!" You yelled, moaning when you felt him fill you over and over again. "You're awfully quiet back there, am I not what you expected?" You said, a fake tone of sadness lacing your voice.
"Unlike you or Kid, I'm not so vocal." He responded, trying not to show the strain on his voice, even when you were wrapped so tightly against him, your pussy dragging him in deeper and deeper with every thrust. "You're even better than I thought, (First Name)." Killer said, pushing himself into you deeper than what you thought possible.
"Isn't this position boring? Why don't you pin me against the wall and fuck my brains out like you proposed? You can even have me do the work and ride you, or even-" You were cut off when your mouth was filled with Killer's long fingers, taking your tongue between them. "You know, you make a good point. I can't see the faces you're making." He said, pulling out of you slowly.
"Why don't we go somewhere more, private." He said, his deep voice making your legs shake. You nodded fervently, pulling your panties up and adjusting your skirt. You tried to take a step forward, but your wobbly knees betrayed you, nearly making you fall down until Killer took your hand, pulling you up gently. "We weren't even going for that long." He said, making sure that you could stand before letting you go. "You're big, what do you expect?" You mumbled, rolling your eyes.
When you were stable, you tried taking another step under Killer's gaze. Again, you failed and your hands flew to his extended arm. He sighed audibly and lifted you up, carrying you like a bride. "What a gentleman." You giggled, your hand wrapping around his neck softly. He didn't reply as he started walking back to his room, obviously attracting stares along the way.
"Killer..." You whimpered, feeling his cock push against your womb, making you see stars. Your back was against the cool wall, seeming to steal the warmth that radiated off of you. "You're tight even when you and the captain go at it everyday..." He grunted, his hips snapping against yours. You would've laughed if you weren't pinned against the wall getting fucked. "Yeah, sorry about that... I know I can get a little, ya know..." You said timidly, a warmth settling on your cheeks after getting called out for being so loud.
"I've always wondered what your lips feel like." You sighed, feeling him stretch you so good. "Not today, (First Name)." He said, biting his lip softly, trying not to let out too much noise, even though you couldn't even hear him. "Come on, Killer. All I've wanted to see was your face the second I joined the crew, and that was years ago, that says something." You said, trying to sound angry, but that was seemingly impossible with a huge cock inside of you.
Killer seemed to stand still in thought, wondering if he could actually show you his face. He didn't hold any negative feelings toward you, but he wasn't sure if he trusted you enough. "And if I do..?" He asked, not moving any longer, his cock deep inside of you. "If you do, then I most definitely think that we would enjoy ourselves much more." You replied, hands squeezing his strong shoulders tightly. He made a sound of disapproval as he pulled out of you again, walking away from you. You barely stood, only with help of a chair next to you were you able to stand.
A confused face took over your gentle features, pondering if you had said or did something wrong. "Damn it, how the fuck did I mess this up so badly..?" You sighed, starting to gather your clothes slowly, silently wishing Killer was here to help you out. It was the least he could do if he didn't want you anymore.
"(First Name), do me a favour." You heard him, he was out of view, for some reason. You hummed, signalling that you heard him. "Close your eyes, just for a little while." He said, his voice coming closer to where you stood. You complied, used to taking orders, especially on a ship where Eustass Kid was captain.
You felt a rougher hand tangle with your soft one, leading you somewhere. You trusted Killer, but you had no clue what he was going to do.
You were stopped for a moment, then brought down onto muscled thighs, your hand still tightly wrapped with Killer's. It took you a moment to realise that you were straddling his thighs, your cheeks adapting a sudden warmth at the intimate pose you two held.
You felt warm lips against yours, your abdomen knotted tightly at the feeling. His tongue softly pushed against your own, his lips tangling within your own in a fierce dance, the two of you seemingly unable to get enough of each other.
Your hand still laced with Killer's, you squeezed it harder unconsciously, feeling your lungs start to burn after not inhaling enough oxygen. Your open hand wandered lower, tracing Killer's strong abs and his beautiful V-line, finally finding his rock hard length, your hand softly pumping it when he released your lips with a groan. 
"Fuck, (First Name)... Just like that..." He whispered, his pants warming your face. His breath smelled of a cool mint, opposing your captains fierce cinnamon scent.
Your eyes were still shut, though you were dying to take a small peek, you were sure he was just as beautiful as the rest of his body.
You continued your ministrations while Killer ravaged your soft lips, his lipstick mixing with yours. Any time while the two of you locked lips, you felt his cock twitch in your hands, obviously wanting to be back inside of your warmth. You subtly raised your hips, lining his cock up with your entrance. Just as you started to lower yourself, Killer thrusted his hips forward, sheathing himself inside of you quickly. You yelled against his lips, separating the two of you.
He would've laughed if he didn't dislike doing so. "You know I can see what you're doing, right?" He asked, his harsh tone of voice seeming to disappear.
"S-Shut your damn mouth..." You whispered, closing your eyes tighter than they already were. You opened your mouth to speak once again, but you were silenced by a pair of lips against yours once again. It was as if he couldn't get enough of you, each kiss was like air to him, his lungs burning like a fire until your cool lips met with his scorching ones. It was weird how you were the one who wanted to kiss him so bad, but he was the one who kept initiating it.
He pulled back from you, leaving your lips slightly agape and stinging, a sensation that was welcomed by you. "You can open your eyes now." He sighed, worried about how you'd react.
Your (eye colour) eyes strained open, the light making it hard to fully open them on command. You squinted, then little by little opened them fully, eyes resting on Killer's tanned chest, your mouth wanting to leave markings on the skin. You just realised that your hand still laid on top of Killer's gently, you muttered a quick apology and looked up at him, your eyes meeting his.
Your mouth hung open slightly, seeing his blonde hair fall into his face perfectly, his long eyelashes tickling his strong cheekbones, his full lips swollen after meeting your own countless times.
"So handsome..." You mumbled, seemingly forgetting that he was still inside of you. You noticed his cheeks get warmer, as you sent him a small smile. 
"Thank you."
He looked at you, confusion written all over his pretty features. "For?" He asked, his now free hand caressing your hips, tracing small shapes with his tall fingers.
"For trusting me... I know we never talk, but I trust you as much as Captain." You sighed, your forehead against his chest. "And well, obviously the other two." You laughed, referring to Heat and Wire.
He didn't know what to say, but he began to feel slightly bad. "Why did you never talk to me, anyway? When I first joined you used to at least make small talk with me, but then it stopped." You said, looking up at him with an undeniable sadness in your eyes. He sighed, averting his stare. "I knew something like this were to happen if I continued to talk to you. When you and Kid became a thing, I had to back off, respect that you were his, or the temptations would overcome me someday." He said, returning his gaze to you.
You hummed, satisfied with the answer. "At least you don't hate me." You said, raising your hips to be able to kiss him again, lips against his own with fierce intent.
"Please fuck me, Killer." You whimpered, unable to take just his stationary cock inside of you any longer. He didn't respond back to you, but began to assist you in moving on top of him, your arms resting against his shoulders as you started to bounce on him, his cock going inside and out with such a lewd sound.
Killer's hands gripped your hips tightly, lifting you onto him easier than if you were doing it alone. "Fuck..." He groaned, feeling your fleshy walls tighten around him, warmth over flooding his entire being.
You felt him push against the spot that nearly induced you into a deep unwanted sleep, letting out a loud moan, unable to form words to tell him to keep hitting that spot.
He knew what angle to go out now, abusing your wet walls with every snap of his hips. He moved his hand lower to circle your clit slowly, hearing you give a wanton whisper of his name fuelled his need to make you finish around him.
You felt your leg twitch as you felt your inevitable release creep up on you. Your moans and whimpers grew to a higher pitch, with a raise of your hips, Killer met your lips against his once again, you never growing tired of the feeling. One more deep thrust inside of you, and you couldn't take it, accidentally screaming into Killer's open lips, you separated from his mouth and whimpered again as you came around him, your arousal dripping down onto his erection and onto the both of your thighs.
He continued to lazily drill into you, filling you to the brim until he was satisfied. He bit his lip as you tightened onto him harshly, almost like not wanting to let go. You moaned his name, feeling sensitive with every move.
"So fucking good." He whispered to himself, getting lost in your soft insides. He too felt release coming sooner than he thought. You were just so good around him, smaller than him and still able to take him better than initially thought.
A few more thrusts and he pulled out, grunting softly as he came on your stomach, thick white ropes of his sticky seed on your naked body.
He got up to bring you a towel, finally feeling the after effects on him, collapsing onto the bed beside you gently. You smiled, your lipstick was slightly smeared and your hair was tousled messily. You cleaned yourself up and laid next to him, locking lips again softly, feeling him being so gentle with you made you feel like you could take him again right then and there.
His eyes were on yours after you backed up from the kiss, a smile on your face as you closed your eyes.
"I could get used to this."
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