#i just grabbed them from like three different websites and two books | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phykios · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

Percy might hate college.

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

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

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

“How bad is it?”

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

“Ouch.”

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

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

Percy slams the computer shut.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass.

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

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

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

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

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

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

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.”

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t forget--”

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

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

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

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

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?”

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

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

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

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

By morning, he has a response.

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

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

“Hey mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

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

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

“Thanks, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

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

“It does.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

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

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

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

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

It’s… not what he expected.

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

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

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

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

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

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

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

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

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

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

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

“You did.”

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

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

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

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

“Gross.”

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

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

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

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

“The what?”

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

“That doesn’t help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

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

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

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

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

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

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

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

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

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

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

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

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

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

“You’re so weird.”

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

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

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

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

“Shh!” Nico hisses.

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

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

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

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico’s eyes widen.

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

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

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

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

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

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

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

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

“Annabeth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Very interesting.”

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else?

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says.

“Who are you working with?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks.

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

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

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth goes dry. “Um…”

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

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

Annabeth, behind him, coughs.

“S-sure. No problem.”

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

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

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

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

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

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

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

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

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far.

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

Well, most of them, anyway.

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

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

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

“And how big were these models?”

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

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

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

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

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

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

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

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

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

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

“At my… summer camp…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

“The same,” she says, imperious as ever.

Fantastic. “Welp,” Percy says, slapping his thighs, scrambling up. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to decline. Nice seeing you, by the way. I’ll tell Annabeth you stopped by.”

Her sharp gazes pierces him, full of fury. “You dare to refuse my support?”

He snorts. “When it means trying to get the UK to give the marbles back, absolutely. Do you know how stubborn they are about this?”

Lightning flashes behind her, nearly blinding him. “You will regret this,” Athena says, dark and foreboding. “You may have your father’s goodwill, but the queen of Olympus is clever and cunning, her displeasure swift and merciless.”

But Percy still shakes his head. “When Annabeth and I get married,” and it’s definitely a ‘when,’ it’s just a matter of when precisely, like after Junie can sleep through the night maybe, “I’d rather take my chances with Hera than try and untangle that particular can of olives.”

A growl, and a snap of her fingers, and Athena disappears.

With a start, Percy wakes up. Junie had gotten her chubby little hands around his nose, and had decided to pull.

“Ow, ow, Junie, hey,” he squawks, attempting to dislodge her grip from his face. “Hey, I’m awake, it’s okay.”

She laughs, illegally adorable, her grey eyes sparkling, squeezing harder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs along with her. “You got my nose, you win.”

As if she were waiting for him to admit defeat, she lets go, clapping her pudgy toddler hands together.

“That’s right,” he picks her up, raising her above his head. “Barely sixteen months old and you already know how to take me down, don’t you? Just like your mommy.”

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

Junie really is the best parts of both of them. She’s got her daddy’s hair but her mommy’s brain, quick and sharp and painfully adorable. She’s already learning to read Greek, Annabeth sitting her in her lap and sounding out vowels together, Annabeth taking her finger and tracing it over the letter shapes. This kid absorbs information like a sponge, which Percy can only assume is the natural conclusion of taking a son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena and mixing their DNA together.

Thinking about his dream, he frowns. “What do you think, Junie,” he asks his toddler. “Should I take her up on her offer?”

The baby says nothing.

“I mean,” he tilts his head, “Greece has been trying to get the marbles back for two hundred years. UNESCO has top lawyers on this. What does Athena think I can do?”

Junie blinks at him.

“On the other hand, I do really love your mom,” he admits, “and I really want to marry her. You’d like that, right? To have your parents be married?”

There’s no way she can understand what he’s saying, but she moves her head like she’s nodding. Or maybe she does understand. She is Annabeth’s daughter after all.

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

Several months, a college graduation, and one relocation to Boston later, Percy growls, hurling his pencil at the wall. Mother fucker. Fuck the British Museum, fuck his tiny laptop screen, and fuck the Italian prick who decided to have the least ADHD-friendly handwriting of all time.

Why the hell is he doing this again? Like, seriously. Why in all of Hades is he, an inexperienced, snot-nosed, first year master’s student deciding to tackle the return of the fucking Parthenon marbles of all things. Like, what is wrong with him?

Roughly scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Percy stands up. He has to go for a walk, clear his head, or he might actually explode.

Then he catches a glimpse of the photo pinned to the fridge.

Percy’s mom had taken it, a candid of Percy and Annabeth and Junie on a sunny day in Central Park. There, in perfect 1080p, Junie is laughing, at what he can’t even remember, her pudgy fists yanking on Percy’s hair, while her mother and the love of his life does nothing to extricate Percy from her grip, her face screwed up so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Percy had talked a lot of shit to the goddess of war’s face, but truth be told… Hera still terrifies him a little. Which, he assumes, was her goal all along, but it would be nice to marry Annabeth without fear of something going terribly wrong--or, gods forbid, something happening to Junie. That simply was not a risk he was willing to take. Percy is content to spend the rest of his days as Annabeth’s life-partner and roommate, if it means that the queen of the heavens won’t have a reason to take out her issues on his children.

Even if the engagement ring in the back of the pantry is gathering dust.

Sunlight, wan but warm, falls in from the window, landing perfectly on his pile of open books. “I know, I know,” he growls, speaking to the air, rubbing his face so it doesn’t get stuck in a permanent glare. “I just--I just need a few minutes, okay? Let me go down the block and get a coffee or something. Two minutes, Lady Athena.”

The light fades. Percy takes that as an acquiescence, angrily scribbling a note. He’s not sure when Annabeth and Junie will be back, but even angry as he is, he doesn’t want to worry them.

Snatching up his jacket, he slams the door shut, stomping out of his apartment building and down the streets of Boston. He must be accidentally doing his wolf stare, because people are practically flinging themselves out of his path as he hurtles down the sidewalk. Literally--some girl is walking her husky, and the poor dog actually whimpers, cowering as Percy rounds the corner.

Coming to a stop, Percy slaps his hands over his face, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.

He might be in over his head a little.

Sighing, he looks to his right. He’s standing outside of a Starbucks.

Percy doesn’t drink coffee, Annabeth does. And he knows exactly how much of a coffee snob his girlfriend is. Starbucks? Overpriced, overrated, over-sweetened garbage.

He pushes the door open, sliding up to the counter. “I’ll take a… iced mocha, I guess,” he says. “Large.”

“No problem,” chirps the barista. “I’ll have that out for you in a minute.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

One thing Starbucks does have going for it, though, are really good napkins for doodling.

Slumping down in his uncomfortable metal chair, elbows resting on the hard, faux-wood table, Percy takes out his pen, and doodles aimlessly on the brown napkins. No, not that pen. Just because it can write doesn’t mean that Percy wants to risk slicing his face open every time he has a stray idea. Completely out of the blue, Annabeth had gotten him a nice set of pens, and ever since then, Percy always keeps one on him. Now, if he could just remember to use the little notebook she had gotten him, too.

Percy is not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn’t have an image in mind, just lets his pen move, drawing endless chains of triangles and stars, nebulous shapes which form themselves into Greek letters. After he catches himself writing γλαυκῶπις for the eighth time in a row, he sighs, dropping his pen, and picks up the cup, taking a sip.

Yuck. At least the chocolate outweighs the coffee taste a little.

Gods, and their cups are always, like, drenched from condensation--not that Percy can feel it, but there’s practically a whole other drink on the outside of the plastic, dripping all over Percy’s pile of doodle napkins. That must be why they give out so many.

Grumbling, he mops up the mess, ink smudged into a blue-brown slurry.

He stops.

He squints at one of his doodles.

Not that anyone else could tell, but Percy had apparently been trying to recreate the signature of Ottoman sultan Selim III, the guy who had supposedly authorized the Earl of Elgin to take the Parthenon Marbles. Percy had been staring at copies of his signature all damn day, trying to tell if it had been forged or copied, but classical Arabic was just so far beyond anything he could even begin to wrap his head around. It was gorgeous work, but even looking at it made Percy’s eyes swim.

This particular doodle is not his best attempt. It looks nothing like the signature. It’s smudged, blotchy, but in a way that’s… weirdly familiar.

Snatching the napkin up, Percy bolts from the Starbucks, leaving his mocha behind.

Taking the steps of his apartment building two at a time, he bursts into his kitchen. His set up is exactly how he left it, books spread out all over the table, laptop shut and laid askew, the dry, half-eaten remains of his morning muffin on a plate on top of his encyclopedia of illuminated manuscripts--except for one book, the one on Ottoman history of the nineteenth century. It’s been opened, its pages facing the door, in the exact opposite direction of all the other books.

“Hello?” he calls into the apartment. “Anyone home?”

No response.

Percy approaches the table.

From the pages, Selim III stares at him, his portrait rendered in black and white, sitting just above a figure of his signature, his tughra.

Percy picks up the book, squinting.

The signature is crisp, clean, a work of art all by itself.

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

Opening his laptop, he pulls up the scans of the documents in the British museum, zooms in on the letter’s seal.

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares.

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

In a daze, he fires an email off to his new grad advisor. Hopefully he won’t mind Percy sticking his nose in where he doesn’t belong. Hey Dr. T--was looking at the Parthenon marbles docs in the BM (don’t ask) and I noticed this weird smudge on the tughra. Lazy scribe, maybe?

And he closes his computer.

Later that night, while he puts Junie to bed, he gets a response. not sure. sent it to a colleague for a closer look.

He can’t even be bothered to really think about it though, not with Junie looking up at him with Annabeth’s eyes, and asking for another book. “Alright, kiddo,” he acquiesces, settling in beside her. All her story books are in ancient Greek, and at age two, she’s starting to recognize the letters. “Which one are you thinking?”

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

“Dolphins, eh? Getting Mr. D on your side early, I see. As smart as mommy.” He leans down and kisses her forehead before he starts to read her the story of the sailors and their sudden dolphin madness.

***

“Huh,” Percy says to himself a few weeks later, as he and Annabeth are chilling on the couch, watching some Netflix.

His advisor has forwarded him an article from the BBC (New evidence suggests Elgin documents to be forgeries) with an accompanying note: Amazing catch!

“What is it?” Annabeth asks, nudging him with her elbow--a feat, since she also has an armful of a squirmy Junie to deal with.

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

That gets her attention. Anything Parthenon-related does. “Really?”

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels his lips pulling at the sides of his mouth.

“My mom is probably your biggest fan right now.”

He starts. “What did you say?”

Turning back to the TV, she still manages to cast him a weird look. “I said, my mom will probably love you for this.”

A beat, then Percy practically somersaults over the couch, darting into the kitchen. Wrenching open the pantry door, he shoves his hand behind their collection of flours, fingers grasping for--

“If you’re looking for any more sacrificial cookies,” Annabeth calls after him, “we burned them all when Junie got a cold.”

“Remind me to make some more,” says Percy, pulling out his prize. It’s a little dusty, streaks of flour clinging to the blue velvet. “I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

“Oh yeah?” She chuckles. “What, did Olympus put in a special order?”

Percy slides back down next to her, ring hidden in his closed fist. “Can I have the baby for a sec?”

Eyes fixed to the screen, Annabeth passes her over. Junie’s hands automatically reach for his nose, ready to grab, but Percy places the ring in her grasp instead, kissing her forehead. “Hey, babe?” he asks Annabeth, handing her back. “I think our daughter has something for you.”

Annabeth takes her without a second glance.

Then she does take a second glance.

Ring closed in her pudgy toddler fist, Junie holds it out to her.

Annabeth gapes.

“So,” Percy says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “quick confession: I wasn’t just working on the marbles for fun.”

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

“Your mom told me that if I helped get the marbles back, she’d back us against Hera if we ever got married. So…” He trails off, waiting for her response. As close as he is, he can see the tears start to well up in her eyes--a good sign. “Shall we?” he prompts.

“Oh thank all the gods.” Annabeth is crying, because she's Annabeth. And because she's Annabeth, she also wastes no time in transferring Junie to her other side, and holding out her hand so Percy can slide the ring on her finger. “I was so worried I'd have to have Chase on my Masters’ diploma, too.”

Percy is making sauce when his phone lights up. He hits speaker. “Hey.”

“Hey man,” comes the tinny voice of Magnus. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Percy says, “I figured you were dying or something.”

Magnus’ eye roll is almost palpable. “Very funny. What’s up?”

Bringing the spoon to his lips, he blows on it, taking a taste, before reaching for the salt. Needs way more. “Do you happen to have any Varangian guards in Hotel Valhalla?”

“Varangian guards? Uh, maybe. Probably. Why?”

“I’m doing a thing on the attempted reconquest of Sicily,” he says, lowering the heat a little to a simmer, “and I’m having some trouble piecing together the Battle of Montemaggiore. Know anyone who was in it?”

Magnus hums. “I’ll ask around. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?”

Rifling through their little spice cabinet, he makes a mental note to get a new thing of hot sauce, tipping the rest of it into the pot. “If you have anyone who fought under Harald Hardrada, that would be great.”

“Hardrada? I’m pretty sure he lives on the fifth floor.”

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

“Yes!” He picks up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you think I could come up and talk to him sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were doing something on Homer’s identity?”

He groans. “Backburnered for now until she stops driving me crazy.” No matter how many times Percy tells her, he can’t just drop the “Homer was actually an Egyptian woman” bomb without some serious evidence backing that up. And forgery is not one of his strong suits. Hence the need for a different topic for the time being.

“Has everyone ever told you your life is weird?”

“No, why do you ask?”

His phone suddenly vibrates, shocking him so badly he nearly drops it into the saucepan. Almost home, texts the love of his life, a shot of serotonin directly into his bloodstream. V hungry

“Sorry, Magnus, but I gotta run. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Say hi to my cousin for me.”

“Can do.”

“And make sure you pick a date soon! Sam needs to know so she can schedule her flight home.”

“Soon as I can.” You know, when his brain isn’t melting from grading undergrad papers. And making sure Annabeth and Junie are fed. And that Annabeth doesn’t lose herself in graduate school. And finding Junie a new preschool after she destroyed a classroom last month because of a monster. His toddler is a badass. But he’s a little worried she’s gonna follow Mommy and Daddy’s example as far as school goes.

Sometimes, he thinks that their wedding just won’t ever happen. With Athena on board, he figured it would happen sooner or later, but time just… keeps getting away from them. Which isn’t the end of the world. A lifetime at Annabeth’s side is all he really needs, Mrs. Jackson or no. But he’s seen the silver fabric she weaved for her wedding dress. It would be a shame for all that hard work to go to waste.

And, yeah, he wants to see his little Junie dancing down the aisle flinging seaweed before her mother. He wants his mom to cry a little and he wants all his friends to be there to celebrate with them. Is that so much to ask?

Speaking of his two favorite girls--”We’re home!” Annabeth calls from the hallway. “Junie, go say hi to daddy!”

Her bare feet slapping against the floor, his daughter comes toddling in, making a beeline for him. “Hey, kiddo,” Percy says, scooping her up. “How’s my best girl?”

“She’s just fine, thanks,” Annabeth says, setting her work bag down on the table. “Tell me I don’t have to wait for dinner--Margie kept me for the entirety of my lunch break, and I am starving.”

“Just gotta make a salad and we should be good to go.” But he makes no move to finish chopping vegetables, entirely too enraptured with the way Junie smiles when Percy sticks his tongue out at her. “Let me guess,” he says. “Does my best girl want some olives?”

“Peas,” Junie says.

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

She giggles, waving her arms. “Elaia, daddy!”

“Fine,” and he kisses her nose. “Extra olives for you.”

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

Handing her back to her mother, Percy sighs. “When am I going to get a kid who likes anchovies?”

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

“Reputation isn’t that bad.” Hardrada is saying. “The production isn’t what it should be, but lots of her lyrics are still on point.”

“The production ruins it,” Percy insists. “And as a follow up to 1989? It's just bad.”

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

“You can’t argue with the genius of that one.”

“It is terribly inconsistent,” Percy shoots back. “Yeah, ‘The Archer’ and ‘Daylight’ and ‘Miss Americana’ are sublime, but ‘ME!’? Come on!”

“Are you one of those people who thinks she peaked at Red?”

“Red is a bop from start to finish,” Percy fires back. “But she definitely peaked at folklore.”

“Thinking she peaked at folklore is just pedestrian when ‘tis the damn season’ exists!” Hardrada yells, drawing his axe, which is then promptly flung over Percy’s head.

As the only mortal in a room full of armed, excitable, undead Taylor Swift stans, Percy beats a hasty exit, Magnus and Jason covering him as he flees, because they’re just so thoughtful like that. Percy’s pretty sure he saw Magnus take an arrow to the knee, going down in a heap, before he shuts the door to the hotel, finding himself in a Forever 21.

Looking over his notes later as he gets back to his apartment in the North End, he frowns. They had spent… approximately twenty minutes talking about Sicily before getting solidly off track. Who knew an eleventh century viking would have such intense feelings about pop music?

And now he’s singing “seven” to himself as he unlocks the apartment door, because it's a good song, and because it made him think of Annabeth. And he always wants to think of Annabeth.

“Hey, babe,” he calls into the apartment, toeing off his shoes. “I’m back!”

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep! Totally fine!” she says, unconvincingly.

“Alright,” he calls back. “Let me know if you need something.”

Moving Junie’s toys out of the way, he drops down onto the couch, grabbing his laptop. Hopefully he can make some sort of sense of the… notes… that he got from Hardrada. Though he’s probably going to have to trek out to Beacon Hill again, which, while not really out of his way, does mean he has to hike a bit from the Park Street station through the Commons, which makes him super sweaty and out of breath. It’s just embarrassing, walking into a hotel full of the greatest warriors of Valhalla, and Percy can barely handle a hill.

However, he’s not so out of practice that he can’t sense Annabeth coming up behind him. “You good?”

“What do you think about getting married by the end of the month?”

“Sure,” he says, pecking at his computer. Damn autocorrect ruining all the Norse names. He keeps forgetting to download the right language package he needs. “But I thought you wanted to wait until after you turned in your portfolio?”

“Well… I might not be able to fit in my dress if we wait much longer.”

That gets his attention.

Percy turns around, slowly. Annabeth is grinning, holding a thin little piece of plastic with a circle on the end. She wiggles it.

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

“What? No!” Percy slides his computer off his lap, twisting around to face her, up on his knees. “No, no, not at all. I’m not mad.” She slings her arms around his neck, pregnancy test warm against his skin. “I just…”

Eyes warm, she looks into his, unafraid. “What is it?”

“It’s…” It’s silly, is what it is. But this is Annabeth. If he can’t tell her, who can he tell? “I just feel bad that I’ve gotten you pregnant twice before getting married.”

“Well, at least I’m not nineteen this time,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But maybe we wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t such a horndog.”

Percy snorts. “Me? What about you, Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before my first lecture’ Chase.”

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

“It’s Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before your first lecture’ Jackson.”

Grinning, he presses his mouth to hers. After all this time, she still smells like lemons, her lips soft and warm. “Not yet it’s not.”

“Then let’s make it happen.”

And, well, Percy can’t think of a better plan.

Jamie hisses. “Fuuuuuck,” she whispers, the sound dropping like a stone in the dead lecture hall. “Goddamn shit fuck ass.”

And the worst part is, she’d actually spent a lot of time preparing for her Latin midterm. She’d made flashcards, she’d drilled noun endings, she’d even slept with the textbook under her pillow for fuck’s sake.

Typical--the moment she sits down to take the test, it all goes out the window.

“Legistne carmen longum de Troiano,” she reads under her breath, as though saying it out loud will unlock some hidden secrets of the cosmos.

Nope. Nothing. The multiple choices remain as inscrutable as ever.

“Psst.”

Jamie looks up.

There’s a four year old staring at her.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

“Hi,” says the four year old. Junie, her name is, she thinks.

Mr. Jackson, Jamie’s Latin TA, will bring his kids to class with him sometimes--his wife works full time, and Jamie guesses that they can’t afford a babysitter. She’s a cute kid, quiet, usually sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, drawing or even knitting, sometimes with her little sister playing with toy ships next to her.

Now, she’s still staring at her. “What’s up?” Jamie asks.

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.”

She squints down at her test sheet, attempting to visualize her flash cards. That’s… “Bello” is the right answer.

The fuck? The fucking four year old can speak Latin? “Thanks,” she whispers.

Junie beams at her.

Darting her eyes to the front of the lecture hall, Jamie spies her professor, Buck, completely conked out at his desk, his chest rising and falling with his snores. Percy is nowhere to be seen, his laptop open at his chair. “What’s the next one?” Jamie turns her paper so that Junie can see better.

“Pluto Proserpinam infelicem cepit,” she announces, perfectly accented.

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.”

The door to the lecture hall opens. Jamie whips around in her seat, startled, and sees her TA, walking down the steps. From the corner of her eye, Junie disappears, booking it to her dad, who scoops her up without missing a beat. “Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Were you bothering my students?” Then he glances at Jamie. “Sorry about that--hope she wasn’t too annoying.”

But Jamie shakes her head. “It’s fine.” Dammit.

Still smiling, Percy makes his way back down to his seat. Junie grins at her over his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her dad’s neck.

At the beginning of the semester, Professor Buck had droned on and on about Mr. Jackson, about how he was one of the best up-and-coming classics scholars in the world, how he could have had his pick of PhD programs, and how NYU was lucky to have him. He got first pick of assistantships this semester, apparently, but had volunteered to teach Latin 1001, and they should all be grateful, because he had done some beautiful new translation of Virgil for his Master’s thesis, and they were all going to learn a lot from him.

Turning back to her exam, Jamie snorts. Of course a guy like that would have a kid who could speak perfect Latin.

She really should have just stuck with German instead.

#my fic #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #perseannabeth #darkmagyk #percy should be a classics major and here's why #the percy major for the stem hating author #also i feel like i have to say:#1) classics conferences are not like that #2) if only it were that easy to get the bm to return looted antiquities 🙄#pjo fic #percabeth fic #percy jackson

731 notes · View notes

shivada-jade · 3 years

Text

reply back

modern!au/idol!au

characters: aether, lumine mentions: venti, xiao, kazuha, barbara, azhdaha warning(s): swearing because lumine and aether are siblings

notes: i've been lACKING these idol au's so im gonna write more idol au's because i nEEED it

You were seven when you were introduced to the twins. Coming from a foreign land, you struggled with the language they spoke in, but they were patient with you and taught you their language and much more. The twins were multilingual and explained it was from their frequent traveling and relatives from different places.

You and the twins were close, but Lumine spent more time with you, making Aether whine a lot. He would always poke sticks at you and hide your legendary, full art Pokemon cards to catch both Lumine's and your attention. It does work, but Lumine's mad.

"Aether!" She'd scream with a lisp because of a missing tooth. "Stop doing that!"

Oh, but Aether is a sibling, meaning he'd play the 'innocent' card. "Stop doing what? What am I doing?"

In the end, you'd always have to call their parents when they fist fight at the sand pit. "Aether and Lumine's mom! They're fighting again!"

"Again?" The tall blonde sighed. "Thanks for telling me, hon."

After a good scolding, Aether and Lumine would be totally okay the next minute like nothing happened. You were used to their banter and rightfully took your Pokemon cards back. Lumine stuck a tongue out, blowing a raspberry at Aether when he turned his back, grabbing three large sticks.

"Fight me!" He cried with glee, giving one stick to his sister and one to you. "I will be the grand king of the sand pit!"

You vaguely remember the rest. Maybe you lost the 'sword duel,' or maybe you didn't, but what you did remember was this tall kid playing with his cat and eating the sand. Forget the kid, the only thing you remember is his cat's name called Azhdaha.

Your hands close your story book. You would never admit to your friends, but Lumine and Aether that you still read fantasy. The other kids in the neighbourhood would laugh saying what you were reading is a kid's story.

"So what if it's a kid's story? If you like it, read it," Lumine says aggressively while Aether opens the door for both of you.

"Lumi's right. They think they're all grown up, but they're kids too," he closes the door behind him, waving goodbye to your grandma rocking on the porch. "What's the story about anyway?"

You walk ahead, leading the two to a local mall. Every week, Aether, Lumine and yourself would spend Fridays and Saturdays together.

You and Lumine often joke how Aether doesn't do 'Saturdays are for the boys.' To which, Aether would scoff and reply with, "Boys who say that are stupid, not all but most. Saturdays are for spending time with people you care about. I don't care if they think I'm weak."

You step foot in the bus, tapping the card to pay for your admission. The twins, walk behind, doing the same and sitting next to you on the bus.

"It's called 'Songs of a Siren.' It's cool, you should check it out." You say, scooting a bit closer to the side so Lumine could have more pace to sit. The bus is packed. Teenagers littered inside, only a few adults were there including the bus driver. "Let's leave. Teenagers stink."

"...But you are one."

"Well-"

After the next stop, you push yourself through the crowd, trying to exit. Lumine pushes people, muttering a few 'excuse us' while dragging her brother. Your feet land on the concrete sidewalk and you finally breathe freely.

You see the twins finally get off the bus and tilt your head, "Let's go, the mall isn't gonna wait for us."

Entering the mall, the first thing you pass by is a clothes shop. You and Aether share a look, quietly doing rock-paper-scissors behind Lumine who's beaming to go inside.

Rock.

Aether chooses paper.

You droop to the floor because you're dramatic, knowing that once you go in the shop, you'll be the one carrying Lumine's purchases.

"Alright, Lumine," you say sighing. "Let's go shop."

You see Aether in your peripheral vision, pumping his fist laughing a quiet, "Yes!" when Lumine takes out her wallet.

"I know you did rock-paper-scissors." She counts the bills from her wallet, "But I'm buying for Aether which means even if you carry the things I buy, Aether's gonna have it much worse because he will be trying on everything I tell him to wear." She grins, settling with a black debit card.

After hearing this, Aether tries to walk in another shop to avoid dressing up for Lumine, but his sister quickly catches on and pulls him by the ear and walks in the clothes shop.

"Let's go!" She says to you, "These clothes won't shop themselves!"

...

"This one?"

"No, you look like grandpa in that outfit."

"Well what if I like looking like grandpa, huh? What are you gonna do about it?"

"Some people can pull off the sexy grandpa look. You're not 'some people.'" Lumine pulls out another outfit from the rack. "Try this one," she laughs, seeing Aether's horrified face and pushes him in the dressing area.

This is the ninth clothes shop you three go to, and you were starting to feel bad for Aether who had to wear every outfit Lumine wanted him to wear.

"Lumi," you say calmly, having trouble holding five shopping bags on each arm. She's on a shopping spree and you wonder how she gets all the money to buy these things. "That should be enough shopping for the day. I'm hungry."

The blonde lifts a hand. "Hold on a second," she smiles before banging on the changeroom door, "AETHER LET ME SEE THE FIT."

You can hear the loud sigh from the other side of the door as it slowly opens. He only peeks his head out, shyly mumbling, "This is embarrassing. I don't want to walk out like this."

Lumine rolls her eyes and pulls the door open, revealing Aether in a white dress shirt and dark pants.

Aether lifts an arm, inspecting the design. "It's a bit..." he pauses, thinking of a way to not offend his sister. "It's not my style." His eyes seek for your help to back him up, but you couldn't. The style on him looks so ethereal to him, and Lumine has the same idea.

His twin ran up to an aisle and picked out two accessories: a silk cloth and a floral pin. Lumine shushes Aether who tried to punch her.

"Shut up Aether, you'll look great." She pins the black rose onto the front of his shirt and ties the silk cloth around his neck. She steps a few steps back, making a rectangle shape to symbolize a picture frame and elbows you lightly. "He looks okay for once."

Okay is underwhelming, but to describe Aether better, he looks celestial. The warm studio lights hug every angle of Aether from head to toe. His golden eyes seem to brighten more and the outfit only accentuates his physical traits more.

From the corner of your eye you spot a tall-ish man who has been wandering past the same aisle but never picking anything up. He wears ordinary clothes- a T-shirt and jeans (rather stylishly), but you know from his incoming aura he's more than just an ordinary person.

You tap Lumine discreetly while still holding onto her shopping bags and tilt your head towards the man.

Aether, who keeps picking on the cloth around his neck goes frigid when the strange man walks up to him.

"Hey kid," he says cooly. He looks Aether up and down, lifting his shades to see clearer, and pulls out a small business card from his pocket. "You look like idol material. Ever thought about being a part of a boyband?"

Out of politeness, Aether takes the card and laughs nervously, "Not really" He looks at Lumine and you for help, but you two pretend to not know him when he turns to you.

The man shoves his hands in his pocket, blowing a bubblegum and popping it. His hair slightly tousles when he turns, waving a hand.

"If you ever do decide if you wanna be an idol, auditions are held next week at 10AM," he saunters off. "If they ask who recruited you, tell them a man by the name of Valentin did."

His lavender irises looks back once more before leaving the store, "The people from Teyvat Entertainment are introduced by my very hands. Don't disappoint me."

The automatic sliding doors open for him and he waves the store greeter a goodbye.

You see Aether's eyes scanning over he card Valentin gave. His lashes flutter quickly, signaling you and Lumine he was either shocked, or confused.

Lumine grabbed the paper, a habit she picked up due to being a twin and having to share everything with Aether who won't share. Her lips part, showing the card to you.

Teyvat Entertainment.

A company who created the world's famous DCKZ and the idol, Barbara. Teyvat Ent. has one of the youngest, top rookies of the year because of a group called TVT Dream. A company with many celebrities' and the business card is legit.

A store worker no older than your age meekly walks up to the three of you and asks, "Hey, uh. Are you ready to purchase your clothes?"

...

Aether shoves Lumine (don't worry she shoves him 10x harder) on the stairs while you watch from a safe distance.

You wave hello to their mom before waltzing into their home like you did many other times. You were their third child in their mom's eyes.

You slam the twins' room open and lay yourself on the bottom bunk of their bunkbed. "So do you wanna check Teyvat Entertainment?"

You fish out your phone from your pocket and hand signal for Aether and Lumine to come close to see. Your phone turns on, showing the lock screen of the twins in their embarrassing toddler moments then unlock it. Quietly laughing at the twins who have their faces beet red from the photograph.

"Why do you have that pic? DELETE IT."

"Did mom give that to you..."

You ignore them, opening up Google and typing in the Teyvat Ent. website and search their contacts. You ask Aether for the business card, comparing the two numbers side by side, and Valentin is indeed one of the scouts for the company.

You shut your phone off, hugging the two siblings together tightly. "Whether Aether decides he wants to be an idol or not, we'll still be the best of friends."

Lumine grins, squishing your cheeks, taking a closer look at you. "Well, duh. Are you scared we'll fall apart? No, if anything you should be scared we're never going to leave you alone even if you're 60 and married."

You pinch her cheeks and start to say something until you hear sniffles and coughing. You turn to Aether who was hiding his tears.

"Shut up, I'm not crying." He harshly wipes away the water falling from his eyes, "When I go famous, I'm going to give you my autograph so you can sell it and eventually get 20 cars and houses."

...

You were a teen when the dark-haired Valentin scouted Aether to be a trainee in Teyvat Ent.

You note that without Aether, their home is extremely quiet. It's odd not seeing Lumine scream at Aether for taking her hair clips. It's odd not seeing Lumine aggressively pull on the colourful flower hairclips on Aether's hair, just to get the clips back. It's so odd not seeing Aether is general.

Lumine scrolls through her phone, looking for furniture to add to her new apartment she shares with you. The only thing in the newly bought apartment is three mattresses, three plates, and three cups, just in case Aether visits. Though, Aether visiting is rare. His visits only happen during December for Christmas, but even then he had not visited. It's been two years since you and Lumine last saw him.

You stare at your last sent messages to the blonde boy.

▶ hEY. (threatening)

▶ take care okay? lumine's worrying all the time for ur health bc she keeps watching yt vids on how idols over-do themselves from training

haha thanks for telling me

are you sure it's not you who's worrying 🧐🤧

the last thing lumi sent to me was "FUCK YOU"

▶ well the last thing you sent to her was "U BUTT"

▶ and she took that seriously

are you siding with her?

▶ yes

oh okay, frick you too seen three months ago

Your feet pad against the wooden tiles, grabbing a glass of water while scrolling through twitter. You lift the glass to your lips and almost choke from the water you drink.

You click the link on the phone with the title "Debuting boy band already claiming the hearts of many! Please welcome 4nemo!" Four boys stand in the picture, one being Aether.

You place your glass to the sink and run to Lumine, sitting next to her and who her your phone. She reads it over and visibly shakes. You swear she was about to cry until she takes the phone from your hand and starts throwing it, "AETHER THAT BITCH. HE DEBUTES AND SAYS NOTHING."

You're mortified and pull your friend away from your phone, "THAT'S A NEW PHONE, STOP." You push her away and run to your device, clicking on the link.

"One, two, three! Hello we are," Aether, the familiar blonde says.

His group members follow after him. "4nemo!" They say in chorus. One by one they start introducing themselves.

"Hi I'm Aether!"

"Kazuha," one says with a raise of a hand.

An energetic member steps up with a grin, "And I'm Barbisabeto!"

"He's Barbatos, forgive him." Teal undertones make it's way to the camera, "Hello, I'm Xiao.

The one with twin braids step up, mischievously grinning. "Please take care of us and support us during our journey through the music industry."

His teal eyes squint behind the camera, whispering to the member behind him. "Psst, Xiao. I can't read I'm blind."

Xiao rolls his eyes and steps up, slightly bowing, "Please support our debuting group, we will see you in our music videos."

But Lumine and you never paid attention to what they were saying. Both of you just started crying insults of endearment to Aether because he looks so... different. His face had mature and he's a real idol now.

Reality sinks in.

Now that Aether had a growing fanbase, it's going to be harder to contact him.

"Lumine, how are we going to talk to him now?"

Lumine ponders a bit, resting her chin on her hand before smirking. "Let's create an Aether hate page."

"Yes, let's do it."

After a quick recording of Lumine and yourself, you posted the video online, and soon enough, it goes viral.

Lumine laughs, replaying the video.

"This one's for the boys with the booming system," You say monotonously in front of the camera like what you said was a speech instead of a song. "Top down, AC with the cooler system."

Lumine comes on screen, flipping her middle finger at the camera. "When he come up in the club, he be blazin' up. This one is actually not for the boys with the booming system. This is for the BITCH, AETHER WITH THE BLONDE BRAID. Look at you with your ugly ass smile," She speaks in one breath and it amazes you. "Make sure you get millions of hits or it's all for nothing. Oh Aether's an ass."

The screen shows your hand scooping the phone up and waving good bye with Lumine still dissing Aether.

You nudge Lumine, showing a comment written at the bottom of the video, covering a laugh.

"who's aether?"

"huh??! aether?"

"lOL Why Does The Person On The Left Look Like Aether?"

"OH 4NEMO DABUTE. SHUTUP YOU ANTI. THEY'RE GORGEOUS. YOU'RE THE ONE UFLY" ➡ "ahisfdh you obvi didnt watch the whole video. she said "make sure get millions of hits"

Lumine grins, commenting at the people calling her ugly and Aether way better looking. "Lol, IKR. the one on the left is trying too hard to look like Aether. it's like shes tryna be a twin or smthn"

Though, because of your viral "hate" video, 4nemo's popularity sky rockets because of the unknown 'Aether' of the group.

...

Aether watches the video on the news channel, because that's how popular the video got. He looks at his manager, "Can I send a hate video back?"

"Aether, no."

But the winds are troublesome as the ocean, because a boy with teal tips on his hair snatched the managers phone, running and giving it to Aether. "AETHER. DO IT RIGHT NOW."

...

It was a shock to you seeing people follow your twitter account.

"LUMI, [NAME], IM SRRY I LOST MY PHONE AND DIDNT WANNA TELL ANY1 OR THEYLL GROUND ME," said the tweet, tagging you in comments.

Lumine doesn't have twitter, so when she looks over your shoulder seeing the tweet with her name on, she grabs the phone and locks herself in the bathroom, "R U FR AETHER?U DIDNT REPLY TO MY HAPPY BDAY. WE SHARE A BDAY DUMBASS"

She calmly unlocks the door, giving your phone back casually while you whine, "Lumine! This is twitter! They're gonna cancel me!"

"I'll cancel them back."

Ding! You receive a post with you name under the comments again.

hello, i have to apologize for our member stealing the manager's phone to tweet that. i swear that kid's the most responsible, but he's been triggered. #kazuha

You quickly type back, under the hashtag 'kazuha.'

"@/4nemo sorry uh thats one of ur members twin & shes mad that aether never gave her a bday present when she gave 1 to him #kazuha"

notes: psst here's where i got aether's outfit inspo when they were outfit changing at the mall

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #4nemo #aether x reader #lumine #aether #lumine x reader #genshin fanfic

300 notes · View notes

tainted-wine · 3 years

Text

I didn’t apply all of these descriptions but these are the main three I had in mind while writing this. How did I attract so many fans of the crusty boi? Either way, welcome to the club!

Words: 1.5k (how the hell did that happen there’s barely any sex)

---------------------

The website didn’t explain what the “LOVER” cheat does. Probably unlocks a deleted path that didn’t make it into the official game. Or maybe he just gets a head-start on his Affection progress with you at the very beginning. Or maybe it doesn’t do shit – that could be why there’s no explanation.

Well, now that he knows how to do it, it wouldn’t hurt to test it himself. Shigaraki absently scratches at the irritated skin on his neck as he boots up the game. The directions were fairly simple and easy to remember.

1. Start a brand new file.

Ugh, he despises games that hold only one save file. It’s not like a visual novel holds up much space. What if you want different files in order to experiment with different choices? It doesn’t matter in his case anyway; he 100% completed the game months ago. With no regrets, his original game was deleted and a new one began.

> What is your name?

He might as well stick with the one he used last time.

‘SHIGGY-SENPAI’

The introduction cutscene began, the protagonist going on about the new town he just moved into. Pretty by-the-books, as far as romance openings go.

2. Finish the intro. Once you meet Y/N, go to the menu.

After skipping through a bunch of fluffy dialogue, you finally appear in all of your cute glory. Once you’re done introducing yourself, Shigaraki brings up the main menu.

3. Type in “LOVER”

Just like that? Alright then...

Right after inputting the final letter, a sparkly ping sound straight out of a magical girl anime could be heard, and that was it. Okay...it sounds like he did it correctly.

When he returned to the game, his success was much more evident. You were staring directly at the screen - almost through the screen - with a glowing expression he’s never seen. Each and every one of your reactions have been seared into his brain after so many hours of gameplay. This was new.

“You...do you really mean that, SHIGGY-SENPAI?”

What? Voice acting? Though you did say his name pretty stiffly, as expected when a computer tries to pronounce custom text, but what the hell? Why would this be hidden as a cheat?

“But it’s so soon, and I’m not very experienced...” You blushed and shyly twiddled your fingers.

Oh.

“But I already trust you, and I want you too.”

Oh.

It’s that kind of path.

A hidden adult route. Shigaraki really likes that, even though this would’ve had a much stronger impact if it happened on his original file, the one where he was fully bonded to you. Sucks that he needs a fresh file in order to fuck you.

Shit, he’s not even prepared for this. Maybe he should go grab the lotion and a couple of tissues, assuming that this special scene will make for pretty decent fap material.

But the dialogue continued automatically. You creeped closer to the screen as you gushed about your feelings for him. “I want to make love to you forever and ever!”

You were getting really close, and with a show of impressive animation, your hand reached out to touch the fourth wall...

And the screen began to distort and ripple.

What the fuck?

“I just can’t wait to feel your amazing cock.” Your fingers began to phase through the fucking computer screenWHAT THE FUCK?!

“Take me, SHIGGY-SENPAI!”

Just like that, a full-sized bitch materialized out of the game and onto his lap, nearly toppling his gamer chair.

Even in the darkness of his room, your eyes shined brightly as they studied his pale face. “You’re even more handsome up close!”

Shigaraki was still too stunned to even respond to the rare compliment. Only when you began to pull down his pants did he finally find his voice again.

“Wha–ah–who the–hey!” He knows that he shouldn’t be afraid of a hottie touching his cock but ooooh shit she’s already stroking him.

“Ah, you’re so big!” You stared at his untouched manhood in awe, watching him become more erect after every pump of your soft hand.

“Fuck, am I?” He gasped.

“Mmhmm! And I bet you’re really tasty too!” You say before he’s suddenly engulfed with the very real warmth of a mouth.

Fuck fuck fuck he isn’t gonna last. He was ready to jerk off, not actually get his dick sucked. It feels more amazing than he ever imagined, your tongue working along his sensitive flesh, and those lips sucking at him so eagerly.

When his hand grabs the top of your head, he realizes too late that all five of his fingers are tangled in your hair.

You nearly fall over from how suddenly Shigaraki rolls back in his chair. You look shocked, confused, and...very much not a pile of dust.

“What’s wrong, SHIGGY-SENPAI?”

He looked at his hands, then at you, then at his hands again.

Then he takes hold of your face and shoves you back into his groin, because he can touch you, he can touch another fucking living thing without any worries about completely destroying it. Must be some crazy logic about you being data from a videogame or something. He doesn’t care, he’s so horny, feels so good having his cock so far down a hot tight throat, he just might burst...

Wait, he might have just done exactly that.

“Ah, shit,” he watches you pull back and swallow with the most satisfied grin.

“That was quick, SHIGGY-SENPAI!” You really need to stop saying his name like that. It’s fuckin’ weird. “I didn’t even get to feel you inside me.”

“Shut up,” the mixture of emotions he’s been experiencing ever since your ass crawled out of the screen like a girl in a cursed video is starting to piss him off. He’s so insulted and thankful that this fictional bitch gave him his first blowjob and made him nut in the span of sixty seconds. “Just give me a few minutes.”

A few knocks on the room’s door startles both of you.

“Tomura, the Vanguard Action Squad is ready to move out.”

Shit!

“I’ll be out in a damn minute, Kurogiri.” Shigaraki moves to get out of his seat, only to be stopped by his new partner.

Your sparkly puppy eyes are so grossly cute, yet it has his dick twitching again already. “Are you leaving me already, SHIGGY-SENPAI?”

“Quit saying my name in all caps.”

“Okay, ˢʰᶦᵍᵍʸ⁻ˢᵉⁿᵖᵃᶦ.”

“Not like that. I can barely hear it.”

“How about SHIGGY-SENPAI?”

He slaps a hand over your mouth. “Just stop saying my name.”

A much harsher knock rocks the old door. “Hey, you ugly bastard,” That sounded like the Dabi asshole. “The hell are you doing in there? Jacking off to anime girls?”

Shigaraki scoffed. When’s the last time that burnt Stain fanboy got his dick sucked?

As much as he wants to join in on terrorizing the brats at U.A, he really wants to get laid today.

“Just go without me!” He yells through the walls. He nearly misses your muted squeak of joy.

“Eh?” Hearing Dabi’s annoyed muffled voice was pretty amusing. “You’re just gonna sit on your ass in your room while we do the work?”

The villain’s retort catches in his throat when you take his hand and begin to slowly lick at his fingers, all while pinning him with an innocent gaze.

“Your fingers are so pretty,” You whispered.

It’s so difficult to pay attention to the words being uttered outside of the room while his hands are being placed on your chest. BOOBS.

“Please trust Tomura. I’m sure he has faith in you all handling this mission on your own,” Kurogiri tries to explain. Shigaraki knows him well enough to know that he’s probably irritated as well, but there are titties in his hands so who gives a fuck.

Dabi releases an exasperated groan. “I knew this whole League of Villains thing was bullshit. Shouldn’t have bothered.”

Shigaraki slows his exploration of your breasts to shout, “If I make you the leader of the mission, will you shut up?”

“......Yes.”

“Well, I pronounce you leader of the Vanguard Action Squad. I’ll even give you a Nomu. Have fun.” The two of you are rushing to lift your shirt off for better access to your skin.

“Fuck yeah,” Dabi’s voice is still fairly close. The sooner he pisses off, the better. “I can probably pull this off better than you, anyway. Come on, psycho girl, we’re gonna go round up everyone else.”

Toga can be heard squealing excitedly as they both step away and finally give him his privacy back. You look absolutely lovestruck by the entire exchange.

“You gave up an important mission just for me? You really do love me!”

He just rolled his eyes and lowered his head to take a hardened nipple into his mouth, enjoying your sounds of delight.

He can’t wait for the next time he faces those stupid heroes. He’ll be smarter, stronger, and can even tell them that he got his dick wet.

Oh, the collapse of hero society is going to be glorious.

#asks #Tomura Shigaraki #smut #aaahhh i feel like i don't write shiggy well #oh well

547 notes · View notes

amaya-chwan · 3 years

Text

Takeaways from Therapy Game Restart 14 + Illustration Book Release Date

Hello again everyone! ❤️💛💜

It's finally here... chapter 14! In all its glory! 😍🥰✨

Before we get to our takeaways, just some news I missed in the last post!

🎉 SENSEI'S ILLUSTRATION BOOK WILL BE RELEASED AROUND THURSDAY, 23RD SEPTEMBER! 🎉

Image taken from this Twitter post from Dear+!

It is titled "日ノ原巡イラスト集　DARLING" and boasts a collection of illustrations from Sensei's works so far: Secret XXX, Therapy Game, and Kamisama no Uroko.

The current price is ¥2970 with tax (¥2700 without tax). If you'd like to preorder it on your proxy shopping service, I've found it on the Comi Comi Studios website here! The bonus for purchasing it on this website is a B5 clear file~ I haven't seen it on Animate just yet, so fingers crossed it'll appear on their website soon with another (different) bonus! ❤️💛

Alright, with this amazing news done, let's move onto our takeaways, the long awaited takeaways! Thank you for being so patient with me! 💜

My short life update: currently in week 8 of lockdown and I haven't left my house in a long time other than for exercise or groceries. But I do have my vaccination appointment booked so YAY! 🎉

Here are our takeaways for this chapter:

Oh man, we pick right up from the last page of chapter 13. MINATO, BB, YOU LOOK SO PAINED! 😭

Sensei is the BIGGEST tease... that's all we got of that Minato and Shizuma scene...👀😭

The female staff at the veterinary hospital have really mellowed out! They're not bad, after all. ☺️

Oh dear, Nakajou-sensei, please get better ASAP!

Whoa... did Onodera just...?? I'm starting to think back to that Onodera discussion we had a couple of months ago... 🤔

Poor Shizuma, always roped into Onodera's workplace stuff! IT'S BECAUSE YOU HAVE GREAT PEOPLE SKILLS, SHIZUMA! PROUD OF YOU! 😍🙌

Man, Onodera has a really... blunt way of saying things to her human clients. Wow, brave. 😲

But I will say, Onodera really is good with animals. 🙌

Yet again, I think about that Onodera discussion we had... 🤔🤔

And that’s it for this chapter’s takeaways! For a more detailed breakdown/summary of this chapter, please continue after the cut! There may or may not be a surprise scene (or two) there. Please keep reading if you want to see~ 😉✨

Our chapter begins where we left off in chapter 13--Minato pinning Shizuma down on the bed. Shizuma looks up at Minato and reflects on his actions that caused the pained look he is seeing.

Image taken from this Dear+ Twitter post!

On the next page (title page), the dialogue reads: Shizuma wants to understand what it is about his director (Onodera) that is making Minato uneasy. // However, that beautiful liar hides it well...

(I believe we are taken back to the morning before Shizuma and Minato meet up for their date.)

The title page features Onodera walking back to the clinic, bread in hand, with a cat cozying up on her leg. We are then brought to the clinic's lunchroom, with the female staff and Shizuma on break. The roster in the room shows that Onodera is extremely busy, Nakajou-sensei has afternoon house call appointments, Tatsumi is Nakajou-sensei's support for these appointments, and Shizuma has a half day and finishes in the afternoon in lieu of working on his scheduled day off.

Shizuma asks his coworkers what presents they like from their partners and takes note of their answers. One of the female nurses asks if it's Minato's birthday. Shizuma confesses that their relationship has been affected by the various things happening lately, so he wants to get Minato a gift before seeing him later that day.

The nurses quickly pick up that the gift is a "tribute" of sorts as this line of work means a lot of missed appointments and dates, and Shizuma confirms their suspicions. While the nurses realise male-male relationships and male-female relationships aren't that different in this aspect, everyone in the lunchroom is alerted to someone shouting Nakajou-sensei's name.

Shizuma and a nurse see Tatsumi with Nakajou-sensei, who has collapsed on the floor. While the staff are concerned about Nakajou's well-being, she brushes it off as a dizzy spell. Before they can help her up, Onodera sweeps her off her feet and carries Nakajou to her (Onodera's) office. While Nakajou asks Onodera to put her down out of sheer embarrassment, Shizuma and Tatsumi are in shock, with Tatsumi commenting on Onodera's manliness in that moment. One of the other nurses gently smacks Shizuma's shoulder and tells the two to grab a blanket and a drink for Nakajou.

In her office, Onodera asks Nakajou why she's been overworking herself to the point of collapsing. The nurse (who gave the gentle smack) very obviously hints to Onodera that it is her fault. As Nakajou calms the nurse by saying that's just how the director is, Tatsumi asks Nakajou about their afternoon appointments. She says she'll be fine to go after a little rest, but the nurse says she mustn't overexert herself.

After a few back and forths about who should go and the clients' needs/personality (picky about the vet, had a pet that doesn't like men, etc), Onodera says she will go. The nurses are shocked and reminisce about all the issues they've had when Onodera interacts with the owners. Tatsumi and Shizuma stand there, and can very clearly imagine those situations happening.

While Onodera rearranges and informs the nurses of the shift changes to accommodate Nakajou-sensei, Shizuma has a terrible premonition that unfortunately comes true: he is appointed as Onodera's support for the afternoon house calls.

Wearing a sulky expression, Shizuma packs the necessary equipment in Onodera's car and reminds her that he has a very important engagement that night that he cannot miss, and as such will leave immediately after the house call appointments are done. Onodera bursts his bubble, and tells him to give up on those plans while he can since this is the line of work he's chosen.

As Shizuma reads the client files, he questions Onodera on why he is her support when he's never attended to these clients before. While Onodera tells him that good coordination is important with a physician's support and that he's the only one she can rely on to give her an honest opinion and calm the clients, Shizuma realises that he's basically the mediator between her and the owners. She confirms that this is his strong point, has great expectations for him, and proceeds to drive. Shizuma then reads the patient files at lightning speed, realising there's a threatening 'something' that Minato has sensed, but that's just how the director is. He then vows to make it to their meeting tonight, no matter what.

The first three house calls, as expected, involve Onodera insulting and angering the owners--Onodera tells the first client that his insistence on seeing Nakajou rather than a 'young' director is having a negative effect on his pet who needs immediate medical care; Onodera offends the second client, inferring from their conversation that her pet's appearance is more important than the need to shave their fur and get an ultrasound done; Onodera accuses the third client of being irresponsible in caring for his exotic animals and asks for more effort on his part. In all three scenarios, Shizuma awkwardly smiles while trying to ease the tension.

The scene skips to Onodera and Shizuma arriving at their fourth and final house call for the day. Just as Onodera explains to Shizuma that she must check a whole host of things at house calls (and indirectly be too blunt about it with the owners), Shizuma asks her to consider the owner's feelings and change when and how she says things. She glares ahead in silence, and Shizuma is just glad that she is now aware of it. He again reminds her to talk with the owner nicely and gently as he probably won't be able to help with the next client as their pet dislikes men. Onodera tells him to just sit in the corner and witness the client become furious while he doesn't help, making him feel slightly guilty for saying that. He is now adament on not helping her.

They reach the owner's home and we meet an elderly woman named Shiratori and her 9-year-old male cat, Tono. Shiratori apologises to Shizuma as her cat doesn't like men. Tono hisses at them as Onodera opens his cage, but is then coaxed into submission by Onodera who covers his vision with a towel and takes him into her lap to calm down. Shiratori and Shizuma are surprised at his sudden docile nature, with Shizuma witnessing how well she deals with animals.

As Shizuma looks on at Onodera while she completes a check on Tono, he sees she is crumbling at the friendliness and talkative nature of Shiratori, who sings nothing but praise for Onodera and how her family must be proud to have such an amazing daughter. Aiming to ease her troubles and remembering the earlier guilt-trip she gave him, he redirects Shiratori's attention to her broken fly screen and offers to fix that plus everything else that needs repair in her home.

Onodera watches as the two leave the room for a bit before apologising to Tono for ignoring him. Tono looks on at Onodera happily while she asks him how he can live with such a lively human and to tell her his secret to this. She brings him into her arms once more to check his limbs, and as Tono looks up smiling at Onodera, Onodera sees her reflection in Tono's eyes, and both seem to realise something.

BG Text: Stare...

Suddenly, Shizuma and Shiratori, who are busy fixing the window, hear a loud crash and rush into the room to find Tono atop the cabinet and Onodera on the floor, with her hair in disarray. In the next panel, Tono is shown to be hiding in the bookshelf, looking on irritatingly at the humans. Shiratori apologises to Onodera, who shakes it off and says it's nothing to worry about and no harm's been done.

Shiratori asks if Onodera will fix/tie her hair up again, but when Onodera says her hair tie was broken when Tono used her as a launchpad to get on the cabinet, Shiratori runs to get her a new one. As Shiratori gushes over the 3 piece dopey looking character hair tie set she received as a present from her grandchild (and lets Onodera pick one), a greatly displeased look is plastered on Onodera's face. Shizuma, in shock, notices her displeasure and hopes she just thanks Shiratori for it. And Onodera does, bringing a great big smile to Shiratori's face.

As Onodera and Shizuma leave, Shiratori says she's glad to have talked with Onodera and invites her to come over again. As she says this, we see Onodera looking back with a blank look in her eyes.

And that’s it for this chapter! THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! 💜 While I was surprised at the lack of Minato in this chapter (Sensei legit is such a tease, LOL 🤣), I'm happy we can learn more about Onodera. Ngl, I'm starting to really question if Onodera is male or female now, given what transpired in this chapter. I guess we shall see in the next one!

I also changed the formatting a bit and removed the bullet points. Please let me know which format is better/easier to read! Ahah!

EDIT: Spelling and grammar checks are done! Didn't change a lot, but hope it reads better! 💜

📢 As always, please support Hinohara-sensei by purchasing her books and CDs! 📢

And please also refrain from resharing these translations and images outside of this post! Thank you for understanding! ❤️💛

There won't be a chapter in next month's (September release) Dear+, so I shall see you in two months for the next chapter (Dear+ November Issue, to be released in October).

As always, stay safe during these turbulent times and look out for each other and for your loved ones! 💜❤️💛

97 notes · View notes

wagner-fell · 3 years

Text

I am still very new to this website and I don’t know how link a post but this fic is based on a post by @sandersgrey

(If someone reading this knows how to link a post please either explain it to me or link it in the comments because that post is *amazing*)

“Hmmm,” said Tessa, depositing Mina into Kit’s waiting arms and examining her buzzing phone critically. She shot a quizzical look in his direction.

Jem looked up from his novel. “What is ‘hmmm’, my love?”

Kit mimed vomiting but stopped dead in his tracks when she replied, “it’s Astrid’s mother. You remember her from parent teacher night, don’t you, my darling?” Kit swears they were being extra insufferable just to mess with him but he didn’t have the time to be annoyed when Astrid’s. Mom. Was. Calling. Tessa.

To understand why Kit was panicking as much as he was, you must know that Astrid’s mom was incredibly chill. She never got mad. The worst punishment she’d ever given her daughter was taking away her iPod for a week so she couldn’t listen to Mitski.

Was she calling about last night when Astrid, Mari and Kit threw eggs at the Shadowhunter’s that were giving Mari’s pack a hard time for no reason? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d given them the eggs.

Could the call be about the day before yesterday when Kit and Astrid got distracted doing homework and ended up snapping the coffee table clean in half while battling gladiator style with pool noodles? No, that wasn’t it. She’d just handed Astrid a twenty and told them to go to Kevin’s parents' shop and get a new one. Was she pissed because they ended up spending the money on ice cream instead? No, they ended up finding a table for free in the rubbing bin outside a fancy hotel.

Kit clutched his sister to his chest and prepared for the worst.

“Seo-yoon! What can I do for- Oh, hello Astrid!” Tessa paused briefly, presumably to listen to Astrid speak, and Kit sighed in relief.

“Kit is occupied at the moment but I can relay the message.” Another pause. “Oh don’t be frightened of me. I’m a tots rad mom. Your secret is safe with me.” Kit felt his face flush red as he heard his best friend’s laughter echo across the living room. “Okay! I’ll let him know. He has to get Mina to sleep before he can leave though. Lord knows he’s the only one who can these days.” Tessa chuckled at something Astrid said before wishing her good luck in her endeavour and ending the call.

She turned her attention back to Kit. “Astrid needs your help breaking into your teacher’s home to retrieve her cell phone.”

Kit blinked at her, dumbfounded. “You aren’t mad I’m going to go break the law?”

Because of course he was doing it. Astrid’s dad had bought it for her and he was extremely cautious about money. That was one of three things Kit knew about her dad. He was cheap, he lived in America and he loved the movie Fight Club.

Tessa ruffled Kit’s hair affectionately. “Please. I’ve raised two other Herondales. At least I know about this particular adventure beforehand.”

Mina began snoring softly and Kit handed her back to her mother. He grabbed his bag and started his journey to the door when Tessa added, “she also told me to say hi to a ‘daddy Kit’. Are you ‘daddy Kit?’”

‘Daddy Kit’ closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of death.

“Why is Kit a daddy,” Jem asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t I the daddy?”

Kit swung the door open so fast not even a speed rune could have aided him. But not before I heard Tessa reply, “Lily Chen certainly thinks so.”

Mrs. MacNamara clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we all go around and say a few things about ourselves?”

Kit buried his face into his hands. He’d been relieved when no other teacher had fulfilled the Disney channel stereotype of making every student introduce themselves to the new kid. But Mrs. MacNamara didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing.

All Kit’s fellow classmates groan. Expect one. Her hand shot up immediately. She was short, like smaller than Clary short. She wore a baggy pink shirt with the words ‘Queen Glimmer of Etheria’ sewed on with purple sequins and tight black jeans. Her colourful, choppy hair was in a low ponytail and she flew a few strands out of her eyes as her hand wiggled in the hair.

Mrs. MacNamara pointed at her. She stood up and smiled at Kit. “Hi. My name is Astrid. My hobbies include making my little cousin’s girl Barbies kiss, as it should be, and watching television shows where everyone is a terrible person so you can love all of them!”

“And what shows might that be?” asked Kit, already in the process of pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app.

“Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Grey’s Anatomy again because it’s seventeen seasons as of right now. And to be fair it practically became a different show when they killed off Mark Sloan.”

“That’s enough, Miss Yang,” said Mrs. MacNamara. Astrid sat down and winked at Kit. Then she took out her phone and airdropped him a complete list of all her favorite shows, along with her number.

After Blessica’s pre-birthday birthday party, they went to Cirenworth and stayed up till four A.M. binging them.

They met outside a queer dry bar called Aries Not Welcome, the unspoken gathering place of the Merry Hoes. It was run by a poly lesbian couple in their mid-thirties. Quinn, Sydney and Aliyah may not have served alcohol but at least they were open 24/7.

“Did you bring the shit?”

Kit gave her a look. “The shit? How conclusive.”

“Shut up. You know, the shadowhunter thing.”

“The shadowhunter thing?”

“The, the, the glow stick that you draw with.”

“The glow stick that I draw wi-“ Kit closed his eyes briefly. “Do you mean a stele?”

Astrid snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” Kit shook his head in exasperation, smiling fondly. “I borrowed a torch from Quinn, let’s move.”

“Should I be worried that you know where Mr. Smith lives?” questioned Kit as he followed Astrid’s lead through the park.

“Should I be worried that your mom was fine with us breaking and entering?” she shot back playfully. Kit pushed Astrid and she fell off the path, laughing all the way.

“You called me ‘daddy’ to my mom’s face.”

She just laughed harder, slinging her arm around Kit’s shoulder. “It was over the phone, Christopher. And as I should.”

“Pffffttt. Why did you get your phone taken anyway?” She put her hands into her jumper pocket and looked at the ground. “Astrid.” She remained silent. “Astrid?”

She mumbled something under her breath. “What?” asked Kit.

“I WAS READING NINEJ FANFICTION!” she shouted.

Kit gasped. “I thought you were a die hard Kanej shipper,” he whispered.

“I’m a multishipper, okay?!” she replied, equally quiet.

“Does Blessica know?”

She shook her head. “And she will never find out.”

Kit saw the opportunity and he seized it. “She’ll never find out as long as you never call me daddy in front of either of my parents.”

She removed her arm from his shoulder and guided them out of the park, in the direction of the many apartments that lined this side of town. “I hate you.”

“Well, so does Mari. You're not special, Ast.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know Mari doesn’t actually hate you, right?! They’re just still in the enemy phase of your enemies-to-lovers romance. She only dislikes you because they feel something for you but they don’t know what so she interrupts it as loathing. In reality, her inner soul knows you’re hot and shmexie.”

Kit didn’t know how to process this so he just nodded and follow Astrid in silence to Mr. Smith’s house. (Plus, he was kinda glad that, according to his best friend, he had a little more time for Mari to ‘discover their true feelings’. If Kit screwed this up, he was out of countries to run off to.)

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” asked Kit, turning around to face Astrid and closing the drawer he was rifling through. “Did you find your phone?”

“Yeah. But I also found Blessica’s. She was Snapping Kevin. Platonic my ass. But he took the fucking trans flag out of her phone!”

Kit snatched Blessica’s phone out of her hand to examine it for herself. She was telling the truth. Where the glitter pride flag usually rested was just a clear purple case. Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It’s one thing to misgender her every day.” Blessica had forced all four of the other Merry Hoes to sign a contract saying they wouldn’t do anything to harm him because of it. “But this is the last straw. You know what we have to do.” Oops.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any spray paint.”

Kit eyed Mr. Smith’s pink sofa, blue bar stool covers and white picture frames. “I think I have something better in mind.”

It would have been easier for both parties to just zip off the sofa cushions and tape them to the wall but by ripping them off in strips, they ensured he would have to buy new ones. And judging by the car he drove and the fiji water in his fridge, Mr. Smith could definitely afford it.

That reminded him, “I’ll finish up with this. Go put all his fiji water into my bag.” Astrid saluted him and ran off. “Wait.” She stopped and looked at him. “Steal all the remotes you can find.”

“How is he not awake?,” asked Astrid as they ripped the fabric of his seating from the stool.

He shrugged. “Don’t question it.” He shoved the bundle of cloth into her arms. “Glue this above the pink. I’ll handle the frames.”

“Say the magic word,” she sang.

“Please?”

“No. Lesbian. Come on, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Kit laughed quietly. “Can you lesbian glue this above the pink?”

She grinned at Kit. “It would be my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hello! Sorry I haven’t written anything in so long. School just restarted and it has been…a lot.

@adoravel-fenomeno @thechangeling @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @maxboythedog @book-dragon-not-worm @hardlymatters

Very sorry if I forgot anyone. Lmk if you want to be addEd/removEd from the tag list.

#mari the werewolf #mari machado sotomayor #mari machado #kit rook #kit herondale #astrid yang #blessica reyes #Kevin chu #tessa grey #jem carstairs #lily chen #mina carstairs

46 notes · View notes

starbornvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

ACOSF USA BOOK TOUR NOTES

Hey y’all! I just attended the LiveTalks Los Angeles event with Sarah J Maas and Eva Chen!! I took lots of notes so I wanted to share them with you all! They’re a little incoherent on the page, so it might seem a crazy, they jumped topics a lot. Feel free to chat with me about what she talked about! But first.

MY RULES:

NO SHIP OR CHARACTER SLANDERING. I know that we all may have different opinions. I will not offer my opinions here, this is purely informational for those of you who did not have the opportunity to attend this event.

PLEASE NO ARGUING IN MY COMMENTS OR ASK BOX WITH ME OR ANYONE ELSE WHO COMMENTS

Acknowledge that I am not perfect and may not have written down everything perfectly. I did my best while still trying to enjoy the event.

I AM NOT SARAH J MAAS AND CANNOT INTERPRET WHAT SHE MEANS

I’m tagging this with #acosf spoilers and #acosfspoilers just in case.

If you understand and can abide by these rules, keep reading below the cut, and enjoy!

SJM said it was weird doing this event from her living room where you might be able to hear her dog in the background or her son trying to get into the room.

ACOSF started as a passion project while she was writing ACOWAR! It was never anything she thought she was going to publish. (more on this later)

About reading and writing growing up

in middle school, she read a lot of fantasy

in high school, she didn’t read as much, but wrote A LOT. it became her fixation, almost an obsession.

in college, she only really wrote on vacations (she had a very healthy social life hehehe) but her junior year is when she found her balance between schoolwork, writing, and socializing.

there was no plan B for her!! it was always to be an author. if it didn’t happen right away, she was going to find a job that would get her by until plan A could come to be.

her favorite author growing up was Garth Nix. She longed for books about badass women. She got to meet him and write a blurb to be on one of his books! She cries when she meets her favorite authors.

Talk about character names!

her character names come from everywhere and nowhere

sometimes she’ll just hear a name in her head and think “that’s it!” (Rhys, for example)

she needs to know the name to write the character

if the name doesn’t immediately come to her, she spends a lot of her time on baby name websites and makes lists until it clicks

sometimes the names just... connect. sometimes she doesn’t mean for them to.

it will always be uncommon. never “Frank” lol

Writing about Nesta!

on a “surface level” she loves writing when Nesta comes out to fight. for example, her favorite scene in this aspect to write was the bog scene. As soon as she got to it, it flowed out of her. The final product was almost identical to the first draft. She wrote it in one session, from the terror & tread to the “who am i?” to when she emerged--she went YES. MAJOR Mic Drop moment for her.

going deeper: definitely her overall journey was one of the favorites she’s ever written. From the dark place she’s in at the beginning to the very end.

Writing about Nesta meant so much to her because of her own mental health. She channeled a lot of her own feelings and went on the journey with Nesta.

it was a lot of “how do you face mental health in a fantasy world without therapy and medication”

it was easy to get into Nesta’s mind but emotionally intense.

ACOSF’S BIG MESSAGE: LEARNING TO LOVE YOURSELF AND OTHERS. YOU ARE WORTH OF LOVE.

YES there is a book planned for Elain!

As soon as Nesta and Elain came onto the page again in ACOMAF, she knew they’d get their own journey.

Nesta grabbed her by the throat in book 1

She was originally contracted for only the first three books but realized there was more she wanted to explore. Essentially the “what comes next” after ACOWAR in this new world with out the wall.

FUN FACT: while editing ACOMAF/writing ACOWAR, she drunkenly told her editor at the time, “hey guess what happens next?”, and it turned into a two hour conversation about everything she wants to happen for Nesta, Elain, Mor, Azriel, etc. TWO WEEKS LATER, she gets a call saying they want to buy the stories!! Obviously, she said yes.

This allowed her to start planting the Easter eggs for these stories in ACOWAR. She knew she did not want Nesta to be sympathetic at the beginning of the book! But she did not want people to hate her.

She always has one eye on the horizon for future books.

If she could visit one court for a day, which and why?

She LOVES the season Autumn, it’s her favorite. “BUT EVERYONE IN THE AUTUMN COURT IS AN ASSHOLE”. She would want to visit the Autumn Court when no one is there so she can enjoy the beauty of Autumn.

But also she would want to go to the Summer Court because she has a thing for Tarquin but only if it’s not gross and humid.

She would ALSO want to go to the Day Court for Helion and all his libraries.

ESSENTIALLY she would want to go everywhere but Spring because Tamlin sucks and is an asshole lmao.

BEAST FORMS

SJM’s beast form would be something totally not cool or majestic like a sea otter.

Nesta’s beast form would be something terrifying and beautiful like a snow leopard/dragon hybrid, a griffin, or a sphinx. **WANTS SOMEONE TO DRAW THIS**

FUN QUESTIONS

Nesta’s favorite smutty book would be JR Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series. She reads these books for the distraction, of course, but also for the comfort they gave her that everything turns out okay for the characters.

Nesta’s Starbucks order: cappuccino- something simple, nothing with too much sugar or whipped cream. Elain’s would be a Frappe- something delicious and sweet. SJM’s is a flat white, iced or not, but never after 2PM.

SJM usually listens to classical music and movie scores while she writes, but she’s gotten used to write in silence so that she can listen for her son’s shenanigans with Josh.

“Stay Together for the Kids” by Blink 182 semi-inspired the scene when Nesta and Cassian go back to her family’s cottage. She can hardly explain why.

WRITING ADVICE

Write what you love, not what you think you should be writing.

Give yourself permission to suck. Her first drafts are shit and are usually accompanied with an email that says “I know I need to fix this, this and that” lol.

WRITE THE DAMN THING. Vomit on the page!

YOU CAN’T FIX A BLANK PAGE.

Her least favorite part about the publishing process is the first pass of copy edits, those last minute checks and balances. But once it’s off to the printer, it’s not her problem anymore.

She’s every publisher’s worst nightmare because she sends it off to the printer at the LAST possible minute.

For reference: Throne of Glass was finished almost... a year and a half? ...before it hit shelves, but ACOSF was finished this past fall.

MAIN CHARACTER TALK

All of her heroines have a piece of her.

SJM’s personality is a hybrid of Bryce and Nesta.

Feyre and Nesta got most of her in terms of learning to be empowered.

She has to have a connection to them in order to write them. It’s an out of body, method acting experience.

MISCELLANEOUS

She said “CC2 is a year from now.”

She started writing ACOTAR in 2008 before she published TOG.

She loves the story and dynamic of Elizabeth and Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Cassian is Elizabeth. Nesta is Darcy.

And that’s all I have, folks! Thank you for reading, I hope you got something out of this!

#acosf spoilers #acosfspoilers #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #sarah j maas #live talks

208 notes · View notes

peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Note

Jake and amy + the seven types of physical affection

(I... googled these? And got some weird stuff? But these ones are from a psychology website so I’d say they’re pretty legit)

Backrubs/massages.

Jake was hesitant about them at first - as much as he loves being the little spoon, he wasn’t really used to being on the receiving end of that kind of loving touch from previous girlfriends. So the first few times Amy started to dig into his back when he fell into bed after a hard day, he tensed up pretty much entirely, which obviously did not help. She kneaded that out of him pretty fast, though (she’s damn good at it after seven brothers who all played some sort of high-intensity sport that left them with sore shoulders and backs), and now Jake’ll get all whiney and pouty when she doesn’t climb up on his back after he’s moaned about how much he had to lift around today.

Amy on the other hand is not a fan of them, unless she goes to a professional massage place. Maybe because Jake is a bit clumsy and afraid of hurting her at the same time, or maybe because previous boyfriends have kind of hurt her with their ‘soo good, I promise’ massages. But she does love a good shoulder rub to relieve tensions, especially in the bath ☺️ even if Jake most of the time veers off into very different territories than shoulders after a while...

Caressing/stroking.

They play with each other’s hair so much it’s almost become second nature. Amy’s always scratching the back of his neck, and he’s sifting through and twirling strands around his fingers even when half asleep. Amy knows that a soft hand on his neck, a little bit of pressure in the right places will get Jake to calm down in seconds, and Jake knows that there’s spots right behind Amy’s ears and down her neck that when scratched will almost drug her into sleep.

Cuddling/holding.

Jake is the biggest cuddler in the world, even when he’s asleep Amy will end up with his arms or legs wrapped around her at some point. They’ll never need a bigger couch, because they share about half of the entire space at any point anyway. Amy loves to cuddle into Jake whenever she’s getting sleepy while they’re out, because a) he’s so waaarm and b) she knows he’ll hold her up even if she does doze off a little, and it’s just so comfortable.

Morning cuddles are LAW on their days off, no one is getting out of bed after waking up for at least half an hour.

Hugging.

Jake loves to hug Amy from behind while she’s busy doing something. She’ll be stirring a pot, or sorting through files, or even brushing her teeth, and she’ll feel his arms wrap around her and his neck dig into her shoulder as he pulls her close.

Amy hugs his arms a lot when they’re out - it’s not a full hug, of course, but it’s much more than just linking arms or holding hands. She also likes to lean into him with a casual sidehug.

Full-on hugs happen for almost every goodbye and hello kiss they share, too.

Holding hands.

They’re not the kind of couple who skips down the sidewalk constantly holding hands (refer back to: Amy mostly holding onto his arms then). But Amy’s been known to grab his hand when they’re standing in line sowhere, playing with the ring on his finger while they chat, and Jake often grabs her hand to drag her somewhere or show her something, and like 80% of the time he simply forgets to let go and she’s not going to tell him that...

Also whenever they have to sit a bit more apart than they usually do at home on their couch, like when visiting friends or family are there, or they are visiting someplace else, Jake’s hand is inevitably going to creep up to Amy’s and she’ll feel fingertips walking over her skin before she turns her hand around and lets him hold her.

Also, the three squeeze handhold, as explained in this ficlet: Holding Hands before they’re dating

Kissing on the lips.

Whatever Charles claims, they do do it. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. They kiss for hello and goodbye every. time. It’s a ritual, and they’ll actually feel off if they don’t, to the point that Jake has jumped back up two sets of stairs just to give her a quick peck.

There’s lots of little smooches and pecks throughout the day, and proper kisses whenever they feel they’re alone enough. Except they have to be careful with those at home, because most of the time those will turn into make out sessions and then they loose a whole hour or so of whatever they were actually planning to do.

Kissing on the face.

Jake gets a lot of kisses to his temples / the sides of his face whenever he’s deep in a book, or video game, or whatever else has gripped his attention that Amy wants back on herself.

Jake loves to give forehead kisses, again and again

He also enjoys blowing raspberries on Amy’s cheeks during lazy cuddles much more than she enjoys receiving them, but that’s an ongoing discussion...

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago

38 notes · View notes

cosmiclatte28 · 3 years

Text

Baking! (Yuta x you)

a/n : heyyo it’s friday, let’s have some “me” time and enjoy some imagine with Yuta! Idea came from @yutahoes comment on previous post HOT PATCHED

warning : none! suggestive, how you ended up with a bun in the oven! (your beloved Nami), and of course 2020 was a baking year and I am more than willing to share you the recipe i am referring to for this story! DM me :D also i got a bit too carried away :) but it’s gonna be fun :D

tagging : @2-3-t-i @yutahoes @ailoveyuta

with that said.. enjoy your scene!

Ever since the pandemic started and staying at home becomes a mandatory rule, you and your fiance, Yuta have been trying to overcome boredom with all possibilities. On the first month of staying home, you two are very excited about having “leisure” time while working at home. Both of you are delighted by the fact that you don’t have to wake up early, drive in the busy streets, and you just have to slip into your proper clothes when there is a board meeting. Considering your job is a magazine editor, you have meetings but luckily not every day.

Second month, you start to do yoga and exercises with Yuta every time he is bored, and he has nothing to do. Well, his comeback is still in preparation, so he only comes for regular practice and always got home when your office hour ends.

Fourth months, you pick up a new hobby and because your magazine company needs to make a new fresh content that suits the situation, the team comes up with a baking page. You are assigned to make the content, including taking pictures and trying the recipes your team made. You also have to do the editing but there’s help with that. You take the challenge, though you never bake before you see this as the perfect opportunity to start a new hobby. Things were great, the content is rising in demand since the world is baking suddenly! You got your raise and you enjoy doing this until your silly ass fell from challenging yourself to a wild yoga pose. You hurt your arms, they are a slightly fractured and you cannot make your baking content for the first three weeks of recovery, but you are so irritated to just stay in front of the laptop and watch your other friend make the pictures and cakes. So, when you can no longer hold yourself back, you plead the director board to give you back the baking section and they did love your job so you won the part back.

“Yuta can you come home earlier today?” you question the man who already wears his mask and has his training bag ready on his shoulder.

“Me?? I guess I’m done after lunch, I only have to practice singing today. Why?” he asks you back

You put on your sweetest smile “Don’t you want to try baking? I need some help with the rubric.”

Yuta’s eyes twinkle, it’s been his wish to try baking but because of practice and the amount of tools to wash and lack of time he hasn’t been able to do it. Now that you are offering him, he thinks he can seize the opportunity.

“Okay, I’ll try, who knows NCT will have a baking vlog after this, might flex about my skills” he smirks and you only grin at his cockiness.

“Okay, you can go.” You push him away after kissing his cheek and blushing when he winks at you and disappear behind the door.

Today you just have to wait for the team to send you the ingredients and recipes. You wonder what you’ll bake today no, what Yuta will bake today.

He was lucky the baking procedure he has to do today is easy. Simple lemon cake and you manage to get good pictures of Yuta’s hands and the aesthetic bowls and whiskers. You manage to hold the camera with your stiff casted hand, but it works even when you look super silly.

“Oh gosh! This is healing.” Yuta exclaims when his first cake comes out of the oven nicely and with a good aroma. You quickly take pictures and once it’s done, Yuta has already cut a slice and pops it into his mouth. “Yummy, I am talented indeed.” He sounds so confident and you hate to admit, his cake is better than what you expect and knowing your husband, you know he won’t stop bragging about this, he might even go as far as trying more baking recipes.

Your nightmare comes true, once his promotional schedule with NCT is over, he comes home with a load of baking supplies.

“Yuta, what’s all of this?” you ask when you help him bring in bags of spices, butters, and decorating tools.

“My promotional week is done and I have our well deserved rest! I am going to be productive and bake for you every day!” he smiles like a little kid who just get a chocolate and you can’t say no to him.

“Oh no, not every day Yuta!” you joke as you help him organize the spices into the kitchen racks.

He brought different types of flours and sugars, even bought yeast and baking sodas. Oh he really is planning to bake!

“Well, I have to finish some works have fun baking! Make sure you wear the apron and don’t set the oven too high. Wash the bowls too okay.” You pat his long hair and skip into your room.

Yuta takes his time to shower, sing in the bathroom, check the internet for easy recipes and even compare recipes from different websites.

His choice finally is decided on the famous banana cake, it doesn’t require mixer and he notices you have bananas at home.

“Flour, bananas, eggs, butter…” he bends to take the things out and places them all on the counter. Next he brings out the bowls and whiskers and the rest of the stuffs he needs.

“Okay all set,” he rubs his hands and takes the apron you have. Yuta’s lucky he can use your apron well, (thanks to his small waist). “And where is it,” he walks to the living room to get his small rubber band and as he bites the rubber between his teeth you happen to leave your room to get some water.

“Oh!” you exclaim when you see a hot scene reveling in your eyes. If you bring something, you’d drop it already.

There under the golden hours of the sun from the window, Yuta is tying his hair up and his lip bites is not helping you. Not to mention the apron fitting him well. You kinda regret not buying a “cute” apron.

“Let me help,” you grin when Yuta fails to tie his hair. Somewhat in the middle of tying his hair we was surprised to see you gawking at him. He blushes a little when you step closer and take his hair into one bundle and expertly you tie the band around it.

“There you go! Neat and tidy.” You click your tongue and run a hand down his exposed biceps.

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” you playfully ask him this when you learn just how “dolled” up he is. In your apron, smelling good, looking hot, and smirking.

“As much as you want me to tease you, see that?” he points to the kitchen and you follow his finger direction “I am baking you cake.”

You lead him to the kitchen, cool yourself down with a glass of iced water and Yuta starts to busy himself with the recipes.

He starts by measuring the cups of flour, sugars, and spoons of cinnamon and baking soda.

You choose to observe him instead of coming back to your work. You’re glad you have saved your works earlier and don’t have to return for it.

Yuta looks super serious when he cracks the eggs and starts mixing them to the dry ingredients. You take note at how accurate he is, you learned about the small details about baking through your rubric.

“Need help?” you ask when Yuta starts to whisk the mixture together. He brings his bowl to his waist and with his tilted head and angled hand, he starts whisking the batter.

You have to hold yourself back when you see how he looks delicious right now. With an apron, a tied hair, tongue sticking out of his lips from focusing, his flexed arm and how he smirks at you. Gosh he’s the real cake here! You wonder how will he react if you suddenly come and bite him there on his neck which is inviting you to bite a mark there. Hey mark!

“No, I got this.” He winks at you and continues whisking the ingredients. Another minute passed by, he adds the mashed bananas and some cut apples for better taste. You focus on his actions but mostly enjoying the show he gives to you.

“You look hot.” You blurt that out loud as you secretly eat the choco-chips he will add later. “You think I look hot? You haven’t seen me whisk a whipping cream or make a meringue!” Yuta says as h places the bowl down and begin doing the next step.

You lean over the counter, eager to see what he is doing next. “Okay, all set just add choco-chips and stir and pour to container.” He smiles nicely to you, expecting to get praises or just a satisfied face. But all Yuta sees is your side smirk.

Yuta can always read you like a book, so without losing his cool, he checks you up from head to toe. He notices how you’re not focusing on him, biting your lips, and your ears and cheeks are as red as strawberries right now!

He connects the dots in his head and snaps his finger in front of your face. You jump in surprise “What?” you yell, clearly annoyed that your fantasy session is destroyed.

“No you’re staring at me too intensely! Stop it,” he acts like his innocence just got violated.

You click your tongue “Yuta, blame yourself!” you pull your hair in despair when you feel your body heating up more and feel tingles slowly creeping up.

Yuta is ignoring you when he shows off his flexibility by bending forward to put his container in the oven. “And that’s the right temperature, now we wait!” he tosses the mittens aside and leans his body to the table you’re seating at. He glances to the cup of water with only ice cubes left, he grabs it up and swirls it around before sipping the remaining drops.

“What are you looking at Princess?” his playful remarks are slipping from his lips. You bite your lips down and try to shake whatever idea you have in your head after seeing him drink the last drop of water like that is the best water in the world. His Adam’s apple bopping is not helping you at all, you lick your lips and lowkey will kill him for making this looks so yummy and advertise-able.

“Nothin’” you lie though it is as clear as day that you are “eating” him in your mind.

“You sure? You don’t look like that.” He says and then knocking the glass to his lips to take the remaining ice cubes in his mouth.

You nod your head and turn redder if it’s possible. Dang Yuta is clearly teasing you and you love it. “I-“ you can’t stop your sentence for the next thing he does is taking your lips there with ice cubes in his mouth. The cold sensation wakes you up from your day dream and you press your hands over his trained arms. He passes the cube into your mouth and you’re surprised with this new sensation. Oh Yuta and his surprises!

He continues taking you there until there’s no more cubes left and both of you are already breathing harder and the atmosphere has turn super hot. Next thing you know, you’re already on the sofa pinned down by Yuta as he teases you with butterfly kisses here and there.

“Yuta-“ you moan out his name when you have the chance, your hand pulls on his hair so he can stop kissing you for a while “Your cake.” You breathily remind him about the cake in the oven.

“Hm? My timer hasn’t gone off.” He ignores your attempt to stop taking you here.

“You want this right? Or do you want to eat me instead? You really look desperate earlier.” He nuzzles into your neck and gives some generous kitten licks there.

“Oh you were teasing me!” you defend yourself “Admit it.” You push him away to see his eyes and get the truth out, but Yuta is Yuta and he always has his way of making you lost. “No, I did not. You were this turned on by me, that you were having such sexy thoughts in the middle of the day.” His hand travels south and you already stifle a moan so he won’t be cocky about it.

He already plays with the hem of your pants, only seconds to pulling them away and eating you raw there, but his timer goes off and he has the biggest grin on his face, while you the biggest disappointment. “Yuta!” you’re already sounding so desperate, tears are forming in your eyes and Yuta only chuckles, he wipes your tears and stands up from between your legs.

“Oops! My bad, cake is done! Why don’t we try it when it’s hot?” he leaves you to turn the oven off and takes the cake out. He left you like that! All teased up and messy.

“Yuta- you will pay for this.” You groan before ignoring the pain from the edged pleasure and stomping your feet angrily to the kitchen.

“Come try this, tell me if this is good.” He offers you a forkful and you angrily chomp down on it.

“Bad.” You mutter, as you cross your hands over your chest but still chew on the delicious cake.

“Bad? This is so yummy! I can take this to the boys, and they’ll ask for more.” Yuta towers above you.

You pout “Fine, its yummy.” Your hand reaches out for some more bites, but you stop and shake your head “You. Finish what you did to me, or I cannot enjoy my cake.”

He giggles and in one swift motion already has you in his arms “Alright my princess, let me enjoy my cake instead!” he brings you to the room and you’re already giggly again, giving him kisses and playing with his hair.

You swear you will kill him if he only leaves you in the room and goes back to eat his cake in the kitchen, lucky you he did not do that. You both know that the cake will be cold once you’re done with the session but who cares when Yuta can bake more of them!

And that is probably how you end up putting a bun in the oven with Yuta!

fin.

#yuta x reader #yuta x you #yuta x y/n #yuta imagines #yuta scenarios #yuta fluff #yuta suggestive #yuta smut #yuta oneshot #yuta soft hours #yuta domestic fluff #domestic fluff #yuta #nct yuta scenarios #nct fluff #nct flirt line #nct yuta fluff #nakamoto yuta #nakamoto yuta x reader

150 notes · View notes

anxiousgaypanicking · 3 years

Text

What You Need (Intrulogical)

Two days without eating and three without sleeping sounded like the normal schedule for college student Logan Berry. He's in class all day and works all night just to barely pay off his rent every month. Constant bills leave little room for bare necessities, and it's clear that his current lifestyle is very damaging. While looking for solutions, he comes across one that seems... mediocre at best, but he's desperate. What is this solution? A sugar daddy.

this is a sugar daddy story. that means there will be sex. kinky sex, especially further on. im not going to put a warning at the beginning of each chapter so heres your warning for the entire book. each new chapter will most likely have a different smut scene, so read with caution

Also! This is a copy of my story from wattpad that im posting here because i want to get into using tumblr :DD so... pog!

Part 1

"You look like shit," Janus comments, taking a seat next to Logan in their lecture hall. Logan can hardly muster a groan in response, leaning uncomfortably over his notebook in order to review the notes he had taken the day before.

He looks up at Janus, giving Janus a good look at the bags under Logan's eyes, no doubt from him being forced to stay up all night working.

"Another night shift?" Janus questions, and Logan nods.

It's all he could take, due to the fact he had school in the mornings and studied for a bit after school. But, he had to make money somehow, seeing as getting evicted and/or starving was out of the question.

Janus sighs, kicking his feet up onto the table in front of them, earning a glare from Logan.

"That's not proper classroom etiquette, you know," he grumbles, which earns a grin from Janus.

"And? What are you gonna do about it?" Janus asks, sass clear in his voice. When Logan rolls his eyes and sets his head down on the desk, Janus laughs. "That's what I thought. Absolutely nothing."

"Why do I put up with you again?"

"Even I don't know the answer to that question." Janus snickers, as the room slowly fills up. There's not many kids, so they're all spread out in the hall. Most people sit apart; hardly any of them even have the energy to become acquainted with each other.

The professor walks in minutes later, announcing his presence with an over-exaggerated "good morning class" that makes both Logan and Janus groan.

Logan picks his head up off his desk, rubbing away the drool that had pooled on the front of his notebook, before he opened it up.

The professor spoke way too fast, and Janus didn't even try to listen, while Logan's tired brain tried to keep up with everything that was being said. Janus went back and forth between zoning out and musing at Logan's determined attitude.

Despite the fact it was early, and Logan was clearly tired, he still valued his education and everything the professor said.

After this class, they had another one. In fact, their entire day was filled with classes, as that was the way school worked.

What a shame.

Janus and Logan had very different classes, with their morning lesson being the only one they shared, but that tiny bit of social interaction was enough to keep them from living their college life in complete solitude, so it was enough.

Logan went through today like he went through every day; a groggy mindset and the school's free, cheap coffee being both his source of hydration and the thing keeping him awake.

He participated when he could, but that wasn't often. More often than not he had his face buried in his notebook, frantically scribbling down notes in an attempt to keep up with his professors, and jot down his own thoughts.

Normally, he could work fast, but it's hard to focus on so little sleep and sustenance.

After school, Logan sluggishly walked home, as per usual. He'd have a couple hours to study (or sleep) before he had to head to work.

And normally, he would do either of those things, but upon walking into his dinky apartment, grabbing a cup (which was one of the two he owned - flatware is expensive), and filling it with some questionable tap water, he decided he really had to look into more ways to make money.

With a sigh, he set his cup down, moving to his tiny couch instead. It was uncomfortable to sit on; stiff to the touch. He pulls his computer out of his backpack; it was one of the nicer things he owned, and his parents helped him buy it seeing as he needed one for school.

It was old, and very outdated, but it worked, and that was enough.

He patiently waits for the search engine to load up (understanding that his apartment's cheap wi-fi ran slowly, but he didn't have the money for his own router so this would have to do) before typing in "what are quick ways to make money?"

He was provided with a bunch of job options that he didn't even bother looking at.

He already had a job; he definitely didn't have time for a second one. Not with his already full schedule.

So why was he even looking? Did he want to gamble? Or join some sort of pyramid scheme? Maybe he was just looking to make sure there was nothing better out there.

And that's almost the conclusion he came to, until he came across a site that had "sugar daddy" in the URL. A sugar daddy...? Logan, surprisingly, didn't know what that was.

He clicks the link, opening a new tab as well to look up what a sugar daddy was while the link loaded.

He scans over the definition.

"A rich, older man who lavishes gifts on young people in return for their company or, more typically, sexual favors."

His face scrunches up. Money in return for sex? Isn't that... isn't that prostitution? Isn't that illegal?

Surprisingly, no. It's one of the few exceptions to that law. And Logan stares at that link for a few seconds, considering it.

Well...

He sighs, closing his computer, as he sinks deeper into the uncomfortable couch. He lets his eyes rest for a second, momentarily soothing the burning that's always there nowadays.

He can't let himself fall asleep, though, as he knows there's always the possibility he'll sleep through his alarm, and he can't even risk getting fired from his job. That was currently his only source of income, which helped him pay bills and get some food every once in a while.

With a sigh, he reopened his eyes, and his computer, bringing him to a sign in page on the sugar daddy website.

Was he actually considering this?

...yes.

He quickly types in his name and age, as well as inputting his gender, and inserting a profile picture (albeit a very awkward one), before typing up a short bio.

"I just don't want to starve."

Yeah, mood.

Afterwards, he's brought to a Tinder-esque screen, showing other profiles with a red thumbs down and a green thumbs up on the bottom of the screen. When Logan hovered his mouse over them, they lit up, showing they were buttons.

"Hmm," he hummed, pushing his glasses up as he scans over the first profile, already cringing at the age. "67." Yikes.

Well, he'll do what he has to, but maybe with someone a little bit younger... if there even were any younger people on here. Logan honestly was hoping for a miracle, unrealistically so.

But, he pressed the thumbs-down button nonetheless, deciding he'd at least try.

"58." Eh.

"49." Getting better...

"23."

Woah. Twenty-three? This fucker was only a couple years older than Logan was.

Logan quickly skimmed over their profile. The profile picture was blurry, and normally Logan would take that as a bad sign, but he was desperate.

"Remus Prince, 23

here for a fun and sexy time ;))) will treat my sweet lil baby right ;000"

Well, it was childish, and Logan found himself slightly annoyed with the usage of emoticons and the improper capitalization, but, he really would rather sleep with a younger man.

With one final re-evaluation of this decision, he clicks the thumbs-up button, taking him to a chat feature. Oh, interesting.

Logan, who was pretty socially stunted, hummed, as he tried to figure out an appropriate way to start this conversation.

'Hey.'

Well, that was a good start. He set his computer to the side, standing up to grab his cup of water and carry it back to the couch. When he sat down, he saw he already had a reply. Damn, did people just have constant free time?

'hey there cutie ;))'

'i take it ur lookin for a daddy <33??'

No, Logan was just on this website for fun. He rolled his eyes, and then cringed at the idea of referring to this man as his 'daddy.' Ew. He'd stick to Remus for now.

'In a sense, yes, assuming your referring to the 'title.''

He had to be sure.

'pfft- nerd'

';) just joking'

'and yes, that is what i meant smh. so when do you wanna meet, baby?'

Logan frowned slightly at being called 'baby,' not being able to properly identify how it made him feel. Weird, definitely. Ugh, this was all confusing and, God, he couldn't believe he was actually doing this.

'Tomorrow,' Logan answers. before providing the time after he'd be out of school. They could talk in the few hours Logan had before work, and perhaps he could get a better sense on what being a sugar baby was going to be like.

Remus accepts (adding many unnecessary emojis and emoticons along with a simple "that works"), and Logan sighs as he shut his computer yet again.

He discards it in favor of pulling out his notebook and reviewing the notes he had taken today.

School took his priority until his job started, and provided a good distraction from the now looming concept of meeting his future sugar daddy.

Wow, he still couldn't believe he actually resorted to a solution like that. This option is.... mediocre at best.

It was so unlike him, but desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposes.

In order to distract himself, and also kill some time before he has to head into work, he studies the notes he had made, repeating and re-writing in an effort to burn them into his memory. He does this for a couple hours, up until his phone rings. It's an alarm, labelled "get ready for work."

He ends up doing just that, combing through his hair and quickly scrubbing his face in order to look more presentable. He then fixes his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles and trading out his tie for his work apron. He didn't put it on right away, as he still had to walk to work, but he did fold it neatly over his arm.

He speed-walks to his job, and works throughout the night.

Of course, he was aware of the recommended eight-to-ten hours of sleep people were supposed to get in order to be healthy, but Logan had been functioning just fine on the three hours of sleep he got daily (if even that).

Logically, three hours was a complete sleep cycle. It's just recommended by doctors that people get three cycles.

But Logan didn't have the time to sleep for nine hours a night. Not unless he wanted to drop out of college and move back in with parents (both of which he definitely did not want to do).

He completes the tedious tasks his work gives him, hardly socializing with any of his co-workers, all of which looked equally as tired as he did, before heading home. Perhaps one would be more afraid of walking home alone in the middle of the damn night, but Logan knew the sun would rise in half an hour or so. That, and at least kidnappers would give him a temporary relief from work and school.

And murder would permanently relieve him from both! There was no downside.

When he gets back to his apartment, he folds up his apron and puts it away, before packing all his notes and supplies back into his bag. He checks himself in the bathroom as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

The purple bags on his eyes were growing increasingly prominent. That wasn't great.

He checks his phone after a moment, before humming as he trudged back into the living room and slipped on his shoes, deciding that he'd try and sleep after school today-

Nope! He groaned, as he remembered his meeting with that sugar daddy. What was his name again? Logan tried to think back to it, before his phone rang, the alarm for school going off, distracting him. He dismisses it, adjusting his bag, before heading out the door. Curse morning classes.

He ends up in the lecture hall earlier than most everyone else, as per usual, although Janus is already at his seat. Legs kicked up on the table. As per usual.

"Good morning," Logan greets him, setting his bag down and pulling out his notes.

Janus hums in response, scrolling through his phone. His phone that Logan had never seen before.

"Is that a new phone?" Logan questions, raising an eyebrow. He knew Janus had more access to money than he did (as he often came to school with new rings or fancy tailored clothes) but there was nothing wrong with his old one.

Janus looks at Logan, momentarily confused, before he blinks in realization of the question. "Oh, yeah. It looked cool, and my old one was a bit slow."

"Ah."

Logan couldn't even imagine just spending money carelessly on himself. His phone, while outdated and cracked, could still call, text, and set alarms. If it wasn't broken, why would he need a new one?

With that short exchange, both of them went back to their own devices (literally, in Janus's case) as they wait for class to start.

However, Logan finds that he can't focus, instead thinking about what this afternoon's meeting would have in store for him. The sugar daddy - who Logan had remembered was named Remus - seemed flirtatious over text (although Logan was bad at identifying romantic social cues due to lack of exposure, so he could have just been really friendly), but Logan couldn't picture meeting him.

The unpredictability of the event annoyed him, and what annoyed him even more was that he didn't even know what Remus looked like! His profile picture was blurry and extremely hard to make out.

Guess he'd discover what he looked like upon meeting him, as that wasn't dangerous.

He tries to focus throughout class, once again leaning over his work and scribbling rapid notes, but his mind can only listen to the teacher for so long before he's thinking about the meeting again.

Ugh, if he knew he was going to be this distracted by an interaction that hasn't even happened yet, he would just not have scheduled the meeting at all.

Janus seemed to notice that Logan wasn't focusing solely on the class as he usually would, but didn't ask about it. He didn't want to intrude, and he knew Logan would probably give a vaguely concerning answer anyway.

So, instead, Janus left Logan to sort through his own problems alone, like any half-decent friend probably would.

Logan ends up being distracted throughout the rest of the day. Funny how one instance can absorb all of one's mental energy. He still paid attention as well as he could (as he would have otherwise been upset with himself), but near the end of the school day, he finds himself rather antsy. He's not nervous, despite the fact he has fair reason to be. No, he's overly curious, and eager to live through a new experience.

Even if he was unhappy about how his life had managed to come to this. Not that there was really anything he could do about it, without throwing his life out of order.

At the end of the day, he walked home as quickly as he could. He needed time to himself to prepare for Remus's arrival. Not physically, as he looked presentable enough in that regard, but mentally.

When he gets back to his apartment, he checks his phone for the time, before tossing his bag near the couch. There's still about ten minutes until the time Logan requested meeting Remus at, but he's anxiously awaiting his arrival nonetheless.

Those ten minutes pass, and Logan has pulled out his schoolbook, reviewing equations for the upcoming exam in his science class. Another ten minutes go by as Logan gets immersed in the material, before there's a knock on the door.

Logan blinks, drawn out of his finally focused state, before he checks the time. Ten minutes past when he and Remus had scheduled.

Was he late? If he was, that wouldn't be the best start to a first impression.

Logan got up and opened his door, revealing a tall, thin man with pale skin and messy brown hair. He was wearing a pale green tank top and cargo shorts, and had brown eyes that seemed almost red when the light hit them right.

He also had a thin mustache gracing the space above his top lip.

The man grinned and leaned against Logan's door frame.

"Heya there, babes," he greets, before just walking inside. Logan's too stunned to really say anything, so all he can do is shut the door behind him. "You're Logan Berry, yeah?"

It takes Logan a moment to find his voice, so jarred by the young man in front of him. He looked younger than Logan. And not as rich or as fancy as Logan had pictured him. He honestly expected a well-groomed man in a regal suit to show up to his door.

Yet, he was greeted with... this.

"Yeah," Logan answers, after a moment. "I take it you're... Remus."

"Bingo, baby!" Remus says, with a grin, as his hands find Logan's waist. That, mixed with the nickname, made Logan feel weird.

An unidentifiable way, but mostly just hot.

Remus snickers. "Man, you're cute. I really lucked out, huh?"

"Uh, I guess," Logan responds, standing stiff in Remus's hold. "You look younger than I expected."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Logan averts his gaze and shrugs, feeling awkward and inexperienced in this situation. And everything was moving very fast; Logan had no time to process and retain a lot of the information being thrown his way.

"Yeah, that's fair. I just know some people have a kink for age differences. Although, you're the same age I am, so I guess that wouldn't make much sense."

Logan listened to him talk, eyebrow raising slightly at the age kink comment.

He knew what the definition of a kink was, but an age kink...?

"Ah," Logan says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. There's silence for a moment, before Remus snickers again.

"Wow, you're really awkward."

"And you're really blunt," Logan counters, knowing that Remus is right. He doesn't know what to do here; he's never been in this situation before.

Remus laughs at Logan's words though, pulling him closer, which causes Logan to flush at the contact. He... he had never been this physically close to anyone before.

"Are you blushing?" comes Remus's voice, and Logan just sighs.

"Clearly."

Remus backs up a bit, his hands moving from Logan's waist to his face, cupping it, before tilting it this way and that way. Logan looks confused, and still unsure of what to do with his own hands.

Remus's peppy face falls for a moment, looking like he was studying Logan, before he clears his throat.

"Have you ever had a sugar daddy before?" he asks, and Logan wonders if it's really that obvious. He would have brought it up at some point anyway, because he's confused as hell, but this works.

"No."

Remus hums. "Have you ever had sex before?"

"No."

"Have you ever been in a relationship before?"

Yes, platonically, but Logan could tell that he meant romantically, which prompted Logan to answer "no."

Remus laughed, his face lighting back up. "Damn, you're new to all of this then! This'll be fun."

Fun? What did that have to do with Logan being new to this whole ordeal?

"So, you do at least know what having a sugar daddy means, right?" Remus asks, as he pulls Logan to the couch via an arm around his waist.

He expects to sit down next to him, but he ends up getting pulled into Remus's lap before he can even process what's happening.

However, Remus does finally take the time to ask "you're comfortable with this, right?"

"Having a sugar daddy?"

Remus snorts, his hands rubbing Logan's thighs. "Well, partially. I was more so referring to me being all touchy. It's technically part of the job, ya know, sex for money and all that, but since you're new to this, it's worth making sure."

Logan has to think about that for a genuine minute, because he is indeed new to this, and it's making him feel weird, but he decides it's a good kind of weird.

So he nods. "Yeah. I suppose I'm comfortable with this. It's just new to me."

Remus grins, his hands sliding back up to Logan's waist and pulling him closer. "Are you comfortable with kissing, too?"

Logan's face flushes involuntarily at the question, and at the sight of Remus smirking at him with hungry eyes.

"I- well- I've never kissed anyone before."

"Virgin in all regards, huh? Don't worry, I'll teach you all there is to know. Perks of the job." Remus cups his face, his voice lowered. "Provided I have your consent, of course."

Logan gulps, his face hot, as he nods.

"Verbal consent, Lo."

"Yeah- yeah you have my consent."

Remus smiles, before leaning it fully, pressing his lips against Logan's. Logan still feels awkward, and unsure of what to do, but he guessed the best way to learn would be to just do what he thought he should.

So, he moves his own hands, which were previously laying lax in his lap, onto Remus's shoulders, and Remus grins into the kiss, before tilting his head and deepening it. His tongue slips past Logan's lips, before Logan suddenly pulls away.

"What was that?" Logan asks, before Remus has the chance to ask if he's okay.

Remus looks puzzled for a moment, before he grins. "That was french kissing, silly. Man, despite looking like a nerd, you're really clueless."

Logan frowns, which prompts Remus to kiss him yet again.

"I just don't understand this. I need to do more research on it, it seems," Logan says, mostly muttering to himself. Perhaps it would have been better if he researched kissing and sexual techniques. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so inexperienced in this situation.

However, Remus seems to disagree. "What you need," he begins, his hands on Logan's waist suddenly tightening. "Is for me to take care of you." He suddenly changes their position, pinning Logan to the couch, while Remus smirks over top of him. "Lucky for you, I'm surprisingly good at that."

Logan's face is dark red, and he's speechless yet again. But he doesn't need to talk, as Remus's lips reconnect with his, and Logan closes his eyes and lets himself relax into it. His normally stiff shoulders ease, and his arms slide back around Remus's shoulders, subconsciously pulling him closer.

Once again, Remus deepens the kiss, but this time Logan was at least expecting it. What he wasn't expecting were Remus's hands untucking his shirt and sliding up it. He shivers at Remus's hands running up his chest, before moaning when they reach his nipples.

Remus snickers, as he breaks the kiss. "Damn, you're really cute, Logan."

"Uh-huh," Logan responds, arching his chest into Remus's touch, as they pinch and twist at his nipples. "You've said that already."

"I'm gonna keep reinforcing the idea," Remus says, sticking out his tongue. Then he helps Logan take his shirt off all the way, fully exposing Logan's chest.

"Wow, you're very thin," Remus comments, hands lightly running over Logan's ribs, which were way more prominent than is healthy. "How often do you eat?"

"I'm not the best at reading social cues, but are you sure this is the best time to ask that question?"

Remus stares at him for a moment, before shrugging. "Not necessarily, but after this I'm buying us dinner."

"What?" Logan says, as he sits up slightly. "Why?"

Remus looks at him if he's stupid, before remembering that Logan is new to this. "Okay, so, this is probably not the best time to give a lesson, but sugar daddies pay their sugar babies for sex. I thought you'd at least know that."

"I did. I thought that was money."

"Well, it can just be money, but they also get paid in other things. Like jewelry and clothes, or food. Necessities and gifts."

"Oh," Logan says, as he pushes up his glasses. "I suppose that makes sense. You don't have to though."

"Don't have to do what?"

"Buy dinner."

And once again, Remus looks at him as if he's stupid. "Logan, we're literally about to have sex. This agreement - the one between daddies and babies - is we have sex and then I pay you. Me not paying you would sort of defeat the whole purpose."

Logan blinks, before just nodding. Yeah, that seems fair.

Remus seems happy the conversation is over, as his attention turns back to Logan's chest. He leans down and licks a stripe up it, an action that Logan would cringe at if he didn't find it weirdly hot.

Remus's mouth then latches onto one of his nipples, tongue messing with it, before he sucks lightly around it. Logan's hands gripped tighter at Remus's shoulders, his nails accidentally digging into his back, and he lets out a moan that makes him slap a hand over his mouth afterwards, his face dark red.

It's not his fault his body was so sensitive. Remus's touches just felt so good. And the way he was eyeing up at Logan made him flush darker.

Logan had to look away, tucking his face into the crook of his elbow as Remus moved away from his nipple and turned his attention to Logan's pants instead. He quickly makes work of unbuttoning his cheap jeans before tugging them down and tossing them to the side, hardly hesitating before pulling Logan's boxers down as well, his embarrassingly hard cock springing up at the action.

He feels strangely vulnerable under Remus, as he's now naked and on display while Remus is still fully clothed.

And Remus is eyeing up and down, licking his lips, as if Logan's his next meal.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Remus asks, and Logan gulps and nods.

"Yes, I'm sure," he says. It's for the money; that's why he took the offer in the first place, but now he found himself extremely curious about the situation he had gotten himself into.

Remus nods at his answer, reaching into the pocket of his shorts, before pulling out a small bottle and a small, square package. Noticing the curious look Logan gave the bottle, he hands it to him, before working to pull off his own clothes.

"Lube," Logan states, while reading the bottle. Unsurprisingly, he didn't learn about safe gay sex in school, because all they teach, if they teach sex at all, is straight sex.

Which is stupid, considering not everyone is straight, but whatever.

"You need it," Remus explains, pulling his shirt off. "It's to make sure you don't feel pain while I fuck you. Also to keep your asshole from tearing. It's a necessity for anal sex."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Remus hums, working to unbutton his pants. "I always carry a bottle considering some people just don't have it lying around, and nothing else should be used as a substitute."

He snickers as Logan reads over the small print over the bottle.

"Like you, for example. You look like you've never seen lube in your life."

"I haven't."

"Yeah, makes sense."

Logan hands the bottle back when Remus reaches for it, only then fully realizing that Remus was just as nude as he was.

He takes a moment to scan over Remus's body. He's thin, as Logan could tell when he first arrived, but he's also paler underneath his clothes. He has a few scars littering his chest, arms, and legs.

Logan would ask what they were from if Remus didn't immediately snicker.

"See something you like?" he asks, playfully, earning an eye-roll from Logan.

"Not necessarily."

"Ouch, you wound me, Logan."

Logan rolls his eyes again, before going back to evaluating Remus's body. Mainly, just trying to study it enough to commit it to memory, while Remus works on squirting some lube onto his fingers.

Logan's eyes shamelessly look towards Remus's cock, eyes widening slightly at the sight of it.

His own cock was a little above average, but Remus's was definitely bigger than his. That thing was going to go inside him?

The thought made Logan shiver and blush involuntarily, but Remus didn't seem to notice, instead grabbing Logan's thigh with his clean hand and lifting it up slightly.

"What are you doing?" Logan asks, still propped up on his elbows, as Remus grazes his teeth over Logan's thigh.

"I'm going to stretch you," Remus says with a hum. "Since you're new to this, and specifically a virgin, it's important to prep you before you take my big cock." It's said semi-seriously and semi-flirty, but Remus's tone is enough to make Logan go red in the face.

He himself couldn't believe he was blushing at some flirty words and a few sensual touches, but alas, he was.

"Okay?" Remus asks, drawing Logan out of his thoughts. Logan nods, before responding with "yeah, okay."

Remus smiles, before slowly easing one finger into Logan. Logan gasps at the feeling, hands grasping the stiff cushion beneath him.

It felt... weird. Not bad, but definitely strange.

Remus slowly pushes the finger in and out of him, before sliding another finger in him, scissoring him open. Remus seems pretty focused on making sure Logan's properly stretched, but he also takes the time to nip at Logan's thighs, earning a few gasps and grunts from Logan.

He'd leave a few hickeys over his body, but he wanted to make sure Logan was comfortable with sex before he did anything a bit more extreme. He'd have to ask Logan about some of his kinks and boundaries when they weren't literally about to fuck so he could plan ahead.

Remus ends up pushing a third finger in, steadily pumping them in and out of Logan, before Logan tries to roll his hips down involuntarily, feeling the urge to get more pleasure.

Remus grins at this, before pulling his fingers out, earning a whine from Logan.

Remus shushes him with a quick kiss, wiping his fingers against Logan's couch (not like Logan noticed anyway) as he quickly tears open the condom package. He doesn't break the kiss as he spreads Logan's thighs apart, one of them being smashed against the vertical cushions, and the other was practically dangling off the couch.

"You gotta relax for me, okay baby?" Remus says, voice smooth, as Remus quickly works to lube the condom up as an extra precaution, before he lines his cock up with Logan's entrance. Logan nods, not sure what he's about to feel (assuming it'll feel at least similar to Remus's fingers) so he's partially unsure of how to brace himself.

He's surprised, however, as Remus's cock slowly slides into him, and he tenses as his hands tightly grip the couch.

"You okay?" Remus asks, hands slowly massaging Logan's thighs. "You're not in any pain, right?" He sounds slightly concerned, although he really still just seems casual.

"No- no pain," Logan breathes out, biting his lip. "It's just... weird. I'm not used to it."

"You'll get used to it eventually," Remus responds, with a grin. "Provided you wanna stick with me."

Logan rolls his eyes, as this was definitely not the right time to even mention that, considering Remus's cock was halfway inside of him at this moment

Remus is still for a moment though, giving Logan a moment to adjust and to completely process what was happening.

After a minute or so, Logan finally nods his head, his body relaxing completely.

"Good?" Remus asks, his hands sliding until they reach Logan's hips. His hands grip there a bit firmer, and Logan shifts slightly, before answering "good."

Remus's hands hold tight to Logan's waist, as he manages to slide his cock in fully.

Logan lets out a whine as it's fully inside of him, his hands moving to tightly grip Remus's shoulders. Remus rubs his hips, before leaning down to kiss over Logan's collarbone.

He still wants to bite down, and he doesn't hesitate to drag his teeth over the unhealthily prominent bone, but he resists biting. For now, at least.

When Logan starts shifting a bit to get more friction, Remus smirks, and he slides his cock halfway out, before thrusting harshly back in, causing Logan to let out a high moan.

Remus's smirk grows, as Logan bites his lip, his nails digging into Remus's shoulders.

"Remus," he breathes out, head laid back against the cushions, silently begging him to do that again. He'd verbally ask himself if not for the weird feeling inside of him that sent blood rushing to his face, which provided a pretty sight for Remus.

Remus obviously understood (he'd had enough sex to understand cues), as he pulls out again, almost fully this time, before slamming back into him, causing Logan's back to arch, as he cries out Remus's name, his legs closing instinctively around Remus's waist, effectively pulling him closer.

Although, Remus didn't seem to mind that much, as he connects their lips for a messier than usual kiss, as Remus had begun thrusting into Logan at a steady, albeit slow, pace. And while it wasn't as extreme Remus could go, or wanted to go, it was a lot for Logan, especially all at once and so suddenly in his life.

But, it's not like he could exactly complain in between all the pathetic noise involuntarily spilling from his mouth. Babbles of nonsense, as his body is introduced to more and more exciting stimulation.

Then, Remus suddenly hits something inside of him that shoots pleasure up his spine, his eyes rolling back into his head as his toes curl, as he whines out Remus's name.

"That spot feel good, baby?" Remus asks him, and Logan can only nod in response, his eyes now screwed shut in pleasure as Remus continues to thrust into that spot, earning loud moans and pitiful begs from Logan.

"Fuck..." Remus mutters, his nails digging into Logan's hips, puncturing the skin slightly. Logan would complain about how the germs from Remus's hands could potentially cause the very small wounds to become infected, if he wasn't too busy drooling and moaning.

"You close, Lo?" Remus grunts out, earning a gasped out "yes!"

Remus chuckles lowly, as one of his hands releases Logan's hip and instead grabs hold of his red cock, stroking it fast and irregularly compared to his thrusts. The action had Logan moaning, before he comes across his chest with a whine of Remus's name.

Remus, however, doesn't stop the assault on his cock, continuing to stroke it and thrust into Logan mercilessly. Logan whines at the overstimulation, laying lax against the couch as he continues to let Remus please himself, before Remus's nails dig hard into him and he groans, coming into the condom.

He stays inside of Logan for a moment, both of them catching their breaths, before he pulls out, sliding the condom off and tying it shut, before he gets up to go find a trashcan to toss it in.

When he comes back to the couch, Logan's eyes are shut, glasses askew on his face.

"Logan," he says, as he grabs his clothes and starts sliding them back on, ignoring the fact he was covered in sweat and had just gotten done having sex.

He receives no answer, so he gently pokes Logan's cheek after gathering all his stuff. "Logan?"

Still nothing. He hums, before shrugging. If he was tired enough to sleep, might as well let him sleep. He did end up stalking around his small, and rather poor looking apartment though, in search of a blanket. He finds one, neatly folded on the edge of Logan's bed, and he smiles as he brings it back into the living room. He pays no mind to the fact Logan's covered in come as he drapes the blanket over him.

Then, he pulls out his wallet, and sets multiple bills on the table, placing a half-full cup of water that was sitting on the table already on top of it, to keep it in place.

Then, whistling a strangely eerie tune, he walked off, making sure to lock Logan's apartment door behind him, for Logan's sake.

And, damn, this would be one hell of a thing to wake up and remember.

Part 2

#intrulogical #sanderssides #sanders sides #thomas sanders #thomassanders #logansanders #logan sanders #logic sanders #remus sanders #remussanders #loganxremus #logan x remus #sanders sides fic #sanders sides smut #agp fic #intrulogical sugar daddy au

160 notes · View notes

candy-and-writing · 3 years

Text

What A Triple Lutz Can Do

part iii

Dark! Bucky x Ice Skater! Reader x Dark! Steve

Summary: Steve and Bucky have found each other again, after everything they’ve been through. When Steve meets you at the Winter Olympics, he decides you’re the perfect little doll for their plan.

General Warnings: non con/dub con, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, male masturbation, pet names—kitten, princess, ie; oral sex (female and male), fingering, (forced?) poly relationship (m/m/f), somnophilia, light bondage, more to be added as the story goes on

Chapter Warnings: non consensual touching and kissing, non consensual drugging, mean! Steeb, soft bois, stucky fluff

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Part Two // Part Four

Masterlist

It took you fifteen minutes to gather the courage to take a shower. Another ten to undress. You hated how exposed you felt, how at any moment Captain Rogers or Sergeant Barnes could walk in and see you naked.

The shampoo smelled heavenly, and as you dried your hair you marveled at how soft it was, how the scent lingered in your hair.

You clutched the towel to your body as you rummaged through the dresser drawers, searching for the least provocative set of underwear. You settled on a pair of lacy briefs that showed more of your ass than you initially thought and a matching bra.

You sorted through the wardrobe five different times, trying to find something to wear. Should you wear a dress? Did they want you to dress up? God, why were you complying with them?

You decided on a white sleeveless dress with a pink floral pattern and a flattering neckline. You paired it with a light pink cardigan, pulling the sleeves down past your wrists.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, you find what you need to style your hair, applying a quick layer of mascara to your lashes. While contemplating whether or not to put on some lip gloss, you grabbed the Chanel perfume bottle, examining it carefully before spritzing a little on your neck. It smelled like jasmine and roses. You liked it.

You shouldn't like it.

You're looking through the extensive makeup collection when you hear the door unlock. You turn your head and watch Bucky close the door behind him, balancing a tray with three plates of food in one hand. He spots you in the bathroom and his jaw drops.

"Wow, doll, you look—you look amazing."

You give him a timid smile and watch as he moves out of sight. You follow him to the threshold of the second room, the one you hadn't yet looked in. A small dining table sat in the middle of the room, with an absolutely gorgeous diamond chandelier hanging above the table. A large bookcase filled with books lined the wall. Skimming the titles, you realized that most of them were books that you had at home—or at the very least the same authors. Some were books you've never heard of before, a few were ones you've always wanted to read. Others were older, classics like the Oz series by L. Frank Baum and the Lord of the Rings series. Books that Steve and Bucky would have read in their childhoods.

"That was Steve's idea," Bucky says, walking up to you after he set the plates down on the table. "Wanted to get you something a little more personal."

You hummed in response, not knowing what else to say. Were you supposed to thank them? For what, for kidnapping you? For buying you expensive luxuries you didn't want?

Bucky hooked his finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"You look absolutely stunning in this dress, doll," he murmured, his voice low. You swallowed before finding your voice.

"It's just a dress. . . ."

His eyes were gorgeous. Tantalizing blue-grey like the sky at the first signs of a storm. You found yourself lost in them, at the little specks of a deeper blue, of green. You didn't realize he was closing in on you until his lips touched yours.

He smirked against your lips as you squeaked in surprise, your shoulders tensing as your hands flew to his chest to push him away. You felt like you were pushing against a brick wall; the solid mass of muscle beneath your palms wouldn't budge. When Bucky seemingly got tired of your resistance, he gathered your wrists in one of his hands and pinned them to your chest.

He moaned against your mouth, coaxing your lips apart as he dipped his tongue in. You stayed frozen in your spot, letting his tongue roam within your mouth. His hand trailed down to your breast, squeezing softly as you whimpered. His lips moved to the corner of your mouth, then to your jawline, kissing and sucking his way down your neck.

"You're wearing the perfume," Bucky commented, murmuring against your skin. "Do you like it? It reminded us of something women would wear back in our day. Something that fits you."

You shut your eyes, biting back a whimper as he nibbled on your neck. He intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning your hands flat against the wall and he suckled at your pulse point. You let out a weak mewl as he licked over the dark mark he created, his knee pushing against the apex between your thighs.

"Bucky asked you a question, sweetheart," Steve said suddenly, standing in the threshold, holding a bottle of wine by the neck and three glasses by their stems. Your eyes go wide at the sight of him and you try to push Bucky away, but he doesn't budge.

"When one of us asks you a question, you answer it." Stave's voice was surprisingly stern, sending a shudder down your spine.

It took you a moment to gather your voice. "Yes. . . it smells very nice." If either of them heard how shaky your voice was, they didn't acknowledge it. Steve hummed, setting the wine down on the table.

"Buck, dinner's ready."

"Mmm, I got dinner right here," he mumbled. Bucky grabbed your hips and pulled you down on his knee, grinding your core against him. You yelped, pushing against his chest in desperation.

"Bucky."

Bucky grumbled in response, fingers digging into the divot of your hips as he licked a stripe up your neck before finally relenting.

Your knees were shaking so much you could barely keep yourself upright, your hands plastered against the wall for support. Mascara streamed down your cheeks as Bucky held his hand out to you.

"C'mon, doll, let's eat."

Steve pulled out a chair for you, Bucky guiding you to sit down. Steve wiped your stained cheeks with a napkin, shushing you as you whimpered.

"Buck and I made your favorite, sweetheart," Steve beamed. "Fettuccine Alfredo with broccoli. We even got a bottle of Cabernet to share."

You nodded, mumbled a small 'thank you', and let Steve set your plate in front of you.

"Eat up, sweetie."

You were allowed one glass of wine during dinner, which was barely filled a third of the way up. You wanted to drink from the entire goddamn bottle—it seemed appropriate, considering the circumstances.

The fettuccine was good, admittedly, which made you sick to your stomach. You weren't very hungry, you had hardly taken four bites of your pasta, and Steve and Bucky had noticed.

"What's the matter, doll?" Bucky asked. "Do you not like it?"

"No!" you rushed. "No, it—dinner's wonderful. . . I'm just not very hungry."

"You haven't eaten all day, sweetheart," Steve chided. "And you didn't have very much to eat yesterday, are you feeling okay?"

You scoffed at that. "Other than the fact that a couple of psychotic superheroes have kidnapped me?" you muttered. "Oh, yeah, I'm great."

"Watch the attitude," Steve warned. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down at your uneaten food.

"Steve." Bucky looked at his friend, giving him the puppy eyes he couldn't ignore. "Give her a break."

Steve sighed. "If you really don't want to eat, fine, we'll go over the rules instead. Buck, you mind cleaning up?"

Bucky downed his wine, sighing as he and Steve stood. You were hesitant to follow, but when Steve held out his hand for you to take, you realized you didn't have much of a choice. He threaded his fingers in yours, guiding you back to the bed.

"Sit," he told you. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, Steve standing in front of you. "Good girl."

You couldn't stop the involuntary shudder that ran down your spine at the pet name. Steve smirked at your reaction.

"We're going to go over the rules, okay? There aren't many." He waited until you nodded to continue. "First off: We won't tolerate disobedience. You'll do as you're told when you're told, and you'll drop the backtalk. Got it?"

You couldn't understand the fear that settled in your gut. You should be angry—furious—at him for trying to control you, but you were just unbelievably scared. They held all the power here. You were helpless.

"Second rule," Steve growled, "you answer when Bucky or I talk to you."

"Okay," you forced out. Steve's expression relaxed a little.

"Good. Until you can show Bucky and me that you're ready to move upstairs with us, you'll stay down here. We bought you some books already, but if you want anything else to keep you entertained, just tell us. We'll get you anything you want, within reason. And you can make as much noise as you want down here—we soundproofed it. Doesn't mean you won't get punished for causing a ruckus, though."

Your lower lip wobbled a little as you responded with, "I understand."

"You will treat us with respect. You'll use your manners, you'll be sweet. You will accept what we give you, and you'll do as you're told when you're told.

"You disobey us, you will be punished. And trust me, Bucky and I can get pretty creative when we want to be. Your attitude at the dinner table was your only warning."

"I understand," you said quietly. "I'm sorry."

The apology slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

"Buck and I will do everything we can to make you happy and comfortable. That's our job, sweetheart, to make you happy." He gently cupped your cheek, his hand so warm you had to stop yourself from leaning into his touch. "You already make us so happy, we just want to return the favor."

You frowned at that, confused. Steve could see the wheels turning in your head, an amused smile on his face.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours, princess?"

"Why am I here?" you asked carefully, your shoulders tense as you avoided his gaze. "I just—I don't understand."

Steve sighed, squatting down so he was level with you. "Because, sweetheart, we need you. You are perfect for us, baby, I knew that the moment I first saw you on the ice. The way you danced was so—so beautiful, you know? Like you were walking on water. I saw the way you seemed to relax, like every burden was being lifted off your shoulders. It's the only time you've seemed truly free. You're always so busy, sweetheart; between classes and practice, when do you have time for yourself? You're gonna work yourself to death, baby. We can help you, we can make you happy. I know you don't understand right now, but we are what you need.

"And you'll make us happy. We want you with us, want you in our relationship. We love you, sweetheart, we just want to show you that we love you."

You didn't realize you were crying until Steve brushed his thumb against your cheek to wipe away a tear.

"I know it's a lot, baby, but it's the truth. We're gonna take care of you, princess. You'll be safe here."

Your hands shook as you folded them in your lap, wringing your dress through your fingers. The fearful pout on your face had Steve trying to stop a smile. The crease between your brows was just too cute.

"But—I was happy," you sniffled. "I love skating, I love dancing. . . I was going to graduate in the spring. You're taking my life away, why can't you see that?"

"We know it's tough, doll," Bucky said, leaning against the threshold, his arms crossed against his chest. "We know it'll take some time for you to acclimate to your new life, but if you're patient with us, we'll be patient with you."

"No. You don't understand—" Your fear was quickly dissipating into anger. They weren't listening to you, they weren't going to listen. "I don't want to be here. You say you care about me? That you want to make me happy? Then let me go, please."

Steve sighed, looking back towards Bucky. His gaze turned hard as he looked back at you. "You're staying with us. We'll talk about some things we can get you to keep you from growing bored."

Your face fell at his comment.

"My ma used to cross-stitch," Bucky commented. "I would watch her and my sister go at it for hours. I'm sure it isn't too hard to figure out."

"Or knitting?" Steve piped. "You ever knit, sweetheart?"

You shook your head after a moment, appalled that they were having this conversation so nonchalantly. Rage radiated within you, angry tears threatening to spill past your lashes as you dug your nails into the palms of your hands.

"There anything you like to do, princess?" Steve asked.

You shrugged simply, looking down at your hands. Steve frowned, opening his mouth to speak when Bucky stopped him, resting his hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, doll, think about it for a bit." He gave you a small smile before giving Steve an exasperated look. "Stevie and I'll take the dishes upstairs, why don't you go ahead and get ready for bed?"

You swallowed thickly, nodding.

"Good girl, we'll be back down in a bit."

You watched them leave, the big heavy door locking you in behind them. You felt numb—fuzzy—like you weren't actually there. Or maybe you were just hoping you weren't. That maybe this was all some drunken-induced nightmare. Maybe you had drunk too much and wound up in an alcohol-induced coma.

You stood, stiffly walking toward the dresser. You shuffled through the drawer, looking for something suitable to sleep in. All you could find were silky slip ons and vintage nightgowns with lace on the hems and little bows—you hated it. You hated how they picked your wardrobe like you were a doll, how they were keeping you down here like a. . . a pet. Like you were a puppy they chose to take home from a shelter, keeping you in the basement to acclimate you to the house.

You groaned in frustration, slamming the drawer shut. You pace back and forth between the width of the room, pulling at your hair as you tried to put your thoughts together. Your head was spiraling, completely overwhelmed as you drowned in rage and fear and stress until you felt like you couldn't breathe.

You jumped as you heard the door unlocking, turning your head just in time to see Steve enter the room. You frowned, watching him wearily as he smiled at you, closing the door behind him. "Hey, sweetheart."

"What are you doing here?" It slipped past your lips before you really thought about it, mouth clamping shut as soon as you saw the way Steve's jaw clenched.

"Made you some hot chocolate," he said, holding up a mug. "Sprinkled some cinnamon in it, just how you like."

You felt your stomach drop. You blinked once, twice, swallowing the bitter disgust that was threatening to overflow your senses. "Oh, um. . . thank you."

He moved to set it down on the nightstand, turning back to you. "Why haven't you changed yet?"

"I—uh—I just—" You looked down at your florally dress, eyes flitting back up to meet his. "I couldn't decide what to wear," you lied.

Steve watched your eyes flick to the side, your hands playing with the fabric of the skirt of your dress. He smiled, stepping close to you and hooking his finger under your chin to tilt your head up. "Why don't we go find something, huh? Come on."

He wrapped his hand around yours and guided you to the dresser, opening up a drawer. He started to shuffle through the clothing. "Let's see. . . how 'bout this, sweetheart?"

He pulled out a little black silk slip-on, holding it up by the straps. Your jaw dropped, completely appalled as tears quickly began to well in your eyes in panic. You had just started to stutter out an answer when Steve chuckled.

"I'm just kidding, sweetie, relax."

Your stomach flipped as you watched him smile—a genuine smile that split his lips and showed off his pearly white teeth. You blinked, stunned, taking in the smile lines in the corner of his eyes and the barely-there dimples on his cheeks.

"How 'bout this one?"

He showed off a modest nightgown with strings laced up the neckline, doily lace trimming the hem of the collar and the skirt and pink bows decorating the fabric. You scowled, barely stopping a grimace from spreading across your lips. Steve caught it anyway, huffing out a laugh.

"Not that one either, huh? Okay. . . . What about this one?"

He pulled out a sleeveless silk sleep-dress with lace tracing the neckline and the straps. The color of the silk reminded you of something a newly wed would wear on her wedding night, that off-white ivory that many women dreamed of. Knowing that was probably the simplest nightgown you had, you let out a sigh, your shoulders dropping.

"That one works," you told him.

Steve beamed, his eyes sparkling as he shut the dresser drawer, handing you the nightdress. "Alright then, go ahead and get changed."

You nodded, giving him a small smile back as you went to turn. He caught your arm, his grip firm yet gentle. "Where ya goin'?"

You frowned at him. "The . . . bathroom? To change?"

His grip on your arm tightened for only a second, enough to send a shudder down your spine. You bit the inside of your cheek to try to steel yourself, hoping you didn't look like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"You don't need to go to the bathroom to change, doll. You can do it right here."

"But—"

"Now, sweetheart. I won't ask again."

You nodded, shuffling the sweater off your shoulders. You ducked your head, your hands wringing the sweater tightly. "Could you—um—could turn around, at least? Please?"

Steve sighed and you dropped your gaze. "Fine. But you're gonna have to learn to get used to Buck and me eventually."

You nodded and watched as he turned, thanking him. You were quick to unzip the dress and let it pool at your feet. You struggled to unclasp the bra, grunting in annoyance when it wouldn't come undone.

"You need some help, sweetheart?" Steve taunted. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"No."

You decided to just slide the straps off your arms and shuck the bra down your body until you were able to step out of it, dropping it on the floor and pulling the nightgown over your head. It was shorter than you anticipated, the hem reaching mid-thigh instead of your knees.

"Okay, you can turn around."

Steve took two steps and he was facing you again, smirking down at you.

"You should drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold," he said.

"Oh, uh—right." You sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping your fingers around the mug before you took a small sip. Steve watched you intently, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. "So —um. . . where's Sergeant Barnes?"

"He's finishing the dishes," Steve told you. "Should be down here soon. Why, you miss him already?"

You felt your cheeks heat up, your fingers tapping against the ceramic of the mug as you sputtered out your answer. "N-no, it—it's not—I was just curious, is all."

Steve chuckled. You swallowed nervously, taking a prolonged sip from your mug—mainly as an excuse to avert your eyes from Steve's gaze. You kept silent, focusing on the warmth that flooded your chest every time you took a sip of your hot chocolate. You blinked lazily, your body feeling heavier. Steve sat down next to you, and as you turned your gaze you realized for the first time he had changed. Before, he was wearing trousers and a button-up shirt. Now, though, he's in sweatpants and a plain white shirt.

"Bucky thinks you'd like a record player down here," he said, "something so it isn't so quiet. We could get you some cd's, some records. Does that sound good?"

Not how does that sound? or would you like that? But does that sound good? He wasn't giving you any other option but to comply. To be okay with his decision. You blinked again, finding it harder to open your eyes this time as you nodded, muttering a soft, "yeah."

Steve smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. You jumped, spine going rigid as you felt his lips split into a grin against your skin.

"You're too cute, babydoll."

You swallowed, sucking in a shaky breath, bringing the near-empty mug to your lips. You couldn't tell if it was the trembling in your arms or if your hands were really shaking, but you gripped the ceramic tighter so you wouldn't drop it. You had never been called that before. Babydoll. You always hoped you would have a partner who would call you by that pet name, but the few boys you dated in high school and freshman year of college were. . . shallow. Your second boyfriend hardly ever told you he loved you. But—even still—you never thought the first time someone would call you that would be a situation as fucked up like this one.

The loud click of the lock broke you from your thoughts, the solid steel door opening slowly. Bucky Barnes stepped in, shutting the door behind him, smiling at you as you heard the dreaded lock click again.

"Hey, doll," he greeted. He ran his flesh hand through his cropped hair, smiling down at you as he crossed over to you and Steve.

You honestly couldn't tell if you acknowledged him or not. Your vision was clouding and your eyelids felt heavy like you could fall asleep in a second if the two men would let you.

"She drink her hot chocolate?" you heard Bucky ask.

"Practically chugged it," Steve answered. You frowned, not understanding their words. You looked down at your empty mug precariously, your brow furrowed as you tried to look for something obvious. Like a roach.

You shivered as Bucky took the mug from you, his fingers ghosting over yours and he smiled. You shuddered again, goosebumps rising upon your skin when Steve started combing his hand through your hair.

"What's the matter, baby?" Bucky asked. "You cold?"

It took you a moment to answer, your eyelids closed, as you mumbled out a soft, "yeah."

You felt Bucky's hovering presence leave for only a moment before it returned; you cracked your eye open to see him holding out a cardigan sweater.

"Go on."

You took it with a soft 'thank you,' and pulled the woven wool over your shoulders. It was so soft against your skin, you hugged your arms around your body as the plush fuzz tickled your bare arms, letting out a sigh. Your head started to droop after you closed your eyes and Steve had to nudge your chin up with his finger. You heard him chuckle.

"I think that's our queue to go to bed," he said. Your world was spinning then, as two hands came under the crooks of your shoulders and lifting you. You let out a lazy yelp as Bucky plopped you down on the center of the bed. You bounced on the mattress a few times before you settled, your eyes falling on Steve as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"Wha. . .wha're ya doin'?" you slurred, heart racing as you felt the bed dip.

"We're goin' to bed, baby," Bucky said like it was obvious, crawling into the bed beside you. You frowned at him, your mind foggy as you tried to wrap your brain around what was happening.

"I. . . no—I don't want—"

Steve shushed you, climbing into bed on the other side of you. His hand pressed against your chest, the width from his thumb to his pinky finger spanning across your entire front as he pushed you back with little effort. Your back landed on the plush mattress with a soft 'oof'. "You're just tired, sweetheart," he smiled. "Go to sleep."

You couldn't fight it. Their body heat engulfed you like a typhoon engulfing the mainland; it was overwhelming. You were imprisoned between the two supersoldiers and being forced into a slumber so violently it was like you were being smothered with a pillow. You let out a breathy whine as Bucky wrapped an arm around your torso.

"Hush, doll," Bucky cooed. "You're okay. Just close your eyes."

You fought some more, sluggishly flailing your arm and trying to bat away hands until Bucky had pinned you down, hugging your body flush to his. He crooned your name softly against your ear, his hot breath sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"You're alright, baby," he hushed. "Just relax, Stevie and I are right here. Just go to sleep, princess."

You didn't know if it was the drug or the cozy heat that radiated off of the supersoldiers—maybe it was both—but you drifted off soon after, your body feeling like maple syrup was running through your veins. Steve and Bucky watched as you settled down, your shoulders dropping as your breathing evened out.

"Is she asleep?" Bucky asked softly, lifting his head to look at Steve.

"Yeah, she passed out quick, I might've put too much of the sedative in her drink." Steve was on his side, arm under his pillow as he looked down at the girl curled against his chest.

"I told you, she isn't very big—half a dose would've done the job just fine."

"I just want her to be comfortable," Steve pouted, letting out a sigh. "She was so scared earlier. I just wanna show her she doesn't have'ta be afraid."

"It'll just take some time, Stevie," Bucky told him. "Soon enough, she'll see that this is what's best for her, I promise."

"Yeah." Steve paired with your hair, listening to your soft snores as silence filled the room.

Steve agreed with Bucky—it was too quiet down there. Apart from your small breaths, Steve could only hear the quiet buzz of silence. He thought about records he and Bucky could get you; you liked soft music—acoustic and folk/indie. You really liked an artist named Taylor Swift. Steve tried to ask Bucky if he knew who she was, but he didn't, so Steve ended up downloading her entire discography onto his phone—with Sam's help, who refuses to leave him alone about it. Steve actually liked a lot of her songs; he thought they suited you.

"Do you think it's too dark in here?" Bucky's low voice seemed to echo throughout the silent room.

Steve had been thinking the same thing. There was only a little night light plugged into the bathroom, so you had a little bit of guidance, but they'd have to get you another—maybe in the other room, if they got one bright enough. You were used to the city noise, the light seeping through the cracks of your blinds.

"Yeah," Steve whispered back. "We could get her another nightlight?"

Bucky hummed in response. "Maybe something that sits on her nightstand? It'd be a little brighter than a plug-in."

"Yeah, we'll look for something in the morning."

They stayed quiet for a while, both supersoldiers admiring you while you slept soundly between them. Steve ran his fingers through your hair while Bucky's traced shapes over your bare thigh under the blankets.

"This is perfect, Stevie," Bucky smiled, breaking the silence, reaching over you to grab Steve's hand.

Steve lulled in agreement, still watching the way your chest rose softly with your quiet breaths. "We waited so long for this, Buck, to have her here. She's gonna learn to love us, We just need to be patient."

"I just. . . she's right here, Steve. We're holding her and all I wanna do is fuck her until she can't think—but she's so scared. I don't wanna scare her."

"I know," Steve sighed. "But soon we won't have to control ourselves, she'll be begging for us soon enough."

Bucky had to stifle a groan just thinking about it — about how your little voice would sound begging for his cock, begging him to fuck you silly.

You shuffled between the two of them, letting out the smallest grunt as you readjusted. Bucky gripped your hip to still you, his thumb rubbing small circles into the divot of your hip. You stopped squirming, letting out a small huff before you relaxed.

"She's restless," Bucky noted quietly like he was talking to himself.

"Side effect of the sedative," Steve said. "We'll have to play around with the dosage. Maybe try half a dose tomorrow night, see if even that's too much."

Bucky nodded. "She'll need to eat more tomorrow, too. What she ate at dinner wasn't nearly enough."

"She had a big day," Steve countered. "She was hungover, for one. And she was a little shell-shocked, poor baby couldn't wrap her pretty head around all this."

Bucky huffed out a laugh as Steve grinned.

"I love you, Stevie."

"I love you too, Buck."

Your body protested the first time you woke up. Your senses were fuzzy, only half awake as you protested with a high pitched whine, curling in on yourself. You were so warm, so comfortable, it was lulling you back to sleep as you were struggling to wake.

"Shh, babygirl." There was a hand carding through your hair, drifting you back into slumber. "It's alright, go back to sleep."

You were too tired to actually comprehend the voice, or the hands in your hair and on your hip, running up and down your waist. You were too lagged to feel the two bodies crowding you between them, trapping you between their heat.

You drifted off again just as you felt the lingering touch of lips on your cheek.

The second time you awoke, you were much colder. Maybe that's why it was easier to open your eyes. It was pitch black in your room and for a moment you worried it was still the middle of the night—until you felt the bedsheets. It wasn't nighttime, there just weren't any windows in your prison. It could be noon and you wouldn't be able to tell.

You forced yourself into a sitting position, groaning when your head started to throb so violently you thought it was going to explode. You leaned forward to search for the edge of the bed, yelping as your hand never touched the mattress and you went toppling off the edge. You landed on the floor with a dull 'thump', pulling the covers down with you. You weren't able to catch yourself in time before your head smacked onto the floor.

"Fuck. . . ." you whimpered, shakingly bringing a hand up to your forehead. The lights flipped on, and two pairs of hands were on in less than a second.

"What happened, doll? Are you okay?" It was Bucky. His hands rested on your forearms as he pulled you up, cradling you to his chest. Steve's fingers grazed the bump that had started to form along your hairline and you winced, trying to escape the pain that jolted through your head. "C'mon babydoll, use your words."

"She hit her head," Steve said gently.

"M'fell," you grumbled, clutching at your temples.

"Why don't you let Stevie look at it, princess?" Bucky coaxed, hooking his finger under your chin and turning you to face Steve. You let out a high pitched whine in protest as you were forced out of the darkness the crook of Bucky's arm provided, your eyes closed as your head throbbed in the light. Bucky shushed you, his fingers running through your hair gingerly.

"She might have a concussion," Steve mumbled to himself, his thumb just barely grazing the contusion. "Nothing major."

You grumbled out a garbled response and burrowed your face back into the crook of Bucky's arm.

"No, baby, I need you to look at me."

When you refused to move your head, Bucky kissed your hair, whispering to you, "C'mon, precious. All you gotta do is look at Stevie for a little bit, then we'll turn the lights back off. Can you do that for us?"

You were quiet for a moment before you looked back up at Steve, cracking your eyes open. He smiled at you, sneaking a quick look at Bucky before he returned his focus to you. He holds his pointer finger up in front of your face and tells you to follow it with your eyes. He glided his finger to the left first, and your gaze followed until the appendix left your vision. He did the same thing to the right side. Your head was pulsating under your skull and you had to close your eyes, squeezing the bridge off your nose to alleviate some of the pressure.

"She has a small concussion," Steve confirmed. "We'll just have to keep an eye on it. Nothing else we can do about it."

"Get off me," you scowled, shoving yourself out of Bucky's lap. You were shaky as you stood, tripping over yourself before you found your balance.

"We're just making sure you're okay, doll." Bucky grabbed Steve's hand to keep him from shouting at you.

"You're the reason I fell in the first place," you grumbled, scoffing as you rubbed your temples. They were the ones who brought you to this basement, it was their fault you couldn't find the edge of the bed when it was so god damn dark.

"What'd you say, sweetheart?"

"Let it go, Steve," Bucky pleaded. Steve didn't listen.

You didn't have time to even blink before he was on you, hand gripping your jaw tightly and shoving you against the wall.

You winced when the back of your head collided with the wall, his fingers digging into your jawline.

"You wanna try that again, sweetheart?" he scowled.

A whimper escaped your lips, your small fingers wrapping around his large wrist.

"St—stop."

"Last chance, Sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," you squeaked. "I—I didn't mean it. . . I'm sorry."

Steve closed his eyes, inhaling like he was physically restraining himself, and stepped back. He let go of you and you gasped for breath, doubling over and wheezing.

"I'm not gonna tell you again," Steve glowered. "We won't tolerate your attitude. That was your last warning."

You nodded furiously, tears welling in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks.

"Get dressed," Steve ordered, motioning for Bucky to stand up. "We'll be back down with breakfast in a few minutes."

214 notes · View notes