aight mothers and fuckers of the jury we’re doin' just-shower-thoughts pjo edition: a lot of fics have fluff and couples being domestic and doing stuff like showering together and that's great and all but percabeth would just. not do this.
not for any angsty reason; percy just tends to somehow sync his shower temperature with that of the nearest ocean ("frigid," annabeth says, "this water is frigid, you absolute heathen.") and annabeth can and will try to match her shower temperature with that of the earth's core ("what am i, a lobster?" percy asks. "i will not let you boil me and serve me as a main course.")
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chris buries his face in his hands, hiding his reddening cheeks. “stoooop,” he whines out, “they’re getting too cringe.”
“baby. baby,” you reach out for him, still clutching your phone in one hand, “hey. are you french?”
he peeks at you, dodging any attempt for you to hold him. “i don’t want to know where you’re going with this--”
“because eiffel for you.”
another loud groan of embarrassment while you continue to giggle. “it’s not funny! you’re not funny!”
“you’re turning red!”
“because you’re not funny!”
you continue to scroll through the page, smiling hard enough that your cheeks hurt. “chris. are you a chicken--”
“--stop--”
"because you’re im-peck-able.”
“why do i love you.” he looks up, voice flat, despite how red his neck and ears have become. he buries his face in his hands again, letting out a muffled yell.
“chris... you know what’s on the menu today?”
he looks up, waiting for the awful second part to come.
“me-n-u.”
“i hate you.” he reaches out, pulling you closer. “i hate you,” he repeats, “why are you doing this to me?”
“because,” you giggle, leaning in for a quick peck, “you looooove me.”
... yeah. that’s it. he pulls you in closer, planting a longer kiss against your lips. he looooooves you and your silly pick-up lines.
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