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phykios · 3 days

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Kiss Me Where You Bruise Me Percy Jackson is fated to die on his twenty-first birthday, after a lifetime of battling monsters. Annabeth Chase is doing her hardest not to get attached, but towards the end of the war, emotions are running high, and she can only resist her feelings--and his kiss--for so long. (Aged up/stretchy canon au of PJO, rated E for smut) read on ao3

Annabeth could sense the dark mood which smothered the camp even from all the way inside the attic of the Big House. With an angry huff, she slammed her heavy book shut, a cloud of dust bursting from the pages, before sliding it back on the shelf. Wasn’t like she was going to get any work done now, anyway.

Sure enough, her suspicions were confirmed as soon as she came down the ladder, and was nearly bowled over by Will Solace as he half-dragged, half-carried Charlie Beckendorf to the infirmary. “Sorry,” she said, scooching back against the wall. “Rough quest?”

Beckendorf, to his credit, flashed a smile at her. “Nah,” he croaked, “walk in the park.”

Beneath his hand, which was pressed to his side, a red stain slowly grew on the orange fabric. She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s better than it looks,” Beckendorf protested as Will forced him down onto an infirmary bed. “Honest!”

Will snorted. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“You just did.”

“Tell me what happened,” Annabeth said, pointedly. She did not have time for banter.

Beckendorf hissed as Will pulled his shirt back, revealing three long, thin, wet stripes. “Remember how we said it was supposed to be a recon mission?”

Oh for gods’ sake–“What did he do this time?”

“In his defense, this time it was my fault.”

She stared at him.

“Honest!”

“I’m sure.”

“It actually was my fault this time–I accidentally tripped a wire, and then our recon turned into a–”

“A shit-show?”

He swallowed his gasp as Will pressed on the claw marks on his body. “Something like that.”

Annabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. “And let me guess. Instead of retreating, and salvaging the recon as much as he could, Percy decided that the best course of action would be to try and wipe the camp out, so the enemy wouldn’t know their location had been compromised.”

“...Well, yeah.”

“And did he?”

“Of course.”

“All of them this time?”

His silence spoke volumes.

She sighed again, headache already beginning to manifest. “And where is he now?”

“Where do you think?”

“You,” said Will, gently shoving Annabeth towards the door, “out. This could get messy.”

Annabeth had a strong stomach, but Beckendorf was turning green, and since Will hadn’t asked for support, it was probably something he could handle on his own. In any case, she did not want to be in the line of fire if something went sideways.

Besides, she had a son of Poseidon to find.

Not that he was hard to find. He was exactly where he always was.

The arena was empty, save him. That was not in and of itself surprising. General swordsmanship class had been indefinitely suspended as of last summer, so the kids had to get in their practice whenever they could, with whomever was around. And most of the camp was too smart to go toe-to-toe with their best fighter whenever he got into one of his moods. Even his flock of obsessive, simpering groupies were missing, instead of peeking around the corner to watch him as he worked, giggling between their fingers, putting the collective gossip machine of Ten to shame.

She heard him before she saw him, the smack of metal on straw punctuated with a grunt, or a growl. He looked as if he hadn’t even showered or changed after returning to camp, just dumped Beck at the infirmary and made a beeline for the arena, armor and all. Typical. Gone was the sweet, if sarcastic boy who had welcomed her to camp, and in his place was a scowling, broody, capital-W-warrior.

Recently, he had really begun to lean into something of a role here at camp–the prophecy child, the son of Poseidon. He walked around with an albatross so heavy around his neck, you could almost see the slump in his shoulders. He sat with his back turned to the rest of the camp at mealtimes, picking at his food, often leaving with a huff halfway through. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him at a sing-along, or a capture-the-flag game, or even just hanging around the camp, playing basketball and shooting the shit.

No, he had chosen to devote himself entirely to the war effort. Which, fine, whatever, it wasn’t like they couldn’t use it. She wanted to do the same thing, but she had siblings to look after. But he practically lived in the arena, training constantly. The piles of laundry and trash never moved, always the same shape and size from week to week–some of the other counselors were beginning to think that he slept there, too.

While the demigod in question was engrossed with mutilating the straw dummy like it had insulted his mother, Annabeth chose to take a seat on the bleachers instead, and wait until he had tired himself out enough for him to take a break. She had made the mistake of interrupting him during a set before, and would like to walk away from this without his sword in her face.

The minutes stretched on, and he kept slashing. She was sure that he had registered her presence at some point. But he kept on fighting.

Annabeth sighed, resting her head on her knees.

Even after all this time, after all the quests they had done together, he could still confuse the living crap out of her.

Percy Jackson. The strongest demigod of his age. And he knew it. Which was half the problem.

He had been at camp longer than anyone else here. Annabeth, who had arrived at fourteen, escorted by a satyr who had picked her up in Richmond, had been as awed as anyone when she first heard about him. And who wouldn’t be? He had gutted the Minotaur with its own horn at age ten. He had bested Luke Castellan in swordsmanship at twelve. Annabeth hadn’t been there when he and Thalia had been placed on opposite capture-the-flag teams, but she’d heard about it afterwards–and had seen the overturned trees around the flooded creek.

Despite the rumors, their first meeting had been thoroughly unimpressive. After all the talk of his talent and his prowess and his preference for being alone, she had clocked him, not entirely incorrectly, as mostly bark and very little bite, using his power and his sarcasm to keep people at bay. But she was able to match him snark for snark, and in no time at all, they were fast friends, a bond only made stronger by the life-threatening quests they had undertaken together.

She’d seen him at his best–training with the pegasi, commanding a great war ship through a dangerous sea, holding aloft a blue flag after successfully executing her flawless capture-the-flag plan. And she’d seen him at his worst–shivering after holding the sky, squeaking incessantly as a guinea pig, tied to Procrustes’ mattress. He’d faced more monsters than anyone else at camp. Probably more than any other demigod in a long, long time. And it had made him… well, not pig-headed, not really. Percy was, at his core, too humble to be truly arrogant.

But something had definitely changed over the last few years. He had become sullen, withdrawn, quicker to anger. Then one night, he would show up at the campfire, and it would be like nothing had changed. Like the sweet kid had become a kind leader, offering encouragement to his peers and comfort to the younger ones. And then the next morning, he would saunter out of his cabin, hair a mess, a glazed, satisfied look in his eyes, and all of Cabin Ten would be abuzz, trying to piece together what had happened.

Then by lunch, he’d be in a bad mood once again. And on and on and on.

Twenty years old and a living legend, with the weight of the cosmos on your shoulders. Annabeth could sympathize. But she couldn’t even imagine.

How could he walk around with that weight all the time?

A hoarse yell and a clang snapped her out of her thoughts, and she lifted her head to a familiar scene.

Percy stood, fists clenched, shoulders tight, over what was left of the dummy, now sliced and diced into stringy bits, no more useful than a pile of pegasus hay. His sword–not his precious Riptide, oh no, just one of their few good training weapons left–was on the other side of the arena, its blade bent nearly at a forty-five degree angle. Annabeth stood up, hands on her hips. “Hey! Seaweed brain!”

He turned to face her. She could see the arrogant arch of his brow from across the room.

“Easy on the equipment!” She stomped down the steps, resisting the urge to shoulder check him as she went to get the sword. “We only have so many of these.”

Percy shrugged. “And how is that my problem?”

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this.” She picked up the weapon, examining the bent blade. Oof. That was ugly. “Not damaging the weapons is rule number two.”

He only shrugged again, turning away to kick the remains of the dummy into something of a pile. Annabeth felt her eye twitch. “Again, how is that my problem? Just get someone from Nine to deal with it.”

“And who do you think is going to fix this?” She asked, brandishing it at his back. “Jake? He’s busy with the warship? Nyssa? Supply run. And now Beck’s not in any kind of shape to do anything–”

Whirling around, he bared his teeth at her. “Don’t,” he hissed, “bring him up.”

“Oh, I’m gonna.” Gripping the leather so hard it hurt, she stepped toward him. “Easy in and out, you said. No fights. No attention. Just stealth. And now, I’ve got Beckendorf in the infirmary, just barely keeping his guts from falling out.”

“I got us out of there,” he said, “and I took care of the monsters. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s all that matters?” She was aware, distantly, that she was only a few steps away from yelling at him. Already. They’d barely started talking. Something about him just drove her fucking crazy. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, General Chase,” he mocked, rolling his eyes at her. “I’ll just do all my missions solo from now on. No more dead weight.”

Anger rose from her stomach, hot and ugly. “Is that a joke?” she repeated. “Those are our friends that are getting hurt trying to keep you from doing something stupid!”

His jaw rounded out, stubborn. “I didn’t ask for him to do that. I don’t need your help.”

“We’re fighting a war, Percy,” she said. “We have to help each other. That’s what it means to be on the same team.”

“I don’t care about your stupid team.”

“That’s why you’re in here, breaking our last good weapons? Because you don’t care?”

“Look,” he nearly spat, drawing himself up to his full height, looking down at her. “I have one job –to be the hero of the prophecy. To defeat Kronos. Everything else–that’s your business, not mine.”

And then he turned. To walk away. From her.

He didn’t get more than ten steps before Annabeth had hurled the sword at him. It bounced off his armor, harmlessly, but it got his attention.

“Hey! You could have–”

“Hurt you?” She marched up to him, poking him in the chest with her finger. It had about as much effect as the sword. “How? You’re the big hero, after all. You’re untouchable!” And then she shoved him.

He stumbled back, tripping over his foot before righting himself. “I’m not–”

“Not what? Not the hero?” She shoved him again, but he was ready this time. “That’s funny. You’ve only been preparing for it your entire life, right? That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?”

“Annabeth–”

“Every quest, every monster, every fight, they’ve all been so you can have your precious glory,” she snarled. “You and your destiny! Doesn’t matter how many of us get hurt in the process, does it, as long as you get to be remembered–”

“That’s not fair–” He started, face coloring with indignation.

But she wouldn't hear it. Sick of his face and his attitude and his destiny, she moved to shove him one more time–and he grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t,” he warned, voice as hard as a crashing wave, “do that again.”

His gaze bored down on her, and she stood as firmly as stone against it. She could feel his heartbeat through the press of his fingers on her wrist.

“Or what?” she asked. “Next time it’ll be me instead of Beckendorf?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed, and with a snarl, he released her arm, uncapping his sword in one smooth, clean move.

This, Annabeth understood. She and Percy weren’t always on the same page, but this? She could work with this.

In response, she drew her knife.

Percy didn’t even wait before launching himself at her.

His opening salvo had all the force of a tsunami crashing to shore, and if Annabeth had been any slower, it would have slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. She side-stepped it easily, following it up with a quick jab to his center. He dodged it, of course. They had sparred with each other too often to not recognize the other’s signature moves.

Usually, when he got like this, it took someone on his level to knock some sense back into him. Thalia was best at it, but wasn’t around enough to be reliable. Nico worked in a pinch, though there was enough bad blood between them that parts of camp tended to get leveled by the end of it. If it was an emergency, Clarisse could step in and hold him off for long enough until he tired himself out.

But no one else was here. It was just Annabeth.

Fortunately for her, she’d had almost her whole life to study Percy Jackson.

He lunged, and in a move that Luke Castellan had taught them both, she feinted out of the way at the last second, before diving in towards him behind the reach of his blade, where she grabbed his arm, and flipped him over her shoulder. He landed with a satisfying thud, the breath knocked out of him.

There. “Now, are you going to–”

He swiped wildly at her feet, and she jumped back.

Swifter than she thought he could be, he scrambled to his feet. He advanced on her, bringing his sword down in an overhead arc, which she handily blocked. “Please,” she scoffed, light on her feet as she shifted to his side. “I know how you fight. I know you.”

Eyes narrowed, he twisted, bringing his sword down towards her leg, where her blade was already waiting. Block, block, block, each ringing clang of their weapons sounded in a rhythm Cabin Seven would be proud of as Annabeth fended them all off. Because she did know him. He might drive her crazy, he might hiss and growl and glare, but they had fought alongside each other too long to not know each other, down to their cores.

Of course, that meant that he knew her, too. And he knew very well that her fatal flaw was pride.

So sure of herself, she hadn’t noticed that he had steadily closed the distance between them. With a flash of bared teeth, right in her face, he caught her wrist in his left hand, pinning her in place. “You don’t know a thing about me,” he hissed.

In the dim light of the arena, his already sharp features sharpened even further, eyes glinting with fury. Mouth open, he was panting, his shoulders heaving with the effort of having to keep up with her. Good.

“You’re right,” she said, knifelike. “Maybe I don’t know you. Because I always thought you considered us your friends, instead of just your cannon-fodder!”

He roared, shoving her forward, and she skidded across the grass, nearly tripping over her feet. Distantly, she noted that her wrist was throbbing.

Percy swung his sword, building up his energy, and holding it aloft, he charged towards her, every inch of him radiating near-deadly intent.

There was no way she could block this strike.

So she decided to take a page out of Percy’s book.

Dropping her knife, she charged right back at him, aiming low.

She caught him around the middle, and their opposite forces sent them both tumbling to the ground. They rolled, limbs flailing as they fought for the upper hand, like two waves crashing into each other.

But he wouldn’t be taken off guard a second time. Using the new momentum, he rolled so he was on top of her, his big hands pinning her wrists to the ground. Annabeth fought like a woman possessed–a soft grunt from above indicating that she got in a good hit or two–but he was simply too strong for her to throw him off.

“I guess you really don’t know me at all,” he spat. His lip had split at some point, a single drop of dark blood lingering at the swell of it. “Because anyone I consider to be my friend would know that I would never think that.”

“Could have fooled me,” she growled, pulling her legs up behind him. If she could just get the right leverage, maybe she could twist them and–

Anticipating her move, he shimmied down, dropping his hips over her thighs. She tried to lift her arm–to punch him or shove him or something–but he slammed them back down towards the ground.

She wasn’t going anywhere. And he knew it.

But she had one last secret weapon.

“At least you bothered to bring him back with you,” she said, unkindly–and a little undeservedly, if she was being honest. “If I had been on that mission instead of Beck, would you have left me behind?”

“Never,” he swore. “I would never.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Percy glared at her, with all the fury of a volcano. She swallowed, worried, for a moment, that she had gone too far. That it was actually true. That maybe he could leave her behind, especially after everything she just said. That maybe she really didn’t know him after all.

And then he did something that she wasn’t expecting. In retrospect, though, she shouldn’t have been surprised. She had done the same thing to him, after all.

He kissed her.

Turns out, he had a secret weapon, too.

His mouth was hot on top of hers, the bead of blood from his lips falling to her tongue. She gasped, and he invited himself in further, his hand coming up to cup her face. Freeing her arms.

She could have pushed him off. Told him to go kick rocks. Instead, she buried her hands in his hair, and brought him closer.

How long they lay there, making out, she didn’t know. All she knew was that it was entirely too short–one moment, he licked at her lips, pressing her further into the dirt, and she whined, high in her throat, and in the next, he was standing a respectable distance away, hands over his mouth, eyes wild. Annabeth blinked, momentarily stunned. Had she hallucinated the whole thing?

“I–” he stammered, uncharacteristically nervous. “I–I’m sorry, I–”

Annabeth scrambled upright. Oh no he fucking didn’t– “Don’t you fucking dare–don’t you run away again.”

From the way he had put his weight on his back foot, he was about to do just that. “Excuse me?” he asked, gaping at her.

“You heard me.”

“Me? Run away?”

“Yes, you,” she said, gripping the grass hard enough to rip. “You’re a coward, Percy Jackson.” Here he was. Kissing her, and running off again. Last time, it had been to Calypso and Ogygia. Who might he choose over Annabeth now. Or maybe he’d choose a new god or goddess, perhaps. Romance Thetis or fuck Ganymede while Annabeth trained for his war. And pined away for his kiss.

“Go fuck yourself,” he said, wiping the blood from his split lip, made wet and shiny with her spit.

She threw a piece of grass at him, like it would do something. “Fuck me yourself” she snarled, blood racing hot. Not Calypso or Thetis or Ganymede or Aphrodite, but her, who was here and desperate and was fated to be screwed up forever by his kiss. By the memory of his hand, cupping her cheek, of his hair between her fingers, of his blood in her mouth.

The grass, predictably, did nothing. But her words, apparently, did.

He turned to stare at her, two sword lengths apart. Both of their weapons were on the ground now. But it felt like they were up and at the ready, pointed at each other’s chests. Because what else could this tense, coiled feeling in her stomach be?

His chest heaved from exertion, a faint sheen of sweat gathered at the line of his thick, black hair, and she couldn’t help herself from tracing a drop as it ran over his brow, to his nose, to his lips, and finally his tongue, poking out from his lips to lick it up. A swell of jealousy rose in her, her tongue pressing against the back of her teeth, like it was trying to get to him. She clenched her jaw and looked away, digging her nails into the dirt floor to try to anchor her back to earth.

“...What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she muttered. “You won. Whatever.”

In the corner of her vision, she saw his hand, outstretched and extended, and she took it, allowing him to pull her up off the ground. His long fingers, perfect for curling around the hilt of a sword, wrapped around her palm, his thumb inadvertently swiping over the bruise where he had grabbed her, and she suppressed a wince.

“You okay?”

Not well enough, it seemed. “Fine.”

His hand in hers, he brought it to his face, inspecting the purple spot. She could feel his breath on her fingers, so soft and gentle, an unexpected counterpoint to his firm, steady grip. “I’m sorry,” he said, unable to meet her eyes.

“It’s okay.” It didn’t actually hurt that bad. It’d probably be gone by tomorrow morning.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes dark and stormy. Looking into her own, their hands still clasped together.

And then he leaned forward and she met him halfway.

The last time anyone had ever kissed Annabeth Chase was at a party after the Harvard-Yale game her freshman year, before she’d decided she had to take a leave of absence to be a full-time demigod. (Even her dad agreed that if the world ended, there would not be a lot of use for BS in Architecture. But neither of them were happy about it.) The guy had smelled like beer, and had half his face painted crimson. She’d also been a little drunk. Mostly because the tequila shots her roommate had provided had ended up stronger than camp strawberry wine, which had always been her go to drink of choice. Before that had been Noah from her freshman seminar. Which had been one long exercise in disappointment. After disappointment. After disappointment.

He pulled away, breaking off with a quiet gasp. “Did you mean what you said?” he asked.

“What?” She had said a lot of things. And her brain was a little bit scrambled from the kiss.

“You told me to…” He trailed off, flushing. Then, like he was about to face a monster, she saw him swallow, square his shoulders, and look her in the eye again. “About fucking you.”

She blinked. “What?” And this wasn’t happening. She could not be interpreting this correctly. Percy Jackson, hero of Olympus, greatest demigod alive, who could have any mortal and likely any immortal woman he wanted–Percy Jackson, who was going to die in just over a month, on his twenty-first birthday–was not asking her this.

“You told me to fuck you,” he said, unflinching, having apparently gathered his strength. “Do you mean it?”

There had to be a way to save face with this. To not come off as one of his little groupies. To not set herself up for the inevitable heartbreak at the end of the summer.

She could deflect quickly, accuse him of spending too much time at camp if he didn’t know a simple figure of speech. Make a joke about him being too forward. Make a joke about his dad and him being too easy. Ask if he was just worried about dying a virgin. (A stupid thought. He was too handsome, too powerful, too good to not have girls around camp throwing themselves at him. She’d seen it. And he was kind, and sweet, and good. But he wasn’t that good.)

She was the smartest person in the camp. She could get out of this. She was the smartest person at camp. She knew it meant men like Percy Jackson didn’t want to sleep with her.

But from behind his stormy gaze was something else–desperation, from a young man doomed to die. He needed this… and maybe she did, too.

She nodded. “Yes. I do.”

He blinked, like he was taking a moment to process what she had said. “Okay. Come on, then.” Turning, he led her away from the arena, never letting go of her hand.

Outside, darkness was settling in. She thought he might be taking her to the infirmary, which she thought was a little bit extra for what was a minor bruise at best, but he took them in a different direction. She could have pulled away, kicked him in the balls, or flipped him into the dirt again. But she didn’t.

Together, they made their way in silence to the halo of cabins, their shadows stretching and melting across the grass in the last few rays of daylight. Annabeth’s slowly deteriorating rational brain couldn’t even spare a thought to worry about someone possibly seeing them–though, apparently, that wasn’t an issue at all tonight, as Camp was practically deserted, almost deafening in its silence. In lieu of chatter and sword clangs and laughter, there were owls, the gentle waves on the beach, and her heartbeat, loud enough to drown it all out.

Still holding her hand, he led her to his cabin, making quick work of unlocking the door. Most of the cabins didn’t have locks, but she knew there had been a few… incidents… of kids hoping to filch a souvenir from the mysterious lair of Percy Jackson. After the third decoy pen had disappeared, Beck had pitched in to help.

But a lair it was not. It looked exactly like it had the last time she’d been there–a pile of laundry here, scattered candy wrappers there, the Minotaur horn still proudly displayed on the wall, gleaming darkly in the low light. Annabeth hadn’t been inside n months, ever since the last inspection ended up with her stubbing her toe no less than three times on a couple of loose nails which Percy had sworn up and down hadn’t been there five minutes ago, but she would have remembered seeing the giant fountain which now stood in the corner of the room. So it must have been new.

“Redecorated recently?” she said, intending it to be a little harsher than it came out.

“Gift from dad,” he replied, closing the door behind them.

“Oh.” She could have guessed. The water pouring out must have been warm, a spray of mist ringing the edge of the basin, but she shivered anyway.

The hand which had held hers moved to her arm now, gently turning her to face him. The fight was over. The walk back to the cabins wasn’t exactly difficult. And yet, he was still breathing hard. Like he just couldn’t catch it.

The cabin was warm, sweet but not suffocating, but for a moment, she was thrown back to a dark cavern in the heart of a volcano, searing heat all around her, his t-shirt in her grip, her mouth against his. Her pulse skipped a beat as he brought his hand up to her hair, threading his fingers through her curls, and then he kissed her again.

But “kiss” wasn’t really strong enough to describe what he was doing to her.

In one moment, he held her like she was made of glass, and in the next, he had her crushed to his chest, lips pressed against her own. His arm had snaked around her waist, firm like iron, and somehow he had managed to slip his even firmer thigh between her own.

Wiggling a hand between their bodies, she gripped his shoulder, using the leverage to pull her mouth away, catching her breath. “Well,” she chuckled, a little light-headed, “someone’s excited–”

He cut her off, capturing her lips again, pulling her even tighter to him. His mouth felt hotter than any volcano. The hand in her hair pulled, ever so slightly, a calculated move to open her mouth so he could properly plunder it with his tongue. Clever. She didn’t think he’d had it in him.

She could appreciate a good strategy. But she wouldn’t be taken down so quickly.

The hand in her hair drifted sideways, gently turning her head so he could move his attack to her neck. And as she stood there, wrapped up in his embrace, she realized that she had made a grave miscalculation.

Percy Jackson was not, apparently, worried he would die a virgin. He knew exactly what he was doing. Even when he pulled back, cradling her jaw, his thigh between hers the only thing keeping her from following. “Tell me again,” he said. “One more time.”

She blinked, uncomprehendingly. “Excuse me?”

“Do you want to do this?”

“You’re really asking that with your knee on my crotch?”

At least he had the decency to blush, peach dusting the tips of his ears. “It’s like with the fighting. I’m asking because I’ve been told I can get a little… intense.”

A sickly feeling went through her stomach, sharp as a knife. “By who?”

Stone-faced, he looked away, his jaw snapping shut.

Names and faces of potential culprits flashed through her mind: Drew, Katie, Miranda. All potential candidates. But if they had managed to bag Percy Jackson, everyone at camp would have heard about it before breakfast. There was Rachel, obviously, even if she didn’t want to admit it. But if it had been her, he would have been more embarrassed. He knew how Annabeth felt about her.

Then she remembered–he had been missing for a month after he exploded the mountain. Lost beyond the reach of mortals. And when he had returned, he was different. Older, somehow, and maybe sadder. Like something had been lost.

He released her, and she shivered at the sudden touch of air against her skin. “Go ahead and hop in the shower,” he said. “I’ll lock up and join you in a minute.”

“Shower?”

He raised an eyebrow. ��We are a little smelly from earlier.”

On cue, the stench of cooling sweat hit her all at once, and she blushed.

Percy snorted, then kissed her cheek. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll just be a second.” And off he went, picking up a spare shirt and a couple of candy wrappers. How thoughtful of him.

Showering was thoughtful, too, but it also seemed pretty silly to her. Like, they were only going to get sweatier in just a little bit, so what was even the point?

Still, she had to admit, it was a nice shower. She was always fighting with her cabin mates for shower times, and they had instituted a strict, five-minute limit on water usage. Perks of living by yourself, she supposed–unlimited access to the bathroom.

And perks of living in Cabin Three, apparently–the shower turned on immediately, a wave of gentle, consistent pressure which already started pumping out warm water. Had he paid his cyclops brother to gut the plumbing and redo the whole thing?

Spoiled, supercilious ass.

Shoes and socks kicked off and haphazardly discarded in the corner, she stripped off her camp shirt and shorts, piling them on top of the closed toilet seat, before hesitating as she went to remove her bra. Which was stupid. How was she supposed to shower and have sex with someone while wearing her underwear? And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to take it off, her fingers stayed by some invisible force as they rested on the straps. On the other side of the wall, she could hear Percy humming to himself, tuneless, his footsteps soft against the wooden floor.

She was being stupid.

She swallowed her pride, and shucked off her bra and underwear, laying them gently across the rest of her clothes.

The water ran hot, pleasantly so, steam filling the bathroom and fogging the shower. Shaking out her hair from its wispy, half-undone ponytail, she decided against letting it run free, putting it back up in a bun instead. She still had a day or two left in her shampoo rotation, no need to mess with it now.

She sighed as she stepped in, the water pummeling her stiff shoulders, forcing them to relax, and she considered the merits of using what she presumed to be Percy’s soap, which rested on the corner shelf. Picking it up the bar, she sniffed it, carefully. Instead of gross boy smell, she got whiffs of salt, lavender, and sandalwood. It was nice.

“You can use my soap if you want.”

Only her many years of battle training kept her from jumping, slipping on the wet floor, and banging her head on the wall as she went down. As it was, she only flinched–barely–whipping her head around to glare at him.

Of course, her carefully constructed insult withered away in her mouth as she got her first look at his naked body. His perfectly formed, perfectly shaped body. Fuck. Look at him. What the fuck.

His lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. For a moment, she was stunned. When was the last time she had seen him without a scowl? “Can I come in?”

“S–” she coughed, dryly, and he raised an eyebrow. Cracking her head open might have been preferable. “Sure. Yeah. Your shower.”

And he slipped into the shower with her.

“May I?” he said, holding his hand out.

She stared, uncomprehending, until he flicked his eyes to the soap. Wordlessly, she handed it over.

“Turn around,” he murmured. “I’ll do your back.”

And wordlessly, she did.

His hands were the same temperature as the water, but she still flinched as he put them on her, one on her shoulder and one on her hip. “Easy,” he said, and she hated the way his tone made her flush.

Slowly, carefully, he began to wash her with his soap. His hands skimmed over her skin, hypnotic, and despite her best efforts, she relaxed even further. She didn’t even jump when he stepped closer to her, his warm breath softly puffing against her neck, then the press of his lips to her ear even softer. She sighed, and he hummed, kissing the spot again.

Annabeth stood there, submitting to Percy’s attentions, and her nerves slipped away with the water. It wasn’t very long until she was fully leaning into him, her back pressed right up against his firm chest, his hands wandering over her hips and thighs and stomach. Distantly, she recognized the brilliance of the soap trick–it was an easy way for him to get his hands on her, and boy was it working.

And boy was she not bothered by it.

“So,” she asked, after a while, “is this a thing for you?”

He hummed, a wordless question.

“Washing people. Is it a kink?”

He snorted. “Hardly. We’re just sweaty.”

“So it’s the shower, then.”

This time, he actually laughed. “I’m not a shower sex person, no.”

She turned her head to look at him, frowning. “Seriously?”

Shrugging, he drew the bar of soap behind her ear, and she had to clench her teeth to stop herself from moaning. “Most of my previous partners aren’t much for showering.”

Wait, what? “Are you sneaking off to some hippy commune on off days?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“Nah, too much effort. The lake’s right there.”

“...You’ve lost me.”

He shot her a look, slanted, eyebrow raised.

She frowned, mind racing. He hadn’t slept with anyone from camp. He didn’t go off into the mortal world. The lake was right there. Who would… Oh. “The naiads? Really?”

“Who else am I going to hook up with here? If I slept with another camper, everyone would hear about it by breakfast the next morning.”

And yet, here she was, in the shower of Cabin Three. Clearly, he didn’t mind the gossip if it was about her. Heat pooled in her stomach, zipping through her veins.

“I guess that makes sense,” she said, turning back to face forward. She couldn’t look at his bare chest for too long without getting weak in the knees. She couldn’t think about his perfect body pressed up against the inhumanly beautiful water spirits without wanting to be sick. “They always were incorrigible flirts.”

“Yeah, well.” His hand now clean, he began wiping the soap off her body, taking care to cover every dip and curve. “I don’t really think it was me they were interested in.”

She swallowed, her stomach twinging unpleasantly.

The naiads were incorrigible flirts, with everyone, but they were especially aggressive with Percy. Even when he was a boy, she would always spy them blowing him kisses from under the water, or spot them leaving him little gifts of braided duckweed crowns outside his cabin, or at his table in the dining pavilion. That a flirtation might escalate to something… more… didn’t exactly surprise her.

But it did piss her off.

And the thought of Percy, handsome, kind Percy, in the hands of an inhumanly beautiful spirit… well that just pissed her off more.

Lost in her thoughts and the feeling of his hands, it took her a minute to put together just what his fingers were tracking on her stomach, which twinged again, for an entirely different reason.

“What’s wrong?” Percy asked. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she ground out, cheeks hot. “It’s nothing.”

She felt his breathing, measured his calm, and could almost hear his incredulity when he asked, “You’re not ashamed of your scars, are you?”

“Well…”

Annabeth could almost picture the furrow in his brow as he parsed her words. She could turn around to see it, too, if she wanted, but she found herself frozen in place, held still by the trace of his fingertips over the white, jagged lines which hadn’t come from a weapon or claw.

“The stretch marks?” he asked, after a moment. “Seriously?”

“You literally just told me that you like to hook up with the naiads,” she grumbled, her attempt at crossing her arms aborted by the fact that they were trapped under Percy’s. “Excuse me for being a normal girl with body issues.”

“What for?”

She turned back to look at him. His face was just as she had pictured it. “Seriously?” she echoed.

“Seriously. You’re…” He trailed off, still frowning, but she could see the wheels turning in his head. At least he was thinking about what to say, rather than just blurting out some silly, basic, uninspired ‘beautiful’ and calling it a day.

When he didn’t follow up, she wondered if he had something critical to say instead.

But no, he only turned her around, pressing her up against him once again. Cupping her face, he leaned down, pressing another deep kiss into her, and she couldn’t help but lean into it, too, wrapping her arms about his neck, standing up on her toes. His hands, now free to roam, covered as much ground as they could, stroking her neck, her back, her sides, and lower, and lower. Warm hands moved from her shoulder blades to her ass, cupping the swell of it, holding her there. Waiting.

For what? Should she jump into his arms? She wouldn’t necessarily mind that. Was he an “up against the wall” kind of guy? How would that have worked underwater, anyway?

He broke away from her mouth, panting, and he gasped, “You think too much.”

Without realizing it, she had been rendered breathless as well. Too well, maybe. She wasn’t thinking at all, at the moment. “What?”

“I can feel your brain working.” He kissed her again, one hand traveling back up to her hip, and she actually whimpered into his mouth. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Ah. “So I’m all brains, no beauty, then?”

He pulled back, frowning again. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s not exactly an insult,” she said, leaning up for another kiss. And it wasn’t. The long-simmering tensions between Six and Ten were common knowledge. Athena’s children prioritized one over the other, and it wasn’t the one that would put her in league with the pretty water spirits.

He let her, but not for very long. “You’re both.”

“It’s really okay–”

“It’s really not.” He kissed her this time, and hard. Harder than before, Her toes curled, and suddenly she was very grateful for the hand on her ass which didn’t let her fall. “You’ve always been both.”

Her response was quashed by his tongue in her mouth, swallowed up by the nip of his teeth on her lips, snuffed out by the squeeze of his hand on her hip.

“You,” kiss, bite, gasp, “are,” he moved to her jaw, then her neck, then her shoulder, planting hot kisses on each inch of skin, hotter than the water which pooled around their feet, “beautiful.”

“Okay,” she said, fighting through the moan which threatened to burst from her chest, “now you’re laying it on a bit thick.”

His only response was to drag his teeth across her jugular, soothing the trail of fire with his tongue. He kissed across the line of her collarbone, his lips pressing hot burns into her skin, and she shuddered as he reached her sternum. His hands traveled up her sides, but she had no time to mourn the loss, especially as his fingers came to rest just beneath her breasts.

Flicking his eyes, wine-dark, up to hers, he rested his mouth just above her skin, one eyebrow raised, a silent question, seeking confirmation. Even the hot puffs of air over her chest were enough to make her tremble, and she had to bite her tongue to keep her eyes from fluttering closed.

“Seriously,” she said, latching onto the last bits of sanity she had left, “you’ve already got me naked in your shower. You don’t have to flatter me into your bed. I know I’m not as hot as your immortal harem, it’s fine.”

It was. And she was almost comfortable with that. She might have been, if it were all a question of abstractions, and not the knowledge that whatever sweet words he whispered, Percy Jackson would, inevitably, compare her to them. She might have been, if she could ever hope to measure up to them.

Annabeth was only a mortal. How could she ever compare to such inhuman beauty?

“Stop that.” His thumbs, ever so slightly, tilted up towards her breasts.

“Stop what?”

“Comparing yourself to them.” Lowering his head, his eyes never left hers, as deep and inexorable as a whirlpool. “Especially when this is so much better.”

And he brought down his lips and teeth around a nipple.

She jumped–into him, and he smirked.

He kept her pinned there for a while, groping and grasping at her, and all the while, he feasted himself upon her. There was no other word for it. He covered every inch of skin with his mouth, moving from breast to breast and shoulder to shoulder, dragging his tongue over her, hot enough to burn. She let her head fall back, making room for his hungry mouth which peppered kisses up and down her neck.

So close to him, she felt his dark chuckle vibrate into her bones, skittering down her spine, scratching that most perfect itch, and she groaned, her hips stuttering as she faltered. Thank the gods for his leg, her shaking knees only stabilized by the thrust of his firm thigh between hers. He brought his hands around, roughly grasping her other breast, and she nearly jumped again. “W–what–” A squeeze, hot and hungry, and her thighs trembled. “What are you talking about?”

In lieu of an answer, he bit her again. His teeth clamped over the pulse point in her neck, and he sucked. Hard.

Someone should have informed Annabeth’s body that the neck wasn’t an erogenous zone, but it clearly hadn’t gotten the message–with every suck, every nip, every burning press of his lips, the ache between her legs only grew hotter and hotter. She clutched him to her, digging her fingers into the muscle of his shoulder, and felt his laugh all the way into her blood.

Eventually, he released her, with one final swipe of his tongue across the newly growing bruise. “Gods,” he hissed, staring at her neck. “Look at you.”

She swallowed, feeling the throb of her broken skin almost inside of her. A good, omen, hopefully.

“Your neck.” He dipped down to kiss it again, before moving south. “Your skin.” His hand ghosted beneath the swell of her breast, fingertips leaving burning trails. “Look.”

She did. She couldn’t not.

The hot steam of the shower had turned her skin pink. Old scar tissue, years of mostly victorious battles, criss-crossed her body, the lines now nearly white. Percy traced them with his fingers, kissed his way across the map of her body, from breast to stomach to hips. “Perfect,” he murmured, getting down on his knees.

Flushing, as hot as the water, Annabeth looked up at the ceiling, lip between her teeth. She couldn’t look at him. Not like that. Not with his eyes shining, dark and hungry. Not with the way his hands cradled her hips, firmly but gently.

And then, he smacked her ass.

She yelped, hopping up onto her toes. “The hell–!”

“I’ve wanted to do that forever,” he said, that slanted grin making her melt. “I always wondered what color you’d turn if I spanked you.” He flicked his gaze up at her, eyes so blown out they were nearly black, and he smacked her again. And again. “Oh yeah,” he grinned. “That’s a nice red.”

Presumably, her face was just as red as her ass was now. “Good for you.”

Good for her, too.

“Annabeth,” he called from below. “Look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she did. He knelt before her, and she saw his hands along her thighs, his mouth parted, lips and tongue wet–and his cock. Hard. Red. Painfully at attention.

“You don’t know how much I thought about you,” he murmured, taking one leg and draping it over his shoulder. “How I used to dream about you.” He pressed a kiss to her thigh, and Annabeth, embarrassingly, moaned, a long, deep, drawn-out thing, which only served to make him grin. “About this.”

It was impossible to mistake his intentions here. He had telegraphed it every step of the way. And yet, even with him on his knees, his mouth between her legs, and hunger in his eyes, it still surprised her when he put his tongue to her cunt.

She gripped his hair, spine bending, and felt his lips curve against her skin.

Okay. Definitely not a virgin.

Hot breath puffed against her thigh, and he dragged the flat of his tongue over her folds, wet, slow, and obscene, over and over again, so loud she could hear it, even over the roar of the shower. One hand came up to brace her against him, splayed out over the small of her back, while the other dug crescents into her skin, little sparks stoking the fire ever hotter.

Annabeth had given head maybe once or twice, but she’d never gotten it. She’d endured a few finger fumbles from less-than-skilled practitioners in the heat of the moment, and decided that she didn’t want their faces anywhere near her vagina. And to hear it from the girls around camp, a lot of guys, both mortal and demigod, weren’t exactly enthusiastic about the whole cunnilingus thing.

Not so with Percy. He knelt beneath her, sturdy as a statue, his onslaught against her showing no signs of stopping. Before long, he had abandoned the flat of his tongue, trading wide coverage for a more concentrated area of attack. As smoothly as he used his sword, he slid his tongue between the folds of her cunt, the sharp edge opening her up, little by little, the point flickering along her clit, sending tiny shocks all up into her.

Blood roared in her ears, fighting with the heavy spray of water, the wet smack of his lips, the rhythmic grunts of pleasure she only realized came from her when he pulled back, grinning up at her, and said only one word: “Louder.”

Suddenly she was very grateful for the sounds of the shower spray.

She was even more grateful when he moved from merely licking along the seam of her cunt to sticking his tongue right inside it. A moan broke through her throat, punching out of her almost painfully, and she curled over Percy’s head, gripping his hair even tighter, which only had the added effect of pushing her hips further into his mouth.

Seizing on the sudden change in her center of gravity, he readjusted her leg to put more weight on his shoulder, freeing up the hand on her back for a much more important task–slipping his finger inside of her.

“Fuck,” she moaned, clenching around the thick slide of it. “Percy.”

His smirk burned against her thigh, and he pulled her even closer, locking her into his embrace, lips and tongue and teeth and hand sending her ever closer towards the edge at an alarming rate. Annabeth had never gotten so close to orgasm with anyone so quickly before in her life.

Hell, she’d never gotten so close to orgasm so quickly, period.

She wanted to tell him to stop, or slow down. If this was to be their only night together, then she wanted to enjoy it, not fumble through as quickly as possible. Rhythmically, she flexed her fingers in his thick hair, attempting to hold on to the few functional brain cells she had so she could tell him something fun and sexy, like, Why the rush, or It’s not a race, until he pressed the mound of his palm up against her clit, and her brain shorted out entirely.

And when he licked it, wrapping his lips around and sucking, it was all over.

She came, hard, curling over his head, moaning so wantonly it would make Eros blush. If Percy hadn’t been beneath her, holding her trembling body, she might have fallen over entirely. She must have missed a few seconds, because suddenly, Percy had slithered out from under her, and had gathered her up in his arms again, kissing her so fiercely she could taste herself on him.

“Annabeth,” he moaned, his breath as hot as his hands. She could feel him against her, as hard as bronze.

She would have responded, if he hadn’t rendered her completely useless. Her tongue felt numb in her mouth, battered by his, a slick, wet, heavy onslaught that she never wanted to end. A siege she desperately hoped would never be broken.

Eventually, though, after she had been kissed thoroughly stupid, he let up, pulling back more than two inches away from her face. “Okay?” he ground out, his voice rough and gravelly, wrecked like he was the one who had been doing the screaming.

“Hng,” she responded, eloquently.

It was only the smallest shred of lingering pride which let her walk out of that shower on her own two feet, rather than have Percy carry her to his bed, like she was some kind of blushing bride. The thought brought her, a bit cruelly, back into herself, and she shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the sudden absence of the warm water as Percy shut off the shower. “Okay?” he asked again, his hand on her waist, and she nodded, swallowing at the feel of gooseflesh which ran through her body.

She nodded, running her tongue over her lips, a pleasant spark bursting inside her as she watched his eyes track it. “I thought,” she said, the taunt lightly undercut by the audible sigh in her voice, “that you were going to fuck me.”

His eyes darkened, trench-deep, and he moved his hand to entwine it with hers, entirely too gentle for the way he growled out his next words: “If you wanted a good fucking, all you had to do was ask.”

“Isn’t that why you dragged me into your lair?” she asked, leading him to the bed. She needed to sit down or her legs might give out. “To give me a good fucking?”

Before she could sit down, though, he pulled her to him again, fastening his lips to her neck. “I think,” he whispered into her skin, “that you should ask me for it.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” And then he nipped at her jugular, lightly, and she gasped, twitching in his arms. “Ask me to fuck you.”

“Percy–” she tried, half-heartedly, to squirm out of his embrace, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Mm?” He licked her ear, and she squeaked. “What was that?”

Annabeth pushed at his chest.

In response, he blew a raspberry on her.

Shrieking, she managed to twist her way out of his arms, and shoved him lightly onto the bed. Percy made it easier, laughing too hard to hold onto her. “Asshole.”

He leaned back, resting on his elbows, a smooth, fluid motion, the dim lights of his cabin casting his chest and stomach in sinful shadow. “Aw, let me have my fun,” he chuckled. “First time I tried that on a naiad, she thought it was some kind of mysterious, human wedding rite.”

Something in Annabeth’s chest grew hot. She wasn’t sure what was worse–the reminder that Percy had slept with the naiads, the idea that he had tried something human with them and they had misunderstood it, or the use of the w-word. Wedding. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “How would you like it if someone sprang that on you?”

He grinned, sharklike. “I think I’d like that very much.”

It hit her, then, what position they’d ended up in. Sprawled out before her, Percy had let his legs fall open, a twitch away from bracketing her between them. And there, staring her in the face, was his cock. Hard. Pointed at her.

She swallowed, her mouth filling with saliva. Which was a new experience.

Nothing about her previous sexual encounters had ever inspired her to try fellatio before. She’d given a couple of handjobs, sure, but this was uncharted territory. In theory, the idea had always sounded… decidedly unappealing. Penises were gross, as were often the guys attached to them.

But there was Percy’s cock. It didn’t look gross at all.

It looked perfect, and purple, and so, so fucking pretty.

Only the creak of her knees as she knelt down was able to snap her out of her trance. She wasn’t exactly the most graceful person–she guessed she should be thankful she had managed to get down here without collapsing in an embarrassing heap. She tried not to picture the naiads, creatures of otherworldly grace and poise, slithering down to kneel before their lord’s son.

And then she realized his cock was at eye-level, and all other thoughts went out the window.

“Hey.” Percy’s hand was on her cheek, and he tilted her face towards him. His eyes were soft as he looked at her, the heat of the moment not quite as intense as before. “You don’t have to,” he said, even as his fingers skated beneath her chin. His thumb hovered before her lips, twitching.

“You don’t want me to?” She asked. Experimentally, she flicked out her tongue, making contact.

“I… don’t know how to answer that question,” he said, hoarse.

“You don’t?” She looked again to his cock, and breathed on his thumb, her breath as hot and wet as she could make it.

It twitched. He hissed, like he had been shocked.

In response, she laughed, deep in her throat. “Seems like you just did.”

And then, in what might have been the most brazen thing she had ever done, including inviting the son of Poseidon to fuck her out of nowhere, she reached forward, and took his thumb into her mouth. She drew her tongue against the skin, licking the clean taste of him, and hollowed her cheeks in an exaggerated suck.

Spots of red appeared on his cheeks, and his jaw dropped open. “Gods,” he growled, a tone of voice she had never heard out of his mouth before. Something deep inside her pulsed, and she decided to do it again.

“Gods,” he said again, eyes as black as a sea storm.

Dragging her tongue along the line of his thumb, she let her eyes flutter close, lips curling as she heard him groan, wrecked like a ship on shore.

“Gods,” he said a third time, his fingers delicately cradling her face, and a thrill went through her. “The fucking mouth on you.”

Releasing his thumb with an obscene pop, she pressed forward, ready to put that mouth to use. And she wanted to. She wanted to hear her name as it spilled from his lips, in choked, bitten-off gasps, or long, loud moans. She wanted to send his eyes rolling, to have him tangle his fingers in her hair, bending over her as she brought him to ever higher heights. She wanted to make him feel as amazing, as wanted, as he did for her.

But he had other ideas, evidently. “C’mere,” he murmured, pulling her back up to him. He wasted no time, kissing her senseless, occupying her mouth in other ways. Hungry hands gripped at her hips, her tits, her chin and her cheeks, and she just let it all happen.

Well, almost. “I thought,” she said, panting just a little, “you wanted me to–”

He cut her off with a kiss. “Not tonight,” he said, softly, before going back for more.

But she pulled back, confused. “What do you mean?” Tonight was all they had. He was going to die soon. She’d never get the chance to suck his dick if not tonight. She’d never get the chance to do anything else with him if not tonight.

Slowly, achingly tender, he tucked a curl behind her ear, all passion deserting him for the moment. “I don’t…” he swallowed, then, suddenly shy, before bringing her in closer, enveloping her in an embrace.

After a second of shock, she returned it, wrapping her arms around him. Even with a girl naked and in his lap, perched on top of his hard cock, nevertheless he held her far more gently than she ever imagined he could be capable of. He buried his nose in her neck, his breath hot against her skin, and if she hadn’t been so close, she never would have heard his next words.

“I don’t want you like that,” he said, barely audible.

She was proud of how little her voice betrayed the sudden, cold shock that came over her, like she had been dumped in the lake. “Oh.”

“No, I mean–” He shook his head, nose against her skin. “Not at my feet.”

Not at–...ah. Of course. The naiads.

I don’t really think it was me they were interested in.

She pressed her lips to his hair, already bone dry even after their shower. “Okay,” she promised. “Okay, I won’t.”

He nodded into her neck, and just held her for a little while longer.

“Besides,” he said, after a moment. “I like this just fine.”

She tilted her head back, giving him more access. “Like what?”

“You.” Kiss. “Here.” Another, lower on her neck. “Smelling like me.”

Cheeks red, she let him pepper kisses all over her skin, fingertips tapping scattered rhythms against his shoulders. Any time she tried to pull away, he dug his fingers in deeper, hands tightening about her waist, a quick nip to her neck to keep her in place, and she just let him. Let him explore her body like the seas they sailed through and the labyrinths they’d traversed together. His hands traced a path from top to bottom, from neck to spine to stomach to clit, as sure and confident as though he had Ariadne’s thread, and she couldn’t help but sigh at every burning touch and scorching kiss. With every stroke and every bite, he pulled a moan from her, playing her as skillfully as any musician.

“That’s it,” he growled, leaning down to kiss between her breasts. “Don’t hold back–I want to hear your moans.”

Oh, he did, did he?

Tipping her head back so she could look down her nose at him, she met his eyes, and shut her jaw with an audible clack.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

Annabeth raised hers back, a silent challenge.

“Oh, we’re being shy now, are we? What happened to the girl who basically fellated my thumb?” He bent his head towards her breast, grazing his teeth across the skin, running his tongue around her nipple.

She had to chew on her lips to keep her mouth shut. A squeak still managed to escape, but he had just given a sharp bite to her nipple, so she thought that was allowed. Soothed by the swipe of a tongue, Annabeth swallowed her moans as best she could, which meant that it had to come out in other ways. She tightened her legs around his, squirming on top of his lap, gratified by the hiss that came from beneath.

Grinning, Percy took up the cause with vigor, slipping his fingers inside of her.

Was she so turned on it hurt? Yes. Was it getting harder and harder to keep her noises in? Absolutely. But she wasn’t going to sit there and just take what he was giving her. She wasn’t one of the simpering naiads who only treated him as an extension of his father.

She was Annabeth, and she refused to make it easy for him.

And judging from the gleeful glint in his eyes, he was certainly enjoying it.

In one smooth motion, he turned them over, laying her down on his bed. She grabbed him before he could pull back, bringing him down with her for another blisteringly hot kiss, and he went with no resistance to speak of. Not content to confine her hands to his hair, she let them wander all over the expanse of his body, paying him back in kind as much as she could. His arms, his shoulders, his back, his ass–oh dear gods, his ass, how in any of the nine realms could anyone have an ass that perfect–until eventually, she reached his cock, which jumped as she wrapped her fingers around it, giving it a few slow, languid pumps. In her arms, he shuddered, moaning so deep in his chest she felt it vibrate through her body. He shifted, and his hips accidentally rocked up against hers in the most perfect angle.

It was enough to break her self-imposed silence, and she gasped, sharp and broken.

When he did it again, she realized it was no accident.

“You motherf–”

Percy kissed the curse out of her mouth, leaving her breathless. Like a man possessed, he threw himself back down onto her body, kissing and licking and sucking and touching a path towards her cunt, and she was almost paralyzed at the pleasure of it all.

When he reached her stomach, she finally had collected enough oxygen to ask, “So, how am I doing?”

He lifted his head, blinking at her uncomprehendingly. “Huh?”

“In bed. How am I doing? How do I measure up to the nai–”

A bite, and she gasped. “What did I say about comparing yourself to them?” he asked, and followed it up with another bite, this time on her thigh. “It's really not fair to them.”

“What?” she gasped. She almost hadn’t heard him over the ringing in her ears.

He pulled back, and looked up at her. And she felt more then watched as one of his sword calloused fingers moved to trace along her knee, where she had a scar. It wasn’t a battle scar. Not even from training. When she had been little, she’d fallen down while ice skating and ended up cutting her knee on a branch resting on the lake.

“Have you ever had sex with a nature spirit?”

She blinked at him, the gears furiously turning in her head at this break in sensation. Annabeth was a person who could count her sexual experiences on one hand, and reached a peak exactly none of those times. It was fairly well known that water and plant spirits tended towards women, especially around camp. Though she might have been closer to bi than straight, Percy Jackson didn’t know that. She didn’t exactly want to share all of this with him, either. So she shook her head.

He sat a little further back, which was not really the action she wanted him to do, but she was more desperate for him to explain than she was to complain.

“They’re so perfect,” was the only answer he gave her, looking at her face, and then back at the scar on her knee, brushing it with his fingers, and then petting a little lower down her leg.

With an unsexy twist to her stomach, she realized he was looking at the leg hair. “Sorry.”

He looked up at her again, frowning, before placing a kiss on the scar. “You’re not listening,” he said again. “They’re perfect. They’re some sort of weird ideal. Everything is smooth and perfect, like it was carved from marble based on some platonic ideal of a woman.”

“Because that’s so reassuring.”

Percy placed another kiss on her thigh. “And fucking marble is like fucking anything platonically.” He sighed, just the barest shade of world-weariness peeking out from behind his careful facade. “There's nothing there. Not really. No flaw. No evidence of fighting. No humanity.” He grasped at her thigh, where another set of stretch marks lay. “They can't have anything like this. Because they can’t grow and change. “ He smirked at her, and the world settled back into balance a little. “Their asses certainly don’t turn red when I give them a good smack.”

You could probably power a small country with the heat coming off her face. She should talk to Jake about developing a new, renewable energy source out of this. But still, something nagged at her.

Apparently, he could tell. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.

“I know you’ve…” She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, blocking the words from coming out.

He sat back on his haunches, hands gently resting above her knees. “What is it?”

“I’m…”

Some kind of understanding flickered in his eyes, and he pulled his hands back. “Okay. We don’t have to do anything–”

“Percy.” She shot her hand out and grabbed his before he could get too far away. “That’s not what I want.”

“Look, if you’re feeling weird about this, we can stop right now–”

Shaking her vehemently, she tugged on his arm to bring him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge. “I’m not feeling weird, I promise. I mean,” she tilted her head, considering, “I am, but not about–about you.”

He softened, just a hair. “Then what is it?”

Sighing, she looked down at his hand, twining their fingers together. “You’ve done this a lot, right?”

A pause. “Well, yeah. I mean, mostly with the naiads. But yeah. I’ve… done it a few times,” he said, sheepish.

“Okay, well, I haven’t.”

His eyes widened. “Never?”

“Not never,” she clarified. “Maybe once or twice. But never with someone I actually…”

The air grew tense, like a wave about to hit. Percy spoke, hushed, like they were in a temple, instead of his bed. “Someone you actually…?”

Swallowing again, she flicked her eyes back up to him. He was still, like a shark, poised and ready to strike. In the dim light, he looked even more handsome, his black hair thrown into disarray by her fingers, his lips swollen and kiss-bruised, his thumb gently stroking against her palm.

“Someone I actually like,” she finished, barely more than a puff of hair.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he bent over, laying his head on her stomach. “You don’t even know,” he said into her skin, voice strained almost to breaking. “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

Before she could even begin to parse what he had just said, he returned to his earlier task of learning her body with his mouth, but with a renewed vigor. Or maybe a new frenzy would be a better way to put it. He held her hips firmly with his hands, shoving them down every time she so much as twitched as he attacked her cunt with lips, teeth, and tongue, feasting on her like she was his last meal. Overcome by this sudden onslaught, she could do little more than hang on for dear life, fisting her hands in his sheets, and soon, she found herself racing perilously close to the edge again.

“Per–” she gasped as he sucked on her, “Percy, I–”

But he would not be stopped. Fastening his lips to her labia, he lavished stroke upon stroke upon her, his nose bumping up against her clit in a way that made stars burst in her eyes, and then, all of a sudden, she had tipped over the cliff.

The cabins were supposed to be pretty soundproofed, but there was no way the whole camp didn’t just hear her scream like that. Hopefully they thought it was just a harpy or something.

Panting, almost dizzy, she lay there, attempting to gather her bearings, while Percy kissed his way back up her body, stopping at every waymark he had left on her skin, each bite and nip and freckle, pulling her down from the heavens until she fell back into her body, trembling from the force of her orgasm. There was something in her ear, and it took her a few extra seconds to put together that Percy was speaking to her.

“You’re so amazing, so beautiful, so hot,” he babbled, kissing up and down her neck, “you are the most amazing woman, I can’t believe I finally get to have this, gods, Annabeth–”

Turning her head with only a little difficulty, she cut him off, her lips apparently proving too tempting for him to not kiss.

She couldn’t stand hearing those words coming out of his mouth. Not from someone who, in just a month, would in all likelihood be–

His knuckles brushed over her sensitive clit, and she jumped, about to refuse, because she simply could not handle a third mind-bending fingering tonight, but he just grunted in apology. Instead of his hands, then, she felt the soft, smooth tip of his cock, bumping up against her opening. She shivered, breath stuttering in her chest. “Please,” she mumbled, “please, please, please–”

He slipped in, a smooth, agonizing motion, which sent her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into the skin, and it took her a moment to realize that the high, keening sound she heard was coming from her.

His arms pulled her in even tighter, and with a sigh, he began to move.

Annabeth had had sex before. Both times before had been lackluster, uninspiring events, where the guy had clearly learned all of his techniques from porn, jackhammering away at her vagina without really knowing what he was doing. She figured being with Percy, with his long and storied history, would probably make for a much more notable experience. But she was completely unprepared for just how much better it could be.

He rocked her like the tide, a slow, steady, insistent movement which set her nerves sparking from top to bottom. Pleasure lapped at her from every side, washing over her in waves, while Percy’s body kept her anchored, one hand against her back, the other curling about her neck. She could feel as he dug his knees into the mattress, could feel the corded muscles in his thighs as he moved in her, traced the shifting muscles of his back with her fingertips, and she couldn’t help but let out a long, broken moan. “Percy,” she gasped, “I–I–oh–”

He didn’t respond, only kissed the corner of her lips, open-mouthed and sloppy. Then he pulled away, and she almost whined at the loss of contact.

“So, how is it?” He asked her, with barely more than a puff of air.

“What?” She had no idea what he could mean. Why was he asking her questions at a time like this, if the answer was anything other than “more”?

He grinned. “Having sex with someone you actually like?”

She rolled her eyes. Or she would have, if he hadn’t given her a particularly satisfying thrust that made her legs twitch. It was hard to think straight, because, really, it was amazing, but she shot back anyway, “How is it having sex with someone actually human?”

“I told you,” he said, and his grin dropped, just a little, “you are so much better than a thousand naiads together could hope to be.” He let out a breath, and then grasped her torso, and with a force she definitely knew he had but hadn’t seen outside of the training grounds, rolled them over, leaving her on top. A position she’d never tried before. “And now,” he said, twirling a curl around his finger, “I want to see it from a different angle.”

Momentarily, she was overcome by the sudden shift in sensation. Under him, it hadn’t been bad, of course, but compared to the fingering of a lifetime, it hadn’t quite measured up as of yet. Now, she needed a second to get used to the feeling of him inside of her all over again. From this vantage point, he seemed bigger somehow, filling her every nook and cranny, the intensity crashing on her like a wave.

Below her, he smirked, somehow reading her mind. “Good?”

Well, if he wanted to be like that, fine. She could wipe that stupid grin off his face.

Her own face was bright red, she was sure, but she was determined not to lose this rematch. What was the point of core workouts and leg days anyways if she never put them to some use?

Gritting her teeth, she tightened her legs around him, pleased at the stutter in his breath. She rose up, hissing at the slick slide of his cock inside her, the drag of sparks which shot up through her spine, and her fingers trembled on his shoulders as she lowered herself back down. Then she did it again. And again. And again. Beneath her, Percy’s chest moved with the controlled force of his breath, his hands flexing on her hips. Biting her lip, she shifted forward an inch–and cried out as the new angle made it so he pressed up against a spot which made her eyes cross.

“Oh, gods,” he groaned, head thrown back. “Oh, fuck–Annabeth, gods.”

She liked that. She liked that very much.

And this, she thought as she began to ride him. She liked this very much, too.

Over and over, she struck down on that spot inside her, and eventually, she couldn’t stay silent. Each thrust down startled a moan out of her, climbing higher and higher until you could practically keep time with it. Percy writhed below her, panting, his stomach flexing rhythmically, until he could no longer stand it and surged up, crushing her to his chest, and set about to fucking her.

His cock stabbed up into her at the same, torturous pace, making her see stars, her moans swallowed up by the press of his mouth on hers. She could feel the muscles of his strong arms bulging, burning like brands across her back. Tearing his lips away, he kissed a meandering path to her ear, and asked, mumbling, “Is this–unh–is this good? Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes,” she gasped, jolting as he nibbled on her earlobe. “Yes, Percy!”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck, it’s so good–ah…”

“Tell me you want me–please.” He kissed her jaw, slurring the word into her skin, the movement of his hips sloppier and sloppier.

There was no cockiness in his tone, no jokes. No self-satisfied smugness. Only desperation. A desperation to please her.

“I–want–Percy–touch me–”

And like a seasoned sailor navigating the stars, his fingers found her clit–and she was done.

Boneless, she flopped in his arms, her arms around his neck the only thing keeping her from toppling off him as he chased the last of his pleasure within her. With a broken, wrecked noise, he squeezed her impossibly tighter, his hips stuttering beneath her as he buried his face into her shoulder, gasping for air. He shook, his body seizing around her and in her, and she couldn’t help but echo his cry at it, the current of feeling dragging her back down into the depths. Submerged in it, surrounded by it, she clutched at his shoulders, riding the last lingering shockwaves of electric pleasure that skittered through her body.

Slowly, agonizingly, he relaxed around her, a gradual release of pressure. But he didn’t release her, falling back instead with her still in his arms.

“Damn.” She felt him more than heard him, a soft sigh which vibrated under his sternum and into her. “Damn.”

She grunted in agreement.

Time slipped away as she lay there, sprawled out on the bed of his body, resting her head on his chest, keeping the minutes only by the furious pounding of his heart against her ear as it slowed down, as they both came down from the skies together. Apparently unable to keep his hands off her even after sex, he twirled her hair around his finger, the gentle tug keeping her grounded. It could have been hours until she managed to scrape together the energy to raise her head to look at him. He was looking at her, a soft, shiny glow behind his eyes. “That was nice,” she said, hoarse.

The corner of his lips quirked up. “Oh yeah? We should do this again sometime.”

Laughter bubbled up out of her, and he followed suit, the movement jostling her body. “Ugh,” she winced, gently pulling off of him. “I’m going to feel that in the morning.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

She flopped down beside him, sending him a grin. “I’ll let you decide.”

“Come back,” he pouted. “I want to cuddle.”

“Never would have pegged you for a cuddler.” She shifted into him with little hesitation, humming as his hands took up residence in her hair again. “Doesn’t that kind of ruin your heartbreaker reputation?”

“I love cuddling.” He brushed his knee up against hers, sliding his arm beneath her head. “And I don’t get to nearly as often as I would like.”

“Naiads aren’t big on post-coital snuggles?” The thought made her inexplicably happy.

“Imagine trying to cuddle a person-shaped jellyfish.”

She frowned. “Wriggly? Squishy?”

“Hard to hold. The sea doesn’t like to be restrained, you know.”

“Or the lake, in this case.”

He huffed a laugh. “I guess.”

She could have responded, but there wasn’t much she could say that wasn’t horribly rude to the water spirits, so she let them fall into companionable silence instead. And it was companionable. Percy gently carded his fingers through her hair, and she drew aimless patterns on his chest with her finger, lines and angles which slowly formed themselves into letters: alpha, nu, alpha, beta, epsilon–

Percy stilled beneath her. “Oh, shit.”

“What? What is it?”

He sat bolt upright, staring down at her. “You don’t…” he swallowed, color rising to his face. “You don’t happen to be on birth control, do you?”

“...Excuse me?”

Groaning, he fell back, hands over his face. “We didn’t use any protection.”

“...Oh, shit.” You know, she did feel damper than usual down there.

Without thinking, she snaked a hand down, swiping a finger through herself, and brought it back up, observing.

Yup. That was definitely semen.

Well.

She was pretty sure Will had some Plan B squirreled away somewhere in their stores.

Suddenly, she was very aware of Percy looking at her.

Studiously ignoring his gaze, she popped her finger in her mouth, licking it clean, and he made a noise like he had been stabbed.

“Di immortales,” he wheezed. “You’re trying to kill me.”

Pleasure stirred in her, purring like a cat, but she decided to ignore it. For now. “So, are you always this lax with protection with the naiads, too? Are we going to see an influx of little Percys in nine months?”

“There better not be.”

“Would a condom even work with a naiad?” she wondered aloud, more to herself than anything, but Percy shook his head.

“It wouldn’t. But there won’t be any mini-mes running around.”

“How do you know?”

He gulped, audibly. “I, uh… I made them swear not to have my children.”

Raising an eyebrow, she shot him a look. “You made them promise? Really?” Like that would do anything. Nature spirits were flighty and impulsive by nature. So kind of like demigods, really.

“No, I mean…” His gaze turned up, suddenly very interested in the wooden ceiling beams. “I made them swear on the Styx.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah. I didn’t–I didn’t want…” He trailed off. Annabeth’s mind rushed to fill in the blanks. The responsibility? The burden? The hope? “I didn’t want to leave someone behind. Who didn’t know their father.”

Annabeth couldn’t respond. Her heartbeats ticked by like seconds, counting down to his birthday.

He coughed. “Um, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“And–and also, I wouldn’t want them to use any potential kid of mine as a bargaining chip, either. You would not believe how complex undersea politics can get.”

A bargaining chip? “For what?”

He shrugged. “Power. Bragging rights. Marriage.”

Her brain short-circuited. “Is… that something you want?”

He looked at her for several long moments. “Not with a Naiad from the camp lake who settled for Poseidon’s son when she would rather fuck Poseidon instead.” He looked at her. And somehow there was more to it than when he had been inside her. “But I’m not opposed. To the concept of marriage. In general.”

She couldn’t–she couldn’t think about that. “Well, clearly that’s not what I’m here for.”

He raised a dark eyebrow, the edges of his devil-may-care smirk pulling on his lips. “Oh?”

“Come on,” she said, lightly shoving him. “You think I’d be interested in marrying you?”

The words dropped between them, as heavy as a stone in water.

She cleared her throat. “I mean, I didn’t fuck you to have your baby, either.”

“Uh huh.”

“I mean, I don’t want to fuck or marry your dad!”

“I think your mom would disown you if you did.”

“Stop being a seaweed brain,” she said, “I’m trying to say something nice.”

“By all means.” He was smirking again. Right this second, maybe it wasn’t annoying, maybe it made him look roguish and handsome.

“I like you. And not because you're the son of Poseidon. But because you’re Percy Jackson.”

It was true that the power he held, the strength and skill, flowed from the same source as his father. But it wasn’t Percy’s ability to control the waves that enchanted her. It was that he had that power, and he used it. But he also helped little twelve year old campers with sword stances, and made messy evil eye charms in the arts and crafts tent to give to homesick kids. He could be both.

And that gentleness, that caring nature, was not something she saw reflected in Poseidon.

“Oh.” He said again, but he looked a little less cocksure, “So… what…”

“I mean… It's not like all that power isn’t hot. But lots of people have power. You know when to use it,” she said. “And when to be kind. Or take a step back.” Or let her have her say. Let her offer her opinion, and then take it into consideration. It was so much hotter than just having strength.

He grinned, slanted and shit-eating, even if it was a little shaky. “Hotter, really?”

Fuck, she hadn’t meant to say that part out loud.

“Really,” she said, trying to keep the embarrassment off her face. At this point, it was probably already too late, though.

Apparently satisfied, he let the topic drop, sparing her the humiliation of explaining herself further. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tired, and it’s getting pretty late…” He trailed off, meaningfully.

Oh. Well. She supposed that was her cue. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side, only for Percy to reach out and grab her hand.

“Where are you going?”

“To my cabin? You just said it was late–”

“I was trying to imply that you should stay. Here.” He turned those eyes on her, brimming with equal amounts hope and apprehension. “With me.”

Oh. That was… “That’s against the rules,” she said, carefully. Guarded. Gauging.

“...Yeah.” His shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Still. “...Maybe we could… meet up tomorrow? I mean,” she forced a laugh, “I still owe you a blowjob, right?”

For a long, drawn out moment, he didn’t answer her, only rubbing his thumb against the side of her palm. And then, softly, muted, like he was speaking underwater, he said, “Right. Yeah. We can–we can meet up tomorrow.”

He didn’t sound very confident. But he let her go all the same.

In short order, she had slipped into the bathroom, quickly re-dressing herself, and now lingered at the door to his cabin, wondering how best to say goodbye. It seemed as though he hadn’t moved at all, still lounging nude on his sheets, his perfect bronzed form exposed to the open air, arms drawn up and behind his head, his brooding gaze fixed firmly somewhere above him. “Well,” she said, entirely out of words. “Good night.”

“Night.”

She waited a heartbeat more, then slipped out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

They’d see each other tomorrow. They’d both agreed to it.

If she had her way, they’d see each other every day for the rest of their lives. But they didn’t have the rest of their lives. She only had until the end of the war. Only the rest of his life.

Eyes suddenly hot, she swiped at them furiously, and began making her way back to her cabin.

Tomorrow, then. She’d make tomorrow count.

…And she would make sure to stop by the infirmary tomorrow morning, too.

#my fic #pjo fic #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #perseannabeth #for mari bc i love her sm!!!

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spencerreidsbookfairy · 3 days

Text

you made me miserable

guys, this is short im sorry buuut i could make it up to you by writing the teams reaction to the songs?? fair deal? I think so

1 month.

It had been one month of no contact with Spencer. I've been declining his calls, hell i've even ignored him when i heard him knocking at my door thank god i wasn't at that level of popularity where paparazzi follows me everywhere. Hm. I wonder if his team has mocked me for that too. I can already imagine it, it's almost hilarious.

Anyway

I've written three songs about him about them not because they won because i wanna humiliate them have the internet speculate who the songs are about (even though they'll never know its him)

Some thoughts cross my mind as i begin to upload the tracks

Am I being dramatic? I mean the internet has said worse, maybe i should sleep on it-

No no no y/n stop it your feelings are valid i think to myself. I impulsively upload the tracks to all websites

Track 1 : snow angel

Track 2: lost cause

Track 3: happier than ever.

The main parts of each song is the part i want him to hear, for example

Snow angel: I tried so hard

I came so far

I met a boy

He broke my heart

I blame him 'cause

It's easier

Track 2: lost cause

I used to think you were shy

But maybe you just had nothing on your mind

Maybe you were thinkin' 'bout yourself all the time

I used to wish you were mine

But that was way before I realized

Someone like you would always be so easy to find

So easy (so easy)

He-hee, mm-mm-mm, mm

Gave me no flowers

Wish I didn't care

You'd been gone for hours

Could be anywhere

Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah

Track 3 : happier than ever

You call me again, drunk in your Benz

Driving home under the influence

You scared me to death, but I'm wasting my breath

'Cause you only listen to your fucking friends

I don't relate to you

I don't relate to you, no

'Cause I'd never treat me this shitty

You made me hate this city

And I don't talk shit about you on the internet

Never told anyone anything bad

'Cause that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything

And all that you did was make me fucking sad

So don't waste the time I don't have

And don't try to make me feel bad

I could talk about every time that you showed up on time

But I'd have an empty line 'cause you never did

Never paid any mind to my mother or friends

So I shut 'em all out for you 'cause I was a kid

You ruined everything good

Always said you were misunderstood

Made all my moments your own

Just fucking leave me alone

Now…was spencer ever driving drunk in his car??? No was he just sitting in his car drinking while he called you complaining about how he fucked up and misses me?? Yess

And now we wait.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds incorrect quotes #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x famous!reader #spencer reid x singer!reader #spencer reid angst

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homeofthelonelywriter · 10 hours

Text

Adventures of a Songbird

(A/N) Just a short blurb. Maybe I'll do a stand-alone-series with Songbird, I think I like her flow.

Pairing: Simon x Reader (platonic for now)

Warning: mentions of suicide (it's in a song), scottish slang generated via a translator

Synopsis: Let's just say you got your callsign for a reason.

“What’s oan today’s menu, Songbird?”

You chuckled at the question, the melody of your current earworm already on your mind. But before you could respond to Johnny’s question, Simon chimed in, always the spoilsport.

“Let’s stay focused, shall we?”

Your eyes rolled almost by themselves, but you humored your Lieutenant and kept your lips shut, even when Johnny complained. Instead, the three of you continued on your way through the abandoned streets until you reached the point where you had to split up. Simon climbed onto the roof of a skyscraper under construction and kept a lookout from there while you continued to the right and Johnny to the left.

“Ye in position Lieutenant?”

Simon hummed in response and you smiled as your steps unconsciously quickened, knowing he had your back. With a newfound efficiency, you cleared one building after the other, slowly but steadily pushing toward your target. And before you knew it, the tune was back in your head.

You quietly began to hum along to the song as you filled in the lyrics in your head. Even your steps started to match the beat and you were in the zone within a few seconds.

“Songbird, don’t.”

Any recruit would have pissed their pants if they had heard Simon speak to them in that tone, but you had stopped taking him seriously early on in your friendship. Probably one of the reasons he likes you so much, you weren’t afraid of him.

“But Lieutenant, didn’t you know? Don’t try suicide, nobody’s worth it. Don’t try suicide, nobody cares.”

You heard Johnny chuckle on the other end of the radio and soon he joined in, while Simon just groaned in faux annoyance. Johnny and you repeated the chorus before another voice suddenly chimed in.

“As much as I like to hear that you’re enjoying yourselves, I think it’s best we focus back on the mission, yeah?”

Your chuckles died on your tongue, your tone shifting to a more serious one immediately.

“Of course ma’am, our apologies.”

As soon as Laswell left the line, you groaned into the mic.

“Can’t believe you snitched to mom.”

Simon chuckled when you called Laswell mom, something he had found weird at first, but had grown to like after some time. After all, you called Price behind his back and if he had to be honest, it fit.

“Someone had to reign you two in. Now come on, let’s get this over with so we can leave.”

You hummed in agreement before continuing on your path, a small smile taking over your face when you heard Simon quietly hum to “Don’t try Suicide.”

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Call of Duty - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

#ghost #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #cod #cod fanfiction #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #fanfiction

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themultifanshipper · 1 day

Text

The crash was horrible. You scared yourself and everyone else when your car hit the wall with a sickening crunch. But the person you scared the most was Sebastian.

Warnings: Smut, oral, squirting, plot is similar to my other Seb fic (it was based on the same prompt) but this one is more angsty and fluffy and the vibes are completely opposite lmao, but the smut is also disgusting, barely edited tbh

His car had minimal damage, so he was just going to carry on, but the glare of flames in his mirrors was enough for him to panic and stop the car to go and help get you out of the flaming wreck, despite Christian shouting at him to continue over the radio. He just couldn’t leave you, never mind what he portrayed to the cameras, you meant too much to him and he would never have forgiven himself if he’d been that selfish.

But by the time he got there you were already out of the car, being helped across the gravel by a marshal. As he approached, you threw your helmet at him and screamed.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? PULLING A MOVE LIKE THAT YOU COULD HAVE GOT US KILLED! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE MICHAEL SCHUMACHER OR SOMETHING YOU B-"

You jumped on each other at the same time, scratching and punching at each other like children, and the marshal was forced to call for reinforcements to get you separated.

Later, during post-race interviews (you'd both been banned from the press conference) you were asked what happened and you got incredibly wound up again just talking about how careless and dangerous Seb’s move was.

Your press officer moved you off quickly to avoid any further incidents, but unfortunately for her Seb arrived at that moment, and you noticed that he looked rather pale, but that didn’t stop him from going straight to the interviewer you were just talking to.

“So, Seb, tell me about the incident, and what do you think of your rivalry with, uhh-” She glanced over to where you were standing only a few feet away, waiting.

Seb looked at you before answering. “She’s a promising talent, and no doubt she is beautiful, but she shouldn’t be in formula one.”

Before you could jump on him and cause another scene, you were dragged away to your post-race debrief before being sent back to the hotel.

Unbelievable! You crashed because of him, ruining both your races. And he had the audacity to say you didn’t belong in formula one? What a fucking joke! To say he was out of line would be an understatement, but of course, if you complained you would just be labelled as emotional, or immature, or god forbid, on your period. That’s one you had gotten once during an interview and the man swiftly ended up with a broken nose, which of course didn’t help your image, but it felt good none the less. What didn’t feel good was how little Seb had seemed to care about what happened. He could have killed you, he could have killed himself.

Hours later, you were still seething with rage when you heard a knock at the door.

The last person you expected to see when you opened it was Seb.

“I have nothing to say to you” You tried to slam the door in his face but he blocked it with his foot, making him wince.

“I know, but I just want you to know that I wasn’t playing for the cameras when I ran to get you on the track, I was worried I had caused you-“

“Oh give me a break! You crashed and saw an opportunity to look like the bigger person and come recue the damsel in distress but guess what? I didn’t NEED you Seb!”

“No, I didn’t crash! Christian told me to keep going but I stopped the car for you!”

You frowned at him, gears turning in your mind. “You stopped the car? Why the hell would you do that?”

He sighed frustratedly “Because I panicked! I saw fire and I was worried about you!”

“Oooh you were worried about me!” You parroted in the meanest tone you could muster, ignoring the beating of your heart at his words “You were worried about me because I don’t belong in this tough manly sport of yours is that it?”

He paused at your words, seemingly hurt at the implications behind them.

“You shouldn’t be in formula one, I stand by that. But not because you’re a woman, or a bad driver. It’s because I don’t want you in formula one. I don’t want you to be in that kind of danger, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you on my watch!”

Tears prickled your eyes as you took a step back from him. “So I should just give it all up huh? I should give up my dream just because you’re scared of hurting me? What the fuck is wrong with you? I chose this! I chose motorsports for the adrenaline! The competition! The passion! What I didn’t sign up for was you crashing into me every chance you get because you can’t handle being beaten by a girl!”

Tears were properly streaming down your face by now, and you went to push Seb out of your room, but he caught your arms and pinned you against the door instead.

“Let me go Seb! Get out!”

No! You’re misunderstanding me and I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came to say! I care about you because despite you being a constant bitch around me, I’ve seen your real personality! And as much as you hate me, I just can’t bring myself to hate you! I didn’t want to save you to look like a hero, I wanted to save you because the thought of losing you was just-” he got choked up and you could see tears forming in his eyes as they stared intently into yours. “It… I-” He took a deep breath “It would have been too painful.”

You gulped. “Seb, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I love you, and I’ve loved you since-“

You surged forward and kissed him.

He reciprocated quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in closer.

You honestly couldn’t say how long the two of you made out in the dark corner of your room for, but after a while you both ran out of oxygen and had to separate, breathing hard. His hands slid down to your thighs, picking you up easily and carrying you swiftly to the bed.

It became a competition to see who could get their clothes off faster, and you laughed at each other as you struggled to get your race suits off.

Once you were both naked, he climbed over you and started the long expedition over your curves and dips, kissing and marking every expanse of skin he came across. You writhed and squirmed at the attention, needing him to just get on with it. When he finally got up to your mouth, he was hard and you could feel his dick poking at your thigh.

“Please Seb, I need you to fuck me now” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist to get him closer, but he refused, instead sitting backwards and kneeling between your legs to get a look at you.

“Calm down Schatz, I need to prepare you first, I don’t want to hurt you” he said soothingly, running his hands up and down your thighs before stopping just shy of your folds, using his thumbs to spread you open for him.

“God you are so wet for me” he groaned and dipped a thumb inside before bringing it to his mouth, sucking your juices off and groaning even louder. “And you taste so good, baby, fuck!”

He dipped a finger in gently, then two and pumped them a few times, making you mewl, before pulling them out and sucking them clean.

“I’m obsessed” he panted “I’m sorry baby, I need to taste more.” And with that he dove down and devoured you like a man starved, running his tongue over your lips and clit with gusto. His fingers soon joined and he hit that spot immediately, over and over. You quickly felt an orgasm building in your loins as your thighs tightened around his head and you fingers tugged on his hair.

“Seb, I’m so close baby!”

“I know” he growled and doubled down on his efforts, making you writhe in pleasure as the pressure building in your stomach became too much as he assaulted your clit with his talented mouth.

Your orgasm hit you so hard you couldn’t even get a breath in to make any noise as you came all over his face and chest.

He sat up over you and you saw that his hair was drenched, plastered to his forehead as drops of your cum slid down his nose and landed on your body.

He was grinning like a maniac, ecstatic at having made you come so hard you squirted on him.

“That’s never happened before!” you panted but he just smashed his lips to yours and grabbed your face, spreading wetness all over you both as his chest lay over yours.

It was disgusting.

But so, so incredibly hot.

“Fuck me now, please Seb?”

“Okay Schatz, your wish is my command” and with no further ado, he rubbed his tip through your folds a few times before sinking into you all the way to the hilt.

He was so thick it was hard to breathe as the stretch knocked the breath from your lungs, and you clung on to him for dear life.

It didn’t take either of you long to come, and you did so almost simultaneously, foreheads touching, breathing in each other’s air, wrapped around each other as tight as possible.

You being incapable of walking just yet, he carried you to the shower and helped you wash, giggling as the sensation of his hands scrubbing over your skin made you ticklish.

It’s only when you got out of the shower and looked in the mirror that you noticed the marks he had left from his earlier ministrations. Small bruises littered your legs, hips, stomach, chest and neck.

“Dammit Sebastian! It’s summer and you’ve turned me into a dalmatian!” You shrieked, but he just laughed and smacked your ass on his way back to the bedroom.

“I’m serious! I can’t go out in public like this!”

He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder. “Now everyone can stop flirting with you”

You tuned around in his arms “Awww, is my Sebby jealous?” You cooed.

He huffed “I am not jealous, but I am yours” he smiled, leaning down and kissing you.

He finally had you after years of loving you, and he was going to savour every second of it.

Of course the first person you saw the next morning was Jenson freaking Button.

He took one look at you, in shorts and a tank top, dozens of hickeys on display, then at Seb who had just appeared behind you in the lobby, connected the dots immediately and shrieked in laughter, attracting the attention of the few other drivers who had come down early for breakfast.

You were never living this down.

Here's the alternate version of 'I hate you (seb's version)'

I'm not proud of this one tbh but I couldn't bear reading it through another time so I hope there aren't too many mistakes :3

#my thots #sebastian thots #sebastian vettel smut #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel #sv5 #f1 #formula 1

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chukys-mouthguard · 3 days

Note

For your prompt requests maybe prompt #1 with Joseph Woll, maybe she lives in Toronto and he went home for the off-season.

I’ve never written for Joseph Woll, but he cracks me up in any little player personality type videos so I really enjoyed writing this one!

“I don’t think you’re gonna even recognize me when you see me babe.”

Smirking to yourself you couldn’t help but chuckle. Joseph had been talking all about his off season training and how excited he was to get back to Toronto. To which you could attest, he looked great. He’d spent the summer with a couple of old teammates and they all committed to a pretty strict training program. The results were more than Joseph could’ve expected, giving him a nice confidence boost ahead of training camp. But of course it was also a plus for you to be able to drool all over your boyfriend’s new hot body.

“What did you get facial reconstruction surgery too? I didn’t know that was part of the training program.” He snorts out a laugh, always loved your quick comebacks and digs you could dish out.

“God I miss you.”

He lighthearted tone now fading as his line of the phone goes silent.

“One more night, and then you’ll finally be back in my arms.” You playfully call out into the phone as you head to the fridge to grab a drink before plopping down on the couch.

“One more night might as well be 10! I don’t know what’s been hard this summer; my training schedule or not having you to come home to everyday. Of course you couldn’t be making me bomb ass dinners like usual. Would probably have to throw a few extra salads into the mix. Oh my god and no more cookies or banana bread.”

He jokingly whined into the phone as you just shook your head. “Babe, you know there are healthier baked good alternatives I could make right?” “Yeah and they probably taste like shit! I can’t have you ruin my opinion of your baking with some gluten free buckwheat flower yak’s milk concoction. Noooo way!”

Your laugh now filling your apartment, causing Joseph to even laugh at his own words. “I don’t even know if buckwheat flour is a thing…or yak’s milk. But if it is, I don’t want it!”

The two of you continuing on your conversation as you’d heard the sound of Joseph’s car turning off, the locking with a beep. You hadn’t even noticed he was driving if you were honest. To excited about the conversation of him soon being home.

“Joseph Woll, where on earth are you driving to this late at night?” Scolding him playfully you can hear him grabbing something from his car, assuming he had one last late night training session before he came back to Toronto.

“Home silly goose.”

Shrugging it off you picked back up in the conversation, discussing some new plot point that was introduced in one of your guilty pleasure tv shows that Joseph loved hearing the drama about.

“And then, they built up the entire episode for you to think she was going to end up choosing Aaron, but then at the last minute she-knock knock knock- who the hell is knocking on my door at 11:50pm. Babe, stay on the phone please?”

He hummed a response, letting you know he was still on the line as you nervously walked toward the door. The peep hole being covered so you couldn’t see who the culprit was. Deciding you weren’t tempting fate, you walked away, pickup back up with your story.

“Babe who was at the door?”

“I don’t know the peep hole was covered! I’m not trying to die before my boyfriend gets back home!”

He laughed at you as a triple knock came again.

“Trust me babe, open the door…”

Something in his voice made you suspicious, quickly hustling back to the door to open it. Only to find Joseph standing their with a cheesy grin on his face as he laughed at you.

“Joseph Woll you scared me half to death! What is wrong with you?”

Playfully smacking him before jumping into his arms, wrapping him in a hug before pulling his lips to yous. “I couldn’t wait any longer, I had to get home to you. Can you forgive me?”

He pouted his lips only to have the pout kissed away by you instantly. “Of course, now wait a minute-“ taking a step back you eyed him up and down. Taking in how his chest and arms now filled out his tshirt, how his joggers clung to his thighs.

“I’m not sure we’ve actually ever met, you don’t look familiar, what’s your name?” He rolled his eyes at your comments, poking fun at his claim you’d not even recognize him.

“Very funny, guess I won’t show what I look like without the shirt then if you don’t recognize me.” He leaned in as he spoke, his lips almost brushing yours with his words before he headed off down the hall to the bathroom. Turning the shower on, as you quickly followed.

“Joooo, you know I’m just messing around I-“ stopping in your tracks you’d turned in the doorway of the bathroom to find him now shirtless as he reached into the cupboard for a towel.

“Wow.”

Simply the only words you could get out as he just smirked, slightly chuckling at your reaction before turning to face you. Closing the distance as you tried your best to look him in the eyes though his muscles really stealing the show.

“Do you wanna pick your jaw up now or after I shower?”

#joseph woll #Joseph Woll blurb #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fics #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #nhl blurb #Toronto maple leafs

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 days

Text

Don’t need to tell me twice

a/n peeps wanted a possessive, protective IV, so here we are!!!😜

warning: slightly suggestive and also well a protective boy

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

IV always had a protective streak. It wasn’t overly possessive and he wasn’t one of the boyfriends that made their girls change because they didn’t approve of something. You were your person and he respected that fully. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a keen eye on everyone else. And in IV books almost every guy was out there to swoon you. And while you had thanked him for an extra ego boost he wasn’t so keen on entertaining your enthusiasm.

It’s the after-party of one of sleep token’s biggest gigs that gets IV rilled up beyond the line. Your connection to him was unknown to the audience. The closest people to the band and of course the boys were well aware. But since you hung around backstage a lot. And were featured in some of the prep pics, he didn’t want people putting two and two together.

The congratulatory fuck you two had in a cramped backstage bathroom took off the tole for the beginning of the night. IV was rather content in talking pics with some of the VIPs and the tour crew. But his chilled-out demeanor shifted quickly when he didn’t see you among the rest of the girls. Scanning the crowd he looked for a familiar figure before his eyes landed on the bar. And you. With the guys from the support act from either side of you.

“I see drool from over here”, III snorted, leaning back, lifting his mask only enough to take a swig of the beer in his hand. “Don’t rile him up or we won’t have a support act for the rest of the tour”, Vess clipped in. “I’m not worried”, IV cut in. And he wasn’t. He wasn’t scared of you cheating. Or your head turning. He was confident in what you two had. He knew where you both stood. “And that’s exactly why I will be taking your bottle, mate”, II clapped him on the shoulder, “We all remember the last guy who looked too long”.

IV rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that bad the idiot needed two stitches. And he was the one who raised his hand first. Did so in touching you. “Just go there and bring her over”, III huffed, “Even better, let me do it”. “Sit your ass down”, IV growled standing up, downing the rest of the beer before stepping back from the boys. “Keep your head in check”, were the last words he heard from Vess before he moved through the crowd.

Your bored eyes found him almost immediately. Nor did he miss the eye roll you made while the two yapped away on either side of you. “You should come to see us live”, one of them suggested. You gave him a pilot smile, “Doubt it will be possible, the contract keeps the inner circle on a tighter footing while the tour is in full swing”, you reminded them once more, swilling the drink that had long grown watery in your glass. “Then just come hang, our bus is…”, “Leaving tonight, I believe”, IV cut in and you didn’t need to see his face to know the frustration in his features.

“Ivy, the chick is fire, you keep them so rounded up”, you let yourself gag internally, before settling your glass back on the bar. Hand pressing against IV's chest as you shook your head slightly. “It was nice getting to know you guys but this is my cue to go back”, you motioned to the table your boys were sitting by. “Oh, don’t go yet”, one of them reached out to grab your arm but IV beat him to it. Stopping the hand mid air. “I would think twice”, IV grunted, stepping right in front of the guy.

“Right, we will be going”, you reached for IV’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his as you pulled him back. “IV, we are going”, you said once more, praying internally that he would step back. “Find peaceful sleep tonight, lads”, IV saluted, before draping an arm over your shoulder. “You are the reason for 80% of my headaches”, you rubbed at your temple, with a shake of a head. “Well, you are the reason one of my blood vessels will give out one of these days”, he grunted, “Yet here we are”.

You waved to the rest of the Sleep token boys before pulling IV away towards their changing rooms. “You, sir, need to calm down”, you pushed him into the room first before, closing the door behind you two. “Is this where I get my happy ending?”, he smirked, pulling his mask off, “It’s so fucking hot in there”, rubbing a hand over his face, he threw his head back. “Yeah, it shows. Your brain is overheating”, you chirped, coming to stand between his legs, “You didn’t need to make them shit their pants out there”.

IV snorted, “If that made them scared they aren’t old enough to be looking at pretty little things such as you”. His hand found a fist full of your hair as he brought you closer, “Especially not one that belongs to me”. You rolled your eyes at him, “Whatever will I do with you”, you sighed, dropping to your knees, brushing your hair to one side. “Is this your new way of making me quiet”, he muses, brushing his finger over your bottom lip. “The only one that seems to work”, you chuckle, reaching for his belt, “Mask on, big boy”, you muss, batting your lashes at him. “Don’t need to tell me twice, baby, don’t need to tell me twice”.

#sleep token iv x you #sleep token iv x reader #sleep token iv imagine #sleep token x you #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token imagine #sleep token x reader #sleep token iv fanfiction

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petit-papillion · 1 day

Text

Fred shines a bit of a light on what they were trying to do with Charles's car during the race.

Canal+: It's the first time of the year that you end a week end without scoring points, what are the reasons ? We heard Charles earlier who was defeated, what is your analysis?

Fred: Not defeated, because I just saw him and I think he understood. There are multiple reasons for Charles, 1st we lost engine control, so 80 kW during 10 laps. We were forced to stop 30 sec to stop and restart the engine, so his race was lost. And Carlos had a contact at some point, front wing and floor, and then he puts himself out so of course, it's a lot for one weekend. But maybe it's better to put everything on the same weekend and have cleaner weekends after. But yeah, that's quite hard. We're quite stunned. We have to wake up for the next one. I think that on the positive side, Charles's pace, despite the engine issue, was pretty good. He was in the pack. He was in there despite having 80 kW less than the others (on the engine) so it's quite good for the performance. But scoring 0 points on a weekend like that, it's quite hard.

Canal+: How do we explain...Well, Charles, I understand because engine failure - in Canada that's really hard - but he was still doing the job (compared to the other drivers). But Carlos behind, before he had a contact, he had no pace, so how is that explained? Does it really come from track specificity and Ferrari not being there since the beginning?

Fred: I think it was also kind of related to track position, because there was a dry line, but I didn't see if Carlos had more pace than the car ahead. We have to understand what happened on Carlos, but I think the first 15 lap of the race, there weren't many overtakes because the track was drying on this line and leaving it was too risky.

Canal+: Since the beginning, there was a lot of consistency for your team, Charles was always finishing in the top 4, Carlos in the top 5. It’s a weekend off this time. What will happen in the next minutes, hours, how do you debrief?

Fred: I won't commit suicide 😅

Canal+: No but, how will the debrief be organised ?

Fred: The most important is to treat every issue one after the other and understand what happened. And to see what we can do on our side. On the engine side, where the failure comes from - you can't blame Charles for anything during the race. We took more than bold bets, but given where we were... in the pits we had to do this. Carlos, there's more to debrief, because as you said before, his pace wasn't magical, so was he stuck with traffic or not? And then after the contact we lost 20 points of aero ≈ 7/8 tenths, so it was also over.

Source: sediciskyfall

#it looked a lot worse on the outside #but there were deliberate attempts to fix charles's engine issue #like the reset at the pit stop #and they took a gamble with the tyres #because they knew the race was lost either way #fred vasseur #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #canadian gp 2024

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mercurygray · 1 day

Text

What Friends Are For

It's a normal afternoon at the airfield, with administration staff running errands and a baseball game in the outfield, until a replacement plane brings a new pilot...and a new perspective on an old face.

It had been the most normal afternoon in the world before the plane came in.

The day’s mission (a milk run of a diversion route, hardly worth worrying over) wasn’t due back for several hours, and everyone who’d been left off the roster was taking advantage of the July sunshine. There were men napping in deck chairs outside the Aero Club and half of a baseball game in the newly mown infield, a strange sense of peace smoothing over everything - until Anita’s voice was heard coming in over the tannoy that everyone was to clear the field and the runway for a flight in from Framlingham.

A wild scramble started at the Aero Club and the motor pool, a jumbled rush for jeeps and bicycles and anything else that could get you to the tarmac as fast as possible. Framlingham meant replacement planes, and replacement planes meant ferry pilots - and ferry pilots just might be female.

Two to a plane, a pilot and and a co-pilot who could run radios in a pinch. It was a job for flyers who were not quite 1A, not exactly front line and not exactly behind it either, and the Air Forces had decided that before they saddled their walking wounded with the indignity of being singled out for noncombat flights, they’d let the women do it. Look nice in the papers, wouldn’t it - fresh-faced young woman straight from college airfields and the Ninety-Nines clubroom. Girl flyers to ferry planes for bomber boys. It would be allowed that they were just level headed enough to fly the plane from point A to point B, but combat duty would be a bridge too far. Handling one of the heavies in anything stronger than a swift breeze was a job for men, not women. (Until someone needed to motivate the men, in which case - it’s so easy they’ve got girls doing it.)

And besides all that - it might be good for morale, to have a couple of cute faces around.

The baseball players made it in first - Egan and DeMarco and Biddick, shirts off and baseball gloves abandoned at the side of the tarmac while the B-17 touched down, slowing steadily and then turning on to the taxiway, one of the crew chiefs waving it down to an open hardstand to give it another once over. The crowd followed. “I call dibs if one’s a blonde,” Dickie was heard to say to his co-pilot, Curt shoving him playfully and telling him where he could put it.

They waited a ways off while the propellers stopped spinning, the familiar whine of the engine dying down until the silence said it was safe to approach.

A figure in Santiago blue emerged from the hatch near the nose, bag tossed on the tarmac and landing with a soft thump on the ground. (More than one man was thinking about how nice those legs looked, getting down out of the plane.)

“Still fun though, wasn’t it?” the woman was asking, waiting for another person to join her on the ground, fixing her gloves and loosening her jacket.

“God, yes,” the second voice agreed, the smile in her voice hardly trying to hide. “I forgot how much.” A second bag, a second pair of legs - but the face that went with it made every single man there pull up short.

Benny got there first. “Callaway?”

Sure enough, there she was - Cordelia Callaway, last seen on a truck south to Wing Headquarters at Horham, trying to brush the creases out of her trousers and shoving a pair of leather pilot’s gloves into her coat pockets. It was strange to see her away from her tower, and perhaps stranger still to see she was pulling down both her briefcase and a navigator’s board, its pencil hanging by a string.

“She was going my way,” the pilot in blue offered, as if some kind of apology were needed. “We were short-handed and it seemed silly to make an old friend wait for the truck.”

The answer provoked more questions than answers, but no one quite seemed to know quite what to ask - or how. “Are you gonna introduce us, Lieutenant?” Gale asked breezily, joining the party with his cap still on and a book tucked under his arm. “Some of us like to pretend we still have manners.”

Cord, too, was a little off balance. “This is Laura Simpson. She’s a... friend of mind from back home. Laura, this is Major Gale Cleven - Captain Benny DeMarco - Lieutenant Curtis Biddick - Lieutenant Dickie Snyder...and Major John Egan. They’re all pilots here at the 100th.”

“You any relation to the Laura Simpson whose father’s an admiral?” Dickie asked, as Laura went around shaking hands.

“Guilty as charged,” the pilot replied. “Hope you won’t hold it against me.”

“And how do they have you flying for the Army?”

“Nepotism only gets you anywhere if your uncle’s a six star general,” Laura said, grinning at her own joke. “The Navy won’t let me near a plane, much less the carrier to put it on - and believe me, Daddy asked. So it’s all Army, all day for this gal. I don’t mind it much, as long as I’m flying. Besides,” she added, with a wink for effect, “I have it on good authority the boys are cuter on this side of the war.”

That won some points - the smiles got wider and at least one man stood up just a little taller. “Are you going to stick around for dinner, Miss Simpson? The cuter boys always have room for another pretty face,” Dickie offered, obviously trying hard to get the last word in.

“Well, it is the last flight of the day for me,” Laura said, shrugging. “And it just so happens I brought my party clothes, too.”

“I should get going,” Cordelia said quietly, adjusting the grip on her briefcase and hefting the navigator’s board under her arm. “I’ve got film for Bowman and Brennan.”

“I’ll catch you later,” Laura promised. “I’m sure these fine gentlemen will get me over to the women’s quarters in one piece.” She looked around with a winning smile. “Someone going to offer to carry my bag?”

Three hands went up, but Curt’s went straight to the bag itself, which made him the winner, and the whole group set off back to base, Dickie jogging around to retrieve the rest of the baseball gloves.

“Mighty nice of you to jumpseat Callaway back to us, Miss Simpson,” Bucky said with a smile, his long stride loping a little to keep pace with Laura, who wasn’t nearly as tall as him.

“Oh, I didn’t jumpseat anyone,” Laura said strongly, smiling slightly herself. “She drove.”

There were stares, and Bucky actually lost a step. “Callaway’s not a pilot, she’s a flight control officer.”

His stare was just this side of predatory, his dark eyes focused and narrow, but Laura still laughed. “If you think that’s true, there’s a lot about Cordelia Callaway you don’t know, Major.”

“Enlighten us, then,” Curt offered, as generous with his smiles as he’d been with his carrying of her bag.

Laura met his eye with a generosity of her own. “Buy me a drink later and maybe I’ll tell you, Lieutenant.”

Later was after they’d let her fill out paperwork with Jack Kidd about the plane she’d just brought in, and let him make the necessary calls for a seat on a truck headed back to Framlingham so she could be returned to the ferrying roster tomorrow, and after Captain Brennan had made sure there were quarters ready in the women’s block and filled her in on the rest of the base’s amenities. And finally, after all the ts had been crossed and is had been dotted and her bags had been left in the women’s quarters, it was just close enough to happy hour that the whole party found themselves in the officer’s club for a few drinks before dinner.

“So how does an admiral’s daughter end up knowing a WAC from Ohio?” Curt said with single-minded focus, once the drinks had been poured and seats had been found near the fireplace. “Because there ain’t a lot of naval bases in Dayton, the last time I checked.”

“We met on the East Coast air race circuit,” Laura offered plainly, glancing around to blank and confused stares. "You all really don't know who she is, do you?" She laughed and took a sip of her whiskey. "Cord Callaway is the 1939 Cleveland Powder Puff women's pylons champion. She's not just a pilot - she's a racer. And an acrobat, while we’re talking."

"You're shitting me." That was Bucky, sitting back in his chair.

"Not for a moment," Laura assured him. "She's one of the best fliers I know. She did the course at Cleveland and took five seconds off the standing record that year - and she did it in last year’s plane."

"So what the hell's she doing up in a control tower?"

"You'd have to ask her that, Lieutenant Biddick. I only know part of the story."

“So share the part you know,” Bucky advised.

Laura looked around at the waiting faces and settled into her chair. “You all know she grew up at Wright Patterson, right? Her old man’s an engineer there - helps run tests on government contract models. She grew up flying - took lessons from officers at the base when her dad was working late. Practice something long enough and you get good at it, and she got good. The guys who were teaching her were all test pilots - taught her rolls and spins, and she got good at those, too. The Air Force usually sent a couple of guys to Cleveland, and one year she went with. They let her take one of the planes out as a joke, and she smoked three quarters of the field - no one knew who she was or where she’d come from. Next thing you know she’s got a Ninety-Nines membership and an invite to the next meet and one of the guys at Curtis is talking to her about flying their plane - once they find out she’s Wilson Callaway’s daughter. They figure that making it easy enough for a girl to fly will be a selling point.” She smirked. “It’s not just six star generals and admirals, you know.”

Bucky cut in. “Get to the part about the tower.”

If Laura seemed surprised by his insistence she didn’t say anything, just kept on with the story. “Jackie Cochran had reached out to a number of us in...was that the same year? I think it was. Wanting to talk about flying for England - ferrying duties. I didn’t feel like it, but then Nancy Love reached out...maybe a year later, a year and a half, about doing the same thing stateside, after Arnold asked her, and that sounded good to me. I called around to see who else I might be seeing, and I thought for sure Cord would be game, but she - she said she wasn’t doing it, that she was joining the WAC instead to do air traffic.” She paused, took a sip of her drink. “There was ...a guy she’d been mentioning a lot, and apparently there’d been an accident. He was due to join his squadron in a week.” Laura took another sip of whiskey, ice clipping around in her glass. The entire group had gone silent. “Captain James Chapman. Jimmy. When your number’s up, I suppose.” She raised her eyebrows and finished the rest of her whiskey. “And that’s what I know about that. If you want whatever’s left of the story, you’ll have to get it from her.”

It was a somber note to end on, but the mess sergeant was ringing the bell for chow, and man by man they trooped out to the dining hall, Curt and Dickie having apparently claimed the right to have Laura sit at their table. By the time they got to dinner everyone was talking and laughing again.

The officer’s club certainly wasn’t crowded after dinner, but Bucky still slid into the seat directly next to Cord and made himself comfortable watching Laura with her current dance partner across the room. For a moment the two sat in silence. “I think Curt’s getting ready to propose to your friend,” Bucky said, casually.

The observation made her glance up in alarm. He was right - Curt looked very serious indeed, his hand gently cradling hers as the two danced. “Someone had better tell him to save it,” she warned. “Laura’s already spoken for. She’s got a boyfriend over in Fighter Command with a right hook that’s just as good as Curt’s.”

Bucky seemed to be considering it for a moment, but he remained in his chair, his eyes fixed on Cord again. “You know, she’s telling some wild stories about your course record in Cleveland, Lieutenant.”

Cord met his eye for a moment in fear, her eyes quickly falling back to her drink. “I wish she wouldn’t,” she said, softly.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Bucky leaned over the table, his glass in both hands. “About being a pilot?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“So then why’d you give up flying?” Bucky wasn’t taking no for an answer here, clearly trying to understand more. “They would have let you, same as her. Was it this guy - this guy Jimmy?”

The name made her freeze for a moment, a deer under the hunter’s eye. “She told that story, too?”

Bucky nodded and leaned back in his chair again. “I have to say, I’m kinda struggling to picture you breaking your heart over a boyfriend, but what do I know?”

“That’s not why I did it.” Her tone was almost harsh. “It wasn’t a broken heart, and he ...wasn’t my boyfriend.” She said all this like that would be the end of the matter, and then made the mistake of glancing at Bucky, who said nothing, spreading his hands and raising his eyebrows like he was inviting her to say more. “It was an accident,” she said, finally. “A terrible, perfectly avoidable accident.” Again he said nothing, the silence guilting her to speak. “Control gave him and the next pilot in the flight pattern the wrong approach angle and windspeed - they collided in midair.”

If Bucky had a smart reply to that, he couldn’t immediately find it, and Cord, for once, looked vindicated. Every pilot worth his salt knew you invited trouble by talking about air accidents, and what she’d just described was one hell of a mistake. “Decided then war didn’t need more pilots,” she added, draining her drink with a bitter look. “It needed more people to get them back on the ground safe.” She scraped her chair backwards and stood up, leaving the empty glass between them. “I’m going to bed. I think Laura knows where she’s staying. Don’t let her get into too much trouble.” And then, just like that, she was gone, and Bucky was left alone at the table, staring at her wake. Plane crashes, pylons champions... Cord Callaway, a pilot!

The music wound down and Laura flung herself into Cord’s vacated seat, flushed and smiling and breathing heavily, a fresh glass in her hand. “You look like a man trying to figure something out, Major.”

“I am,” Bucky decided, sitting up a little and smoothing out his jacket. “I’m trying to figure out how the two of you are friends when you’re goddamn delightful and Callaway is -”

Laura rolled her eyes. “She’s not always like that, you know. She’s got a big job up there, and she takes it very seriously.” She brushed a hair out of her eyes and took a long sip of her drink. “You know, Cord talked a lot about you, on the way over,” she said, watching Bucky for signs of life. He looked up in surprise. “I mean, she talked about everyone, but she talked a lot about you in particular, Major Egan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Well, that’s not surprising. I’m a stone in her shoe. She trying to warn you off me?”

Laura shook her head. “She’s lived around pilots her whole life, Major. Cowboys and showoffs aren’t new.” Another pause, another drink. “No, I think it’s something else. You’re the guy they look up to - the one who’s invincible, who tells them it can be done and then does it. That’s how Jimmy was. And she saw what losing him did to the other guys with him.” She sat up a little in her chair and leaned over the table. “Did she tell you the part of the story about how she met his mother afterwards? She and his father were coming to see him off - missed the telegram. Instead of a vacation they got their son in a box, before he’d ever even got to the war. So she doesn't do it to be an ice queen, Major Egan. She does it because however she feels about you, she respects what you do. And I think - no, I know - that she cares about you. Maybe not that way - but she cares."

She gathered up her glass and moved off, to the table that Dickie and a few of the others were sharing, leaving Bucky to wonder in peace about secrets, and friends who shared stories, and just what kind of guy Jimmy Chapman must have been, to make a girl give up flying for him.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #masters of the air OC #masters of the air x oc #cordelia callaway

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 14 hours

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The Fuck Up Chapter 5

Summary: Bucky fucked up. A few times. Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of war, injury, pregnancy

Bucky pulled up at 2:53 p.m. to the little house. He stared at it, admiring just how much it looked like Y/N’s style before parking his bike and slowly walking up to the door. He adjusted his backpack as he took a deep breath, then knocked. He heard the footsteps behind the door and tried to steel himself.

The door opened to reveal Y/N. She froze as she gazed up at him. Bucky stared back at her, unsure of what to say or how to start the conversation. After a minute of them just looking at each other Y/N finally gave him a small smile. “Hey Buck,” she greeted him quietly.

Bucky let out a sputtered breath that he was unaware he was holding. “Hi,” he replied. He felt like he was frozen, stuck to the spot where he stood, his heart hammering in his chest.

Y/N watched him amusedly. “Would you like to come in?”

Bucky nodded, then rigidly moved forward and walked inside the house. He stood in the small entryway as she shut the door behind him then passed him to stand by the wall. “You can put your stuff there,” she instructed, pointing towards a storage spot on the opposite wall.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, quickly shedding his shoes, helmet, backpack and his jacket. He turned back to her, seeing her gnawing at her lower lip as she looked toward the hallway. “Y/N,” Bucky said quietly. She looked back at him, releasing her lip and licking her lips. He felt the tears build in his eyes again as he looked at her. “Honey I’m so sorry,” Bucky cried, shutting his eyes tight.

Y/N sighed then reached out and took one of his hands. “Come on.” She led him over to the couch behind her and sat, gesturing for him to sit next to her. When they got comfortable she turned toward him and held one of his hands in both of hers. “I’m sorry for not telling you,” she said, her fingers softly massaging his hand. Bucky shook his head but she shushed him. “No, I need to say this. I know I should have told you the moment I found out, but I didn’t want to distract you while you were out there and be the reason you weren’t focused. There’s nothing I can do about it now but say I’m sorry,” she paused, swallowing harshly and looking down. “And I’m sorry for running away. From you, Becca, your parents. I thought I needed to handle it on my own for some reason, but I didn’t, I know that now. I just needed a break, and it turned into me getting scared and isolating myself. I don’t blame you,” she looked back up at him, making sure he was looking at her and listening. “Do you hear me? I don’t blame you. We weren’t thinking. But when I saw those two lines? And heard that little heartbeat? I couldn’t give him up. And that became one of the best things that’s ever happened in my life.”

Bucky’s tears never stopped. He could sit and listen to her forever, and he had a glimmer of hope at her words. “I fucked up that morning,” he turned to face her more, his hands gripping her fingers firmly. “I should have woken you up. I should have said a proper, real goodbye. We should have talked about it before I left. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t handle it. And I’m sorry,” he choked back a sob, “I’m so sorry that you felt like you had to do it all alone. I don’t deserve your forgiveness but, I hope I can work to earn it from you.” He raised her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I promised you I’d come back home to you. You’ve always been home, Y/N. And now, with him…” Bucky opened her hands and kissed her palms.

Y/N was now crying, biting her bottom lip. “I forgive you, Bucky.” Bucky broke down and he leaned forward until his forehead rested against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, running her hands through his hair and kissing the top of his head. He held her against him as close as he could, crying into her chest. As his crying died down after a few minutes he kissed the spot over her heart and she inhaled shakily.

“I forgive you, Buck, but I’m not ready for anything like that,” Y/N said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, pulling away and giving her space. “I didn’t mean…” He shook his head.

Just then a noise came from one of the back rooms and Bucky’s head whipped towards the sound. Y/N sighed again and stood. “I’ll be right back,” she said, walking towards the room. Bucky wiped his eyes as he tried to calm his thundering heart. He sat stiffly on the couch, waiting, until Y/N came back out a few minutes later with a bundled blanket in her arms. A tiny arm reached up out of the blanket and the tiny hand tapped her chin. “Bucky?” Y/N walked towards him slowly. Bucky’s eyes were wide, his mouth dropped open as he stared at the little bundle. “Would you like to meet him?”

Bucky nodded frantically and Y/N sat on the coffee table in front of him. She shifted her arms and moved the blanket so he could see the baby’s face. When he did he gasped lightly at just how similar it looked to him. He huffed a laugh, a small smile brightening his face as he leaned forward to look at him. “I named him Avriel James Barnes. I thought a cute nickname could be Avi,” Y/N spoke quietly, watching Bucky’s face carefully. Bucky swallowed and smiled wider. “Would you like to hold him?”

Bucky nodded again and Y/N handed him the baby. Bucky slowly and carefully held Avi, his tiny head fitting into the palm of his hand as his other hand held him under his back. He gazed at Avi, memorizing his tiny features as Avi squirmed to get more comfortable. “Hey Avi,” Bucky cooed at him, his deeper voice seeming to relax him. “My little man,” he whispered as his thumb curved around and caressed Avi’s cheek. He looked back up at Y/N who was already looking at him. “He’s beautiful.”

Y/N smirked, “Just like his Daddy.”

Bucky scoffed and hung his head to hide his blush. He couldn’t stop looking at Avi. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here at first,” he said as he nuzzled his nose against Avi’s soft cheek. “But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.” He glanced at Y/N. “Can I please stay?”

“Of course you can stay,” Y/N said, reaching out and squeezing Bucky’s knee. “We’ll figure this all out.”

Bucky sighed this time. “My parents are dying to come see him.”

“They’re welcome,” Y/N said, blinking back some tears.

Bucky called his parents and Becca soon after and they drove out to meet them. Y/N hugged them and apologized, but all was forgiven with the family. Winifred and George were beside themselves as they held Avi, and Becca wouldn’t leave Y/N’s side, finally getting her friend back. After a few hours of catching up they went home while Bucky stayed.

“You can stay in this room,” Y/N offered him the guest bedroom. “My room is just across the hall and the nursery is next to it,” she gestured towards the doors. “If you need anything just let me know. Avi usually wakes up around 1:00 a.m. and then 5:00 a.m. for feedings, but that’s not consistent, so I hope you can get used to baby cries at all hours.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Bucky said as he rocked Avi to sleep.

“Alright. Do you want to put him down?”

“I’ll try,” Bucky said, walking towards the nursery. Y/N followed him, staying at the doorway to let him have his moment. “Okay little man, here we go,” Bucky kissed Avi’s forehead lightly and slowly set him down into the crib. Avi squirmed a little and Bucky rubbed his belly and shushed him. “Goodnight Avi. I love you.” Y/N smiled at the cute moment. Bucky followed her out of the nursery and as quietly as possible closed the door behind him.

“Thank you, Buck,” Y/N said as she inched towards her door. “Um…goodnight then.”

“Right,” Bucky said, looking at her wistfully. He slowly took a step towards her. “Can I just ask for one thing?”

“I don’t know, you asking questions is dangerous,” Y/N teased him as she leaned against her door.

Bucky snorted. “It’s tame I promise.”

“Mhm,” Y/N gave him an unimpressed look.

Bucky smiled and shook his head. “Could I just have one of your famous hugs?”

Y/N’s gaze softened at that. “Sure.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into them, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him close. She was a bit shorter than him, but he did his best to be close to her. His cheek rested on the top of her head as he breathed in her hair and his hands tenderly held her around her upper body. She squeezed him lightly, her face resting against his chest. They stayed like that for a while until Y/N started pulling away.

“Goodnight Buck.”

“Goodnight honey.”

****

A small whimper woke Bucky up. After Y/N had fallen asleep he had moved the mattress in the guest bedroom to the nursery and laid it next to the crib. He couldn’t seem to be able to relax until he knew that Avi was sleeping well. He’d already missed so much and didn’t want to miss a second more. As the whimpering got louder Bucky hoisted himself up and looked into the crib.

“Hey little man,” he whispered, reaching down and picking Avi up. “It’s okay.” Avi calmed down a little but was still squirming. Bucky checked to see if he needed to be changed and when he didn’t he took him out of the room. He went to Y/N’s room and knocked before entering. “Y/N,” he called to her lowly. She didn’t hear him so he moved towards her bed. “Y/N,” he sat on the opposite side from her on her bed and reached over, nudging her shoulder. She stirred and groaned.

“What?” she said groggily and turned towards him.

“I think it’s feeding time,” Bucky murmured to her, then Avi let out a wail.

“Okay, I hear you,” Y/N yawned and fully turned over. She reached for Avi and Bucky helped tuck him next to her in bed. Without thinking she lifted up her shirt and helped Avi latch onto her breast. Bucky looked away, a deep blush on his cheeks. Y/N seemed to remember he was there and chuckled dryly. “It’s not anything you haven’t seen before, Buck, it’s fine.” Bucky scoffed before looking back at her. “Might as well lay down,” she yawned again as Avi fed, making little suckling sounds. “He’s gonna be a minute.”

Bucky grinned and got himself comfortable in her bed. He turned to face her and watched her feed Avi as she closed her eyes, her arms cocooning Avi into a little bubble on the bed. He kept smiling, amazed by the beauty of the moment. The woman he loved with his baby. He had always loved her, and was frustrated with himself that it took almost losing her to realize it fully. He knew it would take time to build that trust and friendship, let alone anything more romantic with Y/N again, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get to that point with her. He reached over and pushed some of her hair that was hanging in her face back with his fingers, then caressed her face with the back of his fingers softly. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him sleepily. Bucky smiled at her, and she smiled back. They would get there, he knew it.

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #series fanfic #chapter 5 #soldier!bucky barnes #marine!bucky barnes #buckywiththelonghair

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martinsharmony · 1 day

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David's autograph, my gift to him and his panel at Fan Expo Dallas

Day 3 of Fan Expo Dallas and the day that I got David's autograph AND I gave him a bracelet that I made him.

So, since his flight was cancelled on Friday, he came in on early Saturday afternoon which meant he went straight into autographs and then had a full afternoon of photos. Then he went *back* to sign autographs from 7 until (I heard) after 10pm. The con itself closes at 7.

Now the email everyone who bought autographs got was confusing because it said he would stay until every last person got their moment BUT IT DID NOT SAY Saturday only. It said 2pm and 7pm but it did not say a day at all. I thought this meant BOTH days but NO. I had actually planned to go at 7 tonight because the 2pm hour was pretty crazy. THANK GOD I DIDN'T.

I had gone early to go to the Jonathan Frakes panel and just on a whim I decided to scout out the David autograph table to get the lay of the land and understand where I would need to be. I saw a ton of people in line but at that time (12:20ish) he wasn't due to arrive at the table for at least another hour and a half. So I asked. I was told he had to be on a flight after the show so 2pm was the only autograph time for him today. And furthermore he only had an hour and a half window to do the autographs today because he had a panel at 3:30.

Now, I had VIP tickets. I splurged for that because I decided it was worth it to me to not have to wait in line and get in first/be up front in panels. I was right. If I ever go to another con, I'm getting VIP. Understanding of course that I ONLY go to cons if there is a must see person like this there. I really wouldn't have gone at all if David wasn't there.

So since I was VIP, I was directed to another line that only had 1 person in it. That meant we got to see him first before everyone in that insane long line. Perfect. This is what I wanted and really the reason why I bought VIP. I wanted to give him this.

I make jewelry for people to show them I love them. Each piece is a "portrait" of the person I give it to. I think about the person and choose materials and designs that represent that person to me. These are my art. I don't sell them. I've made them for friends, family and celebrities- namely Martin Gore and Alan Wilder from Depeche Mode. Alan's was the 1st one I ever made.

Anyway, this bracelet is David. There's a lot in here and I couldn't possibly detail it all, but you can see the pride colors obviously and the trans colors are represented as well however a bit more subtly. The bead frame style is a signature of mine - I almost always include it in some way. The hematite gives it a bit of masculinity while the soft colors balance it out with a bit of femininity. The white beads remind me of his goodness and purity of heart, and the flat blue-ish abalone beads remind me of his red carpet styles. It's a little showy and a little ordinary. A bit flamboyant and a bit everyday. A little masculine and a little feminine. I thought the micro black spacer beads gave it a nice polished finish, and the gunmetal clasp ties it all together and goes with the hematite nicely. Interestingly I started off making something completely different and started over because it felt "too fancy" to me for David. It needed more color and more playfulness.

I didn't say a word to anyone about wanting to give it to him because I didn't want to be told no. I wasn't planning to talk his ear off. I just wanted to give him what I made and make sure he knew I made it and that it was a portrait of him.

So I'm 2nd in line behind the ADA folks of which there were about 3 or 4. It's my turn. I say I *made* this for him and that it's a portrait of sorts. The pride colors are represented and the trans colors too. He took it and looked at it (I think he had already signed my pic at this time) and said Thank you! and set it aside to his left. I said Thank you! and was out. I really can't remember exactly what was said. We were not allowed to take pics or film (so any pics you see at the autograph table from Dallas were taken surreptitiously).

My stomach was nervous all day long in anticipation of this moment. I slept about 4 hours last night despite being exhausted from a full con day the day before.

I'm kicking myself a bit for not asking if I could put it on him. When I saw him at the table the only thing on his wrists was a watch, but when he showed up at his panel he was wearing something on his right wrist that was not my bracelet. But now that I think about it I probably would have been disappointed if he had said no thank you or declined in some (most likely polite) way - probably because the line needed to keep moving.

I'm choosing to believe he tucked it safely away in his bag when he was finished with TWO HOURS of autographs at that table and that he has it with him now. It wasn't stretchy like it seems those other ones he was wearing yesterday were. I considered making it stretchy but decided against it because I'm not so skilled in that style.

We got some lunch then got in line for his panel. It was 45 mins away and the VIP line was already super long. *sigh*. He didn't show up until 4 (half an hour late) most likely because he had to finish signing everything because he was leaving immediately after. But they let him have his whole hour and did not cut him off.

We got a nice surprise! The schedule said it would only be David but Catherine Tate joined him and acted as moderator! I like this so much better than having an actual moderator. They really didn't need one at all - It was so fun seeing them bounce off each other and she did a really good job. David immediately took off his shoes and talked about his socks extensively lol. He also laid down on the couch and said he had jet lag. (Everyone in multiple panels had been saying how comfortable that couch was) Donna also said that David "Does not regard chairs in the traditional way". I was like !!! Yes! We have actual verbal confirmation that David does not sit in chairs normally! He said he likes to "perch" and then proceeded to do so. I was reminded of the lips chair he tried to sit on lol.

I didn't take a lot of video of the panel. I didn't want to be the asshole with a phone up the entire time. I'm sure someone filmed the whole thing so I'll look for it on YouTube. I did snap a few photos.

Overall I'm very happy. It was a nerve wracking and exhausting couple days but David was such a trooper for staying so late to take care of everyone when he probably hadn't slept in over a day at least. The other problems were not his fault. Everyone I talked to who had time with him said he was so nice and sweet.

One thing he said during the panel is that the con experience is a joyful one for him because he is one of us. He waited in line to see Tom Baker when he was 10 so he understands the joy we have and shares it.

David is a treasure. I love him so much.

#david tennant #david fucking tennant #my story #fan expo dallas #SlashWhore #this turned into something a lot longer than I planned #you're welcome

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inkmonster21 · 14 hours

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Sing for Me

10. The Revenge

Cooper Howard × Fem!Reader / The Ghoul × Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence.

From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch @themadhattersqueen @one-of-thewalkingdead

Seconds before I’m about to walk out the door, Miss Williams's warning rings in my head. I allow the madness to take hold of me. I retrieved the small listing device from all those months ago. Something in me wouldn’t allow me to throw it away the first time.

The drive was no less frustrating. The closer I got the more I wondered about the warning. Vault Tech was indeed crooked, but killers? I couldn’t wrap my mind around such a theory.

I’m escorted to Barb’s office. The meeting is running late. Such a surprise. As I sit alone in the silent space. The darkness creeps in once more. I dig into my pocket and grasp the listening device placing it inside my ear. The static clears and voices can be heard.

“Mr. Howard, would you mind if Barb’s assistant pops in for a quick hello? He’s a big fan.” I nod with the practiced actor's smile, “of course.”

She dips back behind the doorway leaving me to listen to the conversations in the meeting room. “Our sales are fine. Sure, rumors of the peace negotiations have set us back a bit, but we're here to offer you an opportunity. We'd like to collaborate on some of our vaults.”

“I-I don't get the vaults. When it's time to come out, what if people are still alive on the surface?

They'll be Stone Age creatures. Probably eat whoever steps out of your vaults.”

“That isn't an issue. Our vaults have the resources to survive for centuries. Meanwhile, our competitors... you know, every other human

who isn't us... will be dead on the surface. Because after all, what is the ultimate weapon of mass destruction?”

“Time is the apex predator. And in the event of an incident, time is the weapon with which we will defeat all of our enemies. That is how we will win the great game of capitalism. Not by outfighting anyone, but by outliving them.”

“Even if you outlive all external threats, here's my problem with the vaults. You confine a bunch of rats in a nest for a long time, they end up eating each other. So who's to say your rats are gonna survive better than those animals on the surface?”

Everyone overlaps each other bickering back and forth to no end. “If I could refocus the discussion.” Barb's voice pipes up, “When I think about the future, I think about my daughter... Janey. How do I provide her with a better future? That's what we've invited you here to discuss.” They agree in the room. “And how do we design our vault societies so our children have that better future? I suggest we hedge our bets. Bud here has an idea for three interconnected vaults. But we need more ideas. We need your ideas. Because it was the spirit of competition that made our companies great, and I propose we bring that same spirit of competition to our solution.”

“We have over a hundred vaults spread across America. Enough for each of you to claim several, where you can play out your own ideas for how to create the perfect conditions for humanity. Whatever you want to do, no one needs to know. And may the best idea win.”

I can’t believe what I am hearing. Humans are viewed as nothing more than experiments.

“So what's Vault 32 and 33? Just people to be controlled?”

“What? No! When you put it like that, it sounds downright morally questionable. They're our breeding pool, the ultimate expression of HR R&D. Genetically selected to breed with my Buds to create a class of super managers. People with positivity, people who make lemonade. People who will inherit the Earth after we've wiped the surface clean. I have our first test subject lined up for freezing in the upcoming months.”

“We could intentionally overcrowd a vault so people have to compete to survive inside it.

We have been developing a Synthetic humanoid bot replicating (y/n) (l/n). It has a memory hard drive the size of a large computer. I would like to see a vault governed by it.”

“What about using a vault to develop a super-mutant soldier using illegal immigrants?”

“We could pump psychotropic drugs into the air supply.”

“We could separate parents and children, and only the smartest kids reach adulthood.”

“There's a lot of earning potential with the end of the world. But we're talking about making a significant investment based on a hypothetical. How can you guarantee results?”

Silence resumes before my heart clenches and my mouth falls agape at the words I hear ring in my head. Barb's chilling voice speaks, “By dropping the bomb ourselves.”

“Mr. Howard? Everything all right, Mr. Howard?” I shake my head, in shock, I get to compose myself but just remain a shell of a man. They are going to kill her…

“Uh, fine. I'm-I'm... I'm-I'm fine, Betty.” She opens the door further, “He is so excited to meet you.” A young skinny man walks through the door. He grasps my hand, “Mr. Howard.

Huge fan. I'm Henry, but, uh, everyone calls me Hank. Wow. I played for (y/n) at the wrap party.”

Did he? Poor soul of a boy was so unrememberable. I shake his hand with a ghostly smile. “You know, that scene? That scene where you shoot Joey Toro in the face? Feo, fuerte y formal.” He stumbles over his words, “I was just wondering, if-if... if you don't mind, um, I hate to be that guy, but, do you think you could give me an autograph?” As requested he gets what he wants. A quick scratch of my signature on a slip of paper.

Barb slipped into her office just as I passed Hank the paper. “Oh, Cooper. I didn’t know you’d be here this early. Sorry, you had to wait.” I shake my head, begging myself to remain calm. “Did you sign them?” I rush her, trying to leave this building full of sorry excuses of Americans' work.

She opens up a folder and examines the contents inside. With a nod of her head, Barb shuts it with a grin, passing it to me. Lo and behold she did sign it. I leave the building feeling my heart beat out of my chest. I have to get home to my love. This all could’ve been a ploy to get her alone.

I rush home, bursting through the door, and go right to the living room. Empty. I walk to the kitchen. Empty. Bedroom? Empty. Basement? Empty.

“(Y/n)?” I double-check the entire house twice. And still no sign of her. “(Y/n)!” Screaming and tracking my steps backward. I run out the back and into the barn. Sugarfoot remains as happy as could be, but no (y/n) inside. “Where are you at, honey? (Y/n)!” My head begins spinning. She’s gone…

“Cooper?” I spin around at the speed of lightning. There at the entrance of the barn stood (y/n) safe and sound. I rush for her, gathering her frame in my arms. “Are you okay?” She asks, running her delicate finger through my hair. I hold her close, a firm grip on her. She was mine to protect and that I would do until I was sent to my grave.

“What is this?” Cooper asks holding up a check from Vault Tech. “Oh, I got a call a few weeks ago. They told me I was needed back in the lab because they had to do a remodel on the bots. I'm assuming that’s the check.” I return to my notebook trying to compose.

“You didn’t tell me.” “Did I need to?” He stares at me, an unreadable expression covering his face. “I would’ve appreciated it.” I nod, “Okay. I’ll make sure to let you know in the future.” Once again I return to the notebook.

“Did anyone say anything to you?” I look up at him, “like what?” “Like… out of line, or unprofessional.” I shake my head, furrowing my brows. “No. Everyone was very nice.” “What did you do there?” “I picked out wigs for the bot out of the choices they had made and I picked out the makeup that would be applied.” He stays silent, his foot tapping as he thinks. I close my notebook and adjust my body to face him, “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no. Just… didn’t expect you to do any more business with them.” I narrow my eyes at him in confusion. “It’s money, Coop. We’ve got bills. I don’t tour for another 6 months. Is it that big of a deal?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah it is.” A nervous sweat engulfed him. “You… we shouldn’t do any business with them. Not anymore.” He practically pleads as he grabs my hand. Tracing the lines on my palm, memorizing their curves. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” Confused and slightly worried. I comfort him in the presence of my arms. He relaxed at the touch.

Cooper was gone filming, and I lazily lay on the couch having a day for myself. Cheese plate on the coffee table and a glass of wine in hand. The phone rings causing me to roll my eyes.

“Hello, (y/n) speaking.”

“(Y/n)! Henry here.”

I furrow my brows. “Hi, what can I help you with?” He gulps on the other side of the line, “Listen, we need you to come down to the labs in 31. We’ve got some remodels to get your approval of.” I bite my lip. “Oh, Henry I wish I could, but-“ he interrupted with haste, “it will only take a few minutes. Promise.” I sigh looking at the clock. Cooper was busy on set, and I had no way of reaching him.

“Only a few minutes,” I say in a firm tone. “Yes, yes, of course! Just meet me outside the building and I’ll escort you to 31.”

The large metal door closed behind me with a loud mechanical hum. "Geez." I laugh awkwardly. It's so quiet in here. "I've never been down this far before." Henry leads the way silently. "They're just around the corner, here." I look behind me, my nerves growing. Something doesn't sit right. "Where is everyone?" He doesn't answer, instead, he walks over to a number pad and types away. To my right sits rows of large glass pods. One individual opens with a hiss. The freezing vapor seeps from the pod quickly. "What’s going on?" Before I can turn around I feel a sharp prick in my neck. "Ouch!" I grab my neck and force myself to turn around, my muscle’s already losing functionality.

There she stands with an empty injection needle and a stone-cold expression. "Barb?" I ask in shock, "What did you do to me?" I feel myself sway, my legs losing the ability to hold myself up. "We needed a test subject, and well, you didn't read the fine print in your contract." I fall the the ground, grasping the edges of her dress. "Barb, please." She glares at me, "You want me to take pity on you? After everything you did to me, you're lucky this is as far as I am going to go. Have a nice nap, (y/n)." I collapse fully onto the metal floor completely unconscious.

While (y/n) was frozen, her home was ransacked, her belongings torn into, and valuables gathered. Random items such as photo books, jewelry, clothing, makeup, and random items were taken and put into boxes. Samples of her blood scattered about the home. A knife lay on the kitchen floor with her fingertips. A home invasion turned wrong in the worst ways possible.

The worst sight for Cooper Howard to return home to. Their home is broken into, furniture and belongings broken, and his songbird missing from the cage. Her blood painting the grounds of the property.

Calling the police did nothing. Cooper was looked at as the main suspect. Struggle actor with a young successful beauty on his arm? Why not marry her in haste and claim her fortune? They were wrong in every part. The only reason he got off was because they were unable to find a body. No body no crime.

However, the public didn’t view it as such. If his reputation wasn’t ruined before it was now. Half the people blamed him, calling him a murderer as he walked down the street, and then some souls would take pity on him. The only thing to do was drown himself in drinks and other questionable substances. Cooper Howard was struggling more day by day.

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #fallout #fallout imagine #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fallout #fallout ghoul #walton goggins #the ghoul fallout

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mrspasser · 10 hours

Text

The things he does for his pack

Pinterest showed me a tweet from someone who fed his co-workers pot brownies because he didn't want to be the only one dirty on the random drug test. I had some thoughts about that and the result is this Sterek fanfic :-)

Read it on A03

There’s a chilly wind blowing that he can barely ward off with the upturned collar of his jacket, his ass has gone numb from the hard bench and a few rows below him there’s a man eating nachos with the most obnoxious artificial flavouring Derek has ever smelled.

The things he does for his pack…

At least the game isn’t a total shit show. He isn’t all that fond of lacrosse - he was on the basketball team himself, but most of his pack plays. Boyd is the newest recruit and though he’s sitting on the bench next to Stiles right now, he’s scheduled to take his place in the goal for the last two quarters. Jackson, Isaac and Scott each usually play the whole game and Stiles plays a quarter here and there - as long as he doesn’t annoy the coach too much.

They’re ahead, with only a few minutes left of the second quarter. The Beacon Hills Cyclones started off strong and scored six goals already, to a meagre two of their opponents. If they keep this up, they’ll win the game by a landslide. Stiles might even get to play.

Besides him, Erica cheers loudly as Isaac scores the seventh goal, right before the referee blows his whistle. The team gathers around their coach to hear his instructions, though a few of them are more focused on the water cooler than game tactics. They’re laughing and bumping into each other, ignoring Finstock when he calls them to order. It seems like they think the game is won already. Derek hears both Scott and Jackson berate their teammates. If they win this game, they’ll compete in the state championships, so there’s a lot riding on this game.

“Go get ‘m, babe!” Erica yells when Boyd jogs towards the goal after the break. The young werewolf looks back and lifts his stick in response and Derek gives him a supportive nod. Boyd joined the team mostly because of his pack mates and the role of goalie fits him well. He’s not flawless, he doesn’t have enough field experience for that, but his werewolf reflexes make up for a lot.

The game restarts and it only takes a few minutes to see that a good part of the team doesn’t have the same focus as before their break. “What the fuck are they doing?” asks Erica, gesturing towards the field where two players seem to be performing some kind of dance. It’s uncoordinated and barely recognizable as dancing, still, it is anything but lacrosse. Jackson yells at them until they get back in line, which they do with a lot of giggling.

Derek frowns at the spectacle below. The visiting team scores two goals in succession: the first is a clever trick shot that he really doesn’t fault Boyd for not catching and the second shot goes in because one of the Cyclones actually hinders his own goalie on purpose. To say the team isn’t happy with that is an understatement. Within minutes the whole game is in disarray and when one of the players stumbles off to the sideline to be sick, the referee calls the whole thing off. It’s a big mess. Derek’s proverbial hackles go up: this whole thing reeks. Something is wrong, but what?

Down on the field Jackson yanks his helmet off and tosses it down on the ground, swearing loudly. Both Isaac and Scott take it upon them to direct their unruly teammates back towards the locker rooms. “It’s like herding cats,” Derek hears Isaac complain when some of his teammates start up an impromptu game of tag and run back onto the field, leaving the young werewolf standing.

Coach Finstock is almost purple from all the yelling he does and all over the bleachers there’s confusion and amused chatter to be heard. Most people have left their seats and gone down to the field. Erica stands next to her boyfriend, who is gesturing angrily at some teammates who stumble past.

Derek gets up and scans the field for his pack. He has a nagging suspicion of foul play and it bothers him that he can’t sense any danger. As far as he can tell, it’s just the humans and his own pack on the field. There’s no-one else. The werewolves all seem to be acting normal, which leads him to believe there was something that affected the humans.

Stiles. Where is Stiles?

Now that he thinks of it, Derek kinda expects Stiles to be at the forefront of this whole mess, yet the lanky human is nowhere to be seen. That can’t be right. The nagging sense of discomfort that sat low in his belly turned into alarm.

The Alpha werewolf lets his enhanced senses work for him as he urgently searches the crowd, though it still takes him a while to spot the Cyclones’ number 24. Stiles is lying underneath the bench, curled up against some bags of sport’s gear. He took his protective gear off and cuddled with the shoulder pads in his arms like it’s a teddy bear. Derek rushes over, unsure of the condition his pack member is in. It’s only when he’s close that he can hear his slight snores over the din of the crowd. Relief swoops through his stomach.

“Stiles!” There’s no reaction, not even when Derek calls his name a second time. He crouches down to shake the boy’s shoulder. “Stiles! Wake up!”

Stiles wakes up with a mumbled “Huh? Wazzit?” and a lolling search of his head towards the sound. His eyes blink open unevenly. One eye focuses on Derek and a lazy, contented grin appears on his face. “Der-bear.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the stupid pet name, though he can’t hide the relieved smile that breaks through. He helps Stiles roll out from under the bench, preventing him from bumping his head into it when he tries to sit up. “What are you doing on the ground?”

Another loopy grin. “I was sleepy.”

If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say Stiles was drunk. He’s acting even more uncoordinated than usual and he has trouble focusing his vision. Thing is, he can’t smell any alcohol on the boy, just sweat and sweets. And he knows Stiles isn’t a big fan of drinking, having seen from up close what alcohol can do to a man. Derek has to hold Stiles by the arms to keep him sitting upright; he would pitch right over otherwise. “Stiles? What happened?”

“I dunno,” Stiles answers, slightly slurring his words. He grips onto Derek’s forearms and tries to look around him at the field. “Is the game over? Did we win?”

Derek jostles him a little to get his attention back on him. “Stiles. Focus!”

Erica and Boyd come up to them, giving Stiles a scrutinising look. “What’s wrong with him?” Erica asks, cocking her head as she looks the boy over.

“I don’t know,” Derek grits out and tries to get Stiles to stand up. It’s like wrestling an octopus. The boy is not cooperating at all and after a few moments Derek gives up and lets him sit down on the bench. At least that way he isn’t on the ground anymore. Stiles immediately tips over to lean against Derek’s hip, all heavy and loose limbs.

Boyd chuckles lowly. “Dude, is he stoned?”

“Stoned?!” Erica bends over to grab Stiles by the chin so she can look into his face. “He is!” she cackles in delight. “His eyes are all red!”

Stiles grabs Derek’s leg for stability, winding his arm around it, and sits up a little straighter. “I have red eyes?” He looks up at Derek and grins. “You hear that, Sourwolf? I’m the Alpha now!”

Boyd crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards them with a knowing smile. “He’s baked.”

“No, I didn’t!” Stiles flails and Derek has to grab him by the back of his jersey to prevent him from headbutting the werewolf in the crotch. The boy refuses to let go of his leg. “Greenberg did the baking. They were delicious!”

“What are you talking about?” Derek keeps him upright as much as he can, which is surprisingly hard when Stiles resembles an octopus ragdoll.

“Pot brownies.” The voice of Jackson cuts through and all heads turn to the team’s co-captain that comes walking up to them. He’s looking cross. “Fucking Greenberg fed the whole team edibles before the game.”

“They were very edible,” Stiles mumbles. His voice kind of gets lost under the astonished exclamations of his packmates. He snuggles a little closer to Derek’s leg.

“Why would he do that?” Derek growls. It’s clear the rest of the team didn’t know anything of this plan, which basically means the guy poisoned his team mates.

“To fuck with the mandatory drug test they were gonna have us take after the game,” Jackson explains curtly. “A random check. We weren’t supposed to know about it, but Greenberg got into the coach's papers or something.”

Derek huffs. “That doesn’t explain why he fed the whole team drugs. Why risk getting kicked out of the competition?”

“Dude’s a stoner. He didn’t want to get caught.”

Erica laughs. “That is kinda genius, if you think about it.” At Derek’s ornery look she explains: “Chances are they would dismiss the test if the whole team tested positive. They’d think it was a faulty test, or something.”

“Yeah, or they would just suspend the entire team,” Boyd corrects her. “Where is that asshole now?” he asks Jackson. That is something Derek wants to know too.

Jackson points a thumb back over his shoulder. “Back at the locker room. Coach is ripping him a new one. Scott and Isaac are with them.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. His first reaction was to join coach Finstock in yelling at this Greenberg idiot, but was it really his place to do so? After all, most of his pack was unharmed and the one that did get affected was just high as a kite. And cuddly. He grips the back of Stiles’ neck to keep his head still, so he wasn’t affectionately rubbing his face on Derek’s hip. He sighs. “Let’s go home.”

That does get Stiles’ attention. “Home?! I can’t go home!” He clumsily tries to get to his feet, using various body parts of his Alpha as a handgrip. Derek hauls him to his feet with a hand in his armpit before it can get any worse. “My dad can’t go home! I mean, I can’t go there. My dad is at home.” He pauses for a second. “Which means he can’t go home either, because he’s already there. Huh. What was I saying?”

“Well, you can’t stay here either,” Derek answers impatiently. “You’ve got to sleep this off, or something.”

“I don’t know, I kinda like him like this,” Erica smirks. She shows her teeth when Derek glares at her.

“I can sleep here.” Stiles tries to turn to pat the bench he’d been sleeping underneath earlier, almost falling over the thing in his attempt. Derek gets a hold of his arm and resigns himself quietly to not letting go until Stiles was safely at home, in bed.

“Guys! We’re getting a rematch next week,” Scott announces from afar, jogging over to them. Isaac follows him in his wake. “What’s the matter with Stiles?”

“He ate three pot brownies, that’s the matter with Stiles,” Isaac deadpans after one look at his pack mate.

“He ate three?!” Erica guffaws.

“They were really good!” Scott hurries to say. “Besides, I had two and I feel fine.”

“That’s because you’re a werewolf, dumbass,” Jackson hisses and for once Derek is glad that Jackson said something so he didn’t have to.

“Oh. Right.” Scott has the decency to look abashed. He moves a little closer to his friend, who resorted back to leaning up against Derek for support. “Will he be okay?” he asks the older werewolf.

“Should be fine,” Derek grunts. “Just has to sleep it off.”

“Oh, yeah, that should work,” Scott nods sagely. Then his face clears. “Shit! He can’t go home, his dad will know he’s high!”

“Yeah, Der! Dad will know!” Stiles agrees vehemently, turning fast to slap Derek in the chest for emphasis. “Ohh, I feel sick,” he groans immediately afterward, his face turning white as a sheet.

Recognising what is about to happen, Derek moves them a step away from the others and holds Stiles steady as he suddenly lurches forward and pukes on the grass. Behind them, the werewolves make various noises of disgust. Derek isn’t a fan of the stench of vomit either, but Stiles is trembling on his legs like a newborn foal and making pitiful noises in between heaving up the contents of his stomach, so he supports him with a hand underneath his chest and rubs comforting circles on his back with the other.

When his stomach is finally empty, Stiles leans forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Scott helps his friend drink a cup of water from the team’s water cooler. Stiles is too out of it to do much to help. “I feel like shit,” he says in a wobbly voice.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees gently. “Let’s get you home, alright? You can stay at the loft until you feel better.” The boy will probably be alright after a good sleep.

“Thanks,” Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. He even starts tipping forward alarmingly.

“That’s it,” Derek decides out loud and scoops Stiles up so he can carry him to the car. “We’re out of here.” He walks off in the direction of the parking lot, Stiles dozing in his arms, trusting the rest of his pack to sort things out when it comes to grabbing their stuff and finding their own way back to the loft.

Stiles wakes up a little when Derek positions him carefully in the front seat of his car. “Der?” he asks, his head lolling back against the seat.

“Hmm?” Derek reaches across him to fasten his seatbelt. From the corner of his eye he can see Stiles following him with his eyes, a smile on his face that’s a cross of loopy and fond.

When Derek leans back, sitting on his haunches next to his car, Stiles strains forward in his seatbelt conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Scott, but you’re my favourite werewolf,” he whispers.

Derek huffs a laugh despite himself. He shakes his head and gets up to close the car door.

“You gotta promise, Der,” Stiles urges. “You can’t tell Scott!”

The werewolf nods indulgently. “Sure.”

But Stiles isn’t happy with that answer. “You gotta promise!” When Derek doesn’t react to him sticking out his pink, he shakes his hand in front of his face and urges: “Pinky swear that you won’t tell!”

“Stiles, come on, lets just get you home.” Derek is a grown ass Alpha werewolf. He isn’t gonna pinky swear with a teenager that’s still pretty baked.

Stiles points at him with a stern finger. “Pinky swear or you’re no longer my favourite werewolf!”

And Derek…. Well, he can’t help it. As much as Stiles can be annoying and a handful, he’s also smart, loyal and, God help Derek, funny.

“Can’t have that, right?” Derek chuckles and hooks his pinky finger around Stiles’. He’s awarded with a bright grin when he declares solemnly not to tell Scott that Derek is Stiles’ favourite werewolf.

With Stiles satisfied, Derek can close the car door and finally get into the car himself. Stiles watches him start the car with bleary eyes. He’ll probably fall asleep soon.

“Don’t puke on the upholstery,” he warns his young packmate, just to be sure.

“I promise,” Stiles responds, as serious as he can while breaking into a yawn. He’s still a bit pale around the nose, though Derek suspects he can keep himself collected during the short ride to the loft.

It’s quiet for a bit as Derek navigates the school parking lot and drives out onto the main road. “Hey Der?” it sounds softly from the seat next to him after a few minutes.

“Yes, Stiles?” Derek signals for a corner.

“Am I your favourite human?”

The tentative way the words are spoken makes Derek look over. Stiles actually seems bashful, it’s an odd look on him.

Derek hesitates for a second, but… Whatever. They’re alone and there’s a chance that Stiles won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow anyway. The werewolf puts his hand on the boy’s knee and squeezes. “You are, Stiles.”

“That’s nice,” Stiles says in a whisper. He sounds pleased. And half asleep, that too. However, half asleep as he is, Stiles still holds out his hand with his pinky outstretched. “I won’t tell Scott,” he promises when Derek hooks his own pinky in after just a short moment.

“Good,” Derek agrees with a smile. The childish secret between them makes him feel oddly giddy.

The boy sleeps for the rest of the ride and doesn’t wake up when Derek lifts him from the car and carries him up the stairs. He gently tucks Stiles in in his bed, figuring he can stand to have his bedding smelling like his favourite human tonight. When he gets back downstairs, his betas look at him questioningly, but they don’t say anything, especially not after he gives them his credit card to order dinner.

Stiles wakes up around nine PM, hungry like a wolf. He scarfs down the pizza the pack left for him in a remarkable show of restraint and resigns himself to their teasing easily. It looks like he indeed doesn’t remember all that much from what happened. More importantly, besides ‘feeling a bit crunchy’ - Stiles’ own words - he’s not much worse for wear from the whole thing. Perhaps Derek really doesn’t have to go after that idiot of a Greenberg.

By eleven, Derek evicts his pack from his home. He loves them, honestly, but there’s only so much teenage bullshit he can stand. He makes Scott drive Stiles home in the Jeep, not listening to Stiles’ protests and even flashing his red eyes when the boy doesn’t give in quickly enough. Stiles wrinkles his nose at him, though he complies easily after that.

Around midnight, when Derek is reading in bed, his phone lights up with a message: [ FYI. I changed your name in my contacts from Sourwolf to F.W. So now we match! ]

Derek texts back a question mark. It’s a common occurrence when texting with Stiles.

A moment later there’s a reply. [ Can’t have Scott find out, can we? ;-) ]

It’s only then that Derek notices that the name on the texts doesn’t say Stiles, but Favourite Human. He has no idea how or when Stiles got a hold of his phone this evening.

He thinks about changing it for a second, but puts his phone back on the nightstand instead and shuts off the light so he can go to sleep.

The things he does for his pack.

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