#anyway i should stop running my mouth online but also hi

[ghostieblotts]

So many projects I want to work on, so much planning to do for fun trips, so much holiday fun imminent, and not enough time

[aurumacadicus]

Anyway I saw a commercial where Don Cheadle runs a speakeasy.

--

"Tony, my bar is opening tonight and my piano player has food poisoning," Jim stated when he found him in the living room of his penthouse, watching a basketball game.

Tony blinked at him, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. "I can flush him with Pedialyte?"

"This isn't college. Also I already left him a case and a credit card in case his girlfriend has to take him to get an IV," Jim answered with a blasé shrug. He reached over the back of the couch to grab his hair and give him a gentle shake. "I understand you're still reeling from your breakup but I need a favor. You must have dated at least one person who can play jazz on the piano."

"Stop wobbling me I'm full of chips," Tony grumbled, lifting his hand to slap Jim's arm. "And no, I didn't. I'm the piano player in my relationships."

Jim paused, then began shaking him with more fervor. "HOW COME YOU NEVER PLAYED FOR ME."

"There wasn't a piano in our dorm I will throw up on you," Tony snapped, smacking his arm again. "Also??? I was adorable in school I would have hogged all the girls."

"It's so annoying that you're right," Jim huffed, allowing himself to be brushed off. He looked around the penthouse, then pointed at the piano next to the window, which he'd always thought was just there either to impress Tony's dates or because rich people just owned pianos. "Show me what you can do."

"I don't want to go to your speakeasy opening," Tony complained, even as he stood and brushed his hands off on his sweatpants. "I want to wallow in finding my ex-boyfriend fucking my ex-girlfriend in my bed. I was supposed to propose tonight. You're getting George Gershwin."

"Oh no," Jim deadpanned. "A way to get your mind off of that guy I hated anyway while getting me to owe you a favor."

Tony paused, slanting him a look out of the corner of his eye. His fingers hovered over the piano keys. "...You'll owe me a favor?" he repeated.

"A big one," Jim confirmed, and couldn't help a relieved smile as Tony's fingers danced along the keys in response, Rhapsody in Blue vibrating out from the piano's body. "Wear that pinstripe number. You'll never have to buy yourself a drink."

--

Most of the patrons were by invite. Jim had wanted to show the place off to his friends first, now that it was finished. A themed bar wasn't the safest bet in any economy, and he wanted them to be able to enjoy it before he had to start stressing about finances. And military people never needed an excuse to drink.

Tony's favor had involved inviting a few of his rich friends, though, and with the selfies Janet Van Dyne and Johnny Storm were posting online, Jim figured he'd be set for a few years, especially when Jan grabbed his hands and sparkled at him about how she'd be coming at least once a week to show off new flapper dresses. (He was still unsure as to how she "sparkled" at him, but it was an adjective he'd gotten from Tony and it was the only really apt one.) They kept dropping fifties in the tip jar, too, which only made his bartenders more cheerful and willing to act in their roles.

Luckily, the higher class clientele were balanced out with Jim's pals from the military. Carol and Maria had already said their goodbyes (Monica had an event early the next morning) but as the air force left, the army rolled in, and he welcomed the Howling Commandoes in with only a little teasing.

"Jim," Natasha said, appearing beside him between one breath and another, despite the beads on her dress tinkling musically with each step. "Why is Bucky lying to people that his food poisoning miraculously ended. And why did he give me five hundred dollars to shut up about him not having food poisoning."

Jim sighed. He should have known that Bucky would have gotten dragged here regardless of his "illness" with friends like the Commandoes. "I needed to get Tony out of the house but I knew he'd only do it if I needed help. Today was the first time he showered in a week."

"I see. Well, I've just gotten May and Happy together," Natasha said ominously. "And Pepper is well on her way to realizing Phil is asking her out. I could use a new project. Steve is also single."

"I really don't want Tony dating right after he found his cheating ex-boyfriend in his bed with someone else," Jim began.

"Don't worry, Steve is stupidly loyal even to people he's not dating and will punch Tiberius Stone in the teeth if he ever sees him," Natasha assured him, and floated halfway across the room as Jim gave her an astonished blink.

Well. Jim couldn't say he didn't want to see that. He drifted over to the piano, where Tony was still diligently playing Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong and Jelly Roll Morton. "You need a break, bud? You've been playing for two hours straight."

"Rhodey," Tony slurred happily, and it made Jim suddenly aware of the rows of martini glasses on the side of the piano. "This is so much fun. Is it okay if my tips go to charity. I can't feel my hands."

Bucky appeared a moment later, cheerfully shouldering him aside. "I'll take over, fella," he said, giving Jim a wink, and hip-checked Tony off of the piano bench and directly into Jim's arms.

"Was that hot or am I sad and drunk?" Tony asked. He squinted at Bucky blearily. "Am I sad and looking for anything to be hot. Or was that actually hot."

Reluctantly, Jim answered, "No, it was hot, but Bucky's taken." He pulled Tony's arm over his shoulders. "Let's get some water in you, okay?"

"Okay but I promised Jan I'd play her out because of drama and panache," Tony wobbled, allowing Jim to tow him over to the dark, moody sitting area. "Is this a secret door? Oh my God yay," he added as Jim pulled a bookcase open to reveal a back room where he could rest without excitement.

Jim had intended for it to be a room for private parties, but letting his friends sober up in it tonight would be fine, probably. Especially if Tony was going to be drunk and cute about it. "What is Jan going to have you play?"

"'Let's Misbehave,'" Tony slurred, and Jim sighed fondly, because of course she was.

[quietly-sleeping]

Staring down a furious Shen-shid was revealing a lot more about Shang Qinghua than he wanted it to.

Well, he wasn't staring down his shidi, his shidi was pushing him against a wall and ranting about an illegal pet trade ring.

But frankly, Shang Qinghua had exactly two thoughts going on in his head at the moment, which is very much an outlier. Only competing with the times he's gotten a face full of Mobei-jun boobs.

The two thoughts were one very loud thought, and one kind of quiet thought. Though volume was a tricky subject when he couldn't stop staring at his shidi's lips which were in very close range.

The loud thought was mostly about how the world was intent on calling out all his issues. It started with being born into a broken home, again, thanks for that by the way. Picked up speed about the time he met his king and found that no, he is actually kind of good looking in this world. And maybe in his previous world but he doesn't want to think about that right now. The current call out was his fatal attraction to passionate cold people.

Or people who appeared to be cold, since calling Shen-shidi cold was stupid. He's seen the sheer amount of animals this man has Disney princessed, not to mention the veritable harem that follows in his wake.

Anyway, the second thought was along the lines of "why oh why did I insert a side character that never showed up that was basically a copy paste of my crush from freshman year of college?"

It was a long thought but it was running on a very fast loop in his head at the moment.

Did he model Shen Qingqiu after a particularly vitriolic commenter he'd seen running around the web novel sites in the past, yes. Did he make him painfully attractive just because he wanted to imagine himself provoking fights with a pretty guy online? Maybe.

Did he also model Mobei-jun after the various ill advised crushes he's had through the years? Also maybe. You can't prove anything, his computer was shit and totally died when he spilled ramen on it.

Did these thoughts immediately jump straight out the window when Shen-shidi lifted his chin with his hand to make him look into his eyes and ask "Are you even listening to me?" while looking down his nose? Yes.

A man wants what he wants, and if what he wants is to be ground into the floor both verbally and physically by one of the hot people running around his world, everyone should keep their mouths shut. Because dammit Shang Qingghua wanted this so badly.

[pichiru]

The Sun Also Smiles - Chapter 5

Chapters - [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

Summary - With Mabel and Dipper's 16th birthday party on the horizon, Grunkle Stan takes to online dating to find a date for the party. Things start to get real weird real fast.

Word Count - 3,582

Pairing(s) - Stan Pines x OC

Genre(s): Romance, Comedy, Mystery

~~~~~~~~

“Sixer, is this really necessary?” Stan panted as he was running on a treadmill in their lab. He was keeping up just fine but of course he was a little winded. Being on a boat nonstop for two years will do that to you.

“Yes, it’s extremely necessary because I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and hear that my brother died from over exerting himself if he…” Ford cleared his throat with his fist over his mouth. “Happens to “get lucky” the night before.”

“Why do ya talk about sex like you’re the kids’ ages? Like ya don’t sneak off in the dead of night to be with Fiddleford,” Stan said loudly, unable to control the volume of his voice from running so much.

“Shut it!” Ford snapped as his face reddened from Stan’s words. He was completely unaware that his brother knew about that and now he was self conscious.

Stan cheesed, pleased with himself that he outed his brother the same way he outed him to the kids. “How much longer do I gotta run?? I gotta take another shower cuz of ya!”

“You should wanna freshen up before a date. Anyways, you can stop at any time. Nobody told you to run. I told you to just get on the treadmill. You’re the one who started running like there were demons chasing you,” Ford said in a snide tone.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Stan growled, immediately turning the treadmill down to a comfortable speed before hopping off. “Are your tests conclusive?” He asked as he went to the fridge that was in the lab. Ford spent long hours down here since they were back and Stan thought to get a fridge installed so he could stay hydrated at least. He saw a jug of water and sighed in relief.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ford said with his back to Stan, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ll do just fine if you get lucky tonight. I have no doubts. Just watch that your heart doesn’t start feeling funny,” he explained while he wrote on a piece of paper.

Meanwhile, Stan was chugging the water and let out a loud sigh then burped loudly. He put the half finished jug in the fridge and closed it. He wiped his mouth followed by his forehead to get rid of what sweat he could for the moment.

“If I do get lucky, can I bring her down here? Don’t wanna scar the kids. Not somethin they need to be around honestly,” he half joked.

“Yeah, sure,” Ford said, waving his hand again. He wasn’t paying attention in the slightest anymore. He was too focused on what he was doing to hear any of what Stan was saying.

“Loser says, yeah?” Stan said quickly.

“Yea- Oh, good grief,” Ford groaned, putting his head in his hand in defeat. Stan’s obnoxious laughter could be heard receding as he went upstairs to get ready for his date.

Mabel was sitting in Stan’s recliner when he came up from the lab. He walked into the living room.

“Hiiii, Grunkle Stan,” she said cutely.

“Hi, Pumpkin,” he said, ruffling her hair affectionately as he walked past her. “Bein good?”

“As alwaaayyyssss,” Mabel said with a grin.

“Good. Take care of your brother tonight for me, alright? He seems like he needs a lot of support right now.” Stan started up the steps then stopped and looked at Mabel.

“Can I ask you somethin?”

“Anything for yooouuuuu!” She chirped happily.

“What should I get her for our first date?” He asked shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” Mabel hummed for what felt like centuries.

“Cmon kid, I ain’t got all day,” he said playfully.

“She looks like the type to enjoy flowers if they were very specific flowers,” she said honestly.

“Specific flowers?” Stan asked, intrigued by this thought process now.

“Yeah like don’t get her just any old bouquet of random flowers. I’ve seen rose and sunflower bouquets. The red and yellow look soooooooooooo good together. Also! She just seems like a sunflower kinda lady. You know that special fact about sunflowers right?”

“No?” Stan said in a tone that gave his confusion away immediately.

“Sunflowers always face the sun no matter what. And I think, if I remember correctly, if there’s no sun, they face each other. So you could be all corny, hand her the bouquet, and say, “wow! I didn’t know you were the sun with the way these sunflowers are facing you!” Or something like that,” Mabel mimicked in her best Stan voice.

Stan stared at her with a deadpan expression, not buying it in the least bit. “I’ll get her the flowers but there’s no way in hell I’m sayin all that.”

“Why nootttttt! It’s cute! I think she’d appreciate it!” she pouted cutely.

“I think she’d laugh me out of house and home,” Stan chuckled.

“Noooooo! She’s really nice! I don’t think she’d do that to you,” she said, nodding to emphasize her point.

“If you say so kid. Anyway, I’m gonna go get dressed. Don’t let the tv or the phone rot your brain,” Stan said, walking up the stairs.

“Suuuurrreeee!” She said before whipping her phone out immediately and texting the group chat she had with Grenda and Candy.

Mabel said:

Guuuuyyysssss

Candy said:

What’s up Mabel!

Mabel said:

My Grunkle Stan is going on a date tonight and I kinda wanna spy on them 😼😽

Grenda said:

Spy on them?? How would you do that?

Mabel said:

Welllllllllll the driving age is 16 here and Candy is 16,,,,,,,,,,and she has her driver’s license,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Mabel said:

😼😼😼

Candy said:

I don’t think my parents would let me drive this late in the day

Mabel said:

That’s why yooouuuuuuuuu sneak ouuuuttttt. Just this one time! Please please please please please please pleeeeaaaassseeeeeeereeee 🙏🏻

Candy said:

Sighhhhhhhhh fine. This one ☝🏻 (1) time

Grenda said:

OOOOOOH SPY MISSION SPY MISSION!!!

Mabel said:

Operation Date Night is a go 😈

Mabel hopped up from the chair then hurried up to her and Maze's bedroom. "Maze! Maze, Maze, Maze!" She repeated excitedly but enough to where Stan couldn't hear if he happened to be listening too hard.

"Whaaaaaaaat?" Maze asked in an annoyed tone. He was laying on his bed and reading a comic book when Mabel jumped on his bed.

"Wanna go on a spy mission with me and the girls?" she asked as she got extremely close to Maze's face. Her nose was pressed against his cheek which made her breathe heavily on him over and over again.

"A spy mission? Who are you spying on?" he asked, looking out of the corner of his eye so he didn't move to look at her.

"Grunkle Staaaaaannnnnnnn."

Maze fully turned his head to look at his insanity driven sister. "Mabel, isn't that a little...extreme?"

"Well yeah but don't you wanna make sure that this lady isn't some weirdo freak?" She retorted simply. "I wanna make sure Grunkle Stan is happy and taken care of in his old...er...age. That's all."

Maze sighed heavily. "Okay, even if I agreed to go along with this insane plan, how would we even get there?"

"Candy has her license," Mabel said in a singsong voice as she grinned from ear to ear.

He stared at Mabel for what seemed like 117 business days. "Fine," he said simply. "But if this goes downhill for us, I'm gonna say I told you so. Deal?"

Mabel laughed at that. "Deal!"

"Do you even know where they're going?" he asked.

"I asked Grunkle Ford and he said that they're going to some...wine tasting event at the art gallery. I dunno. Adults are weird," she explained.

"Huh. I knew Grunkle Stan was the artsy type but I didn't think he'd share that so readily with someone he just met. I only found out from Grunkle Ford recently in a correspondence from when they were out on their voyage."

"Mhm, mhm," she responded, nodding her head with her arms folded across her chest thoughtfully. "I'm gonna tell Candy to come get us after Grunkle Stan leaves. I know exactly which gallery they're going to. It's so nice from what I remember."

"Okay. Come get me when they're here and you're ready," Maze said, giving her a quick nod before going back to reading his comic book.

"You're the best little brother I could ever ask for!" Mabel said as she tackle hugged him.

"Hey, hey! Easy on the little stuff!" He said in a strained voice, starting to blush.

"I thought you were over that stuff??"

"Sometimes," he grumbled in response.

"Maze, you're always gonna be the little brother. You just have to learn to live with it at this point," Mabel teased, poking his side which caused him to flinch from being ticklish in that spot.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure," he laughed gently.

About an hour passed before Stan emerged from his room. There was a tolerable smell of cologne wafting off of him and his hair was done perfectly to his standards. He had on a black button up shirt with a fancier than usual, but still simple, gold chain adorned around his neck. His pants were simple but he definitely put on his best pair of shoes for this event. He even put in some old earrings he forgot he had.

Nobody ever really noticed except Ford because his hair was shaggy majority of the time but Stan had six piercings. Three on each ear. One on each lobe and two going up the outsides of his ears. There were two gold hoops and four gold studs. The man even shaped up his beard of all things. He felt amazing and most of all, ecstatic, about this date.

"Kids?" Stan called to the twins in the hallway. "I'm headin out! Be nice and try not to kill each other. Take care of Ford too!" he yelled out to them as he started down the hall to go down the stairs.

"Grunkle Stan!!" Quick and heavy footsteps could be heard closing the space behind Stan. Mabel held up her closed fist at him with her fingers facing upwards. "Give these to her," she said sweetly.

Stan turned to see what Mabel was going on about. "What is it?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow as he stared at her closed hand.

Mabel opened her hand to reveal a pair of well made conversation heart earrings that read, "Be Mine" and "Sweetheart". One was yellow and the other was pink. "She seems like a conversation heart kinda gal. Tell her you commissioned me for these and watch how fast she swoons," she suggested with a wink.

Stan stared at the earrings then took them from her gently. He smiled at the gesture and closed his hand around them. "Thanks, Pumpkin. Appreciate this a lot."  He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

She giggled and blushed shyly. "Let me know how she likes them!!"

"I will. Solana's an artist too and I know she'll appreciate how much work ya put into this, kid." Stan smiled at her gratefully while he patted the top of her head lovingly.

Her eyes sparkled at that fact. "I'd love to see her work some time!"

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind showin ya. Just be patient, yeah?"

Mabel nodded quickly, pursing her lips at the same time. "I got ya!" She winked at him.

"Okay, I gotta get goin," he said as he checked the flashy time piece he had on his left arm. "Don't wanna be late to my first date in years." He chuckled. A date. That felt funny to say out loud.

"Yeah! Gogogoogogogogo!" She urged eagerly, pushing him to go down the stairs faster. "I wanna hear all about it when you get home!"

Stan laughed to himself. As if he'd tell her every single thing. Especially if things were to get a little heated like they did earlier at the store. He made it to the bottom of the stairs intact, no thanks to Mabel still pushing him. She didn't stop until they were at the front door. "Gooooooooo!"

"I'm goin, I'm goin!" he snorted, opening the door to leave. "Be good, kid." Stan closed the door behind himself and walked to his car.

Mabel whipped out her phone immediately and texted the new group chat that she'd made with Maze, Candy, and Grenda.

Mabel said:

Guys. Operation Date Night is a go. 😈

Candy said:

Got it. On my way. 🚗

Grenda said:

I'M SO EXCITED!! 🗣

Maze said:

Ready as I can be to spy on my grunkle

On the drive to the gallery, Stan sang along to the radio to every song that played. Either he listened to the radio too much or they needed to find new songs to play for once. Maybe it was both. He didn't really care either way. It was a way to work off the nerves he was feeling the closer he got to the gallery.

He'd already met her and kissed her but he still wanted to make a good impression on her anyway. He _had_ to. There had to be some way to make for his behavior earlier. Hopefully the earrings Mabel made for her would butter her up even more in his favor. Make it look like he loved his niece and believed in her work. Which does. Obviously.

Once he arrived, he parked the car and cut the radio off to sit there in silence. The nerves were creeping back up on him slowly the longer he sat there in deep thought.

Stan reached in his pocket for his phone to see if Solana messaged him. And by a stroke of luck, she did.

Solana said:

I'm inside whenever you get here. I'm the one in the long and frilly off the shoulder affair 😋🖤 It's all black

Stan 🖤🖤🖤 said:

Alright I'm here I'll be in

Solana smiled at the message before putting her phone back into her purse and waiting for Stan. She was just as nervous as he was, surprisingly. She started fidgeting with her hands to try and work some of the energy off.

Breathe in.

It's okay.

Breathe out.

He's a nice guy. He won't be weird.

Breathe in.

What's to be nervous about?

Breathe out.

What if he thought she was…promiscuous…for throwing herself at him?

Breathe in.

He definitely thought that.

Breathe out. Breathe in.

Oh God.

Breathe out. Breathe in. Breath out.

He does.

In. Out. In. Out.

He does???

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In…

He does.

The speed of her breathing quickened alongside the speed of her thoughts. It started to become overwhelming almost immediately. Everything around her started to sound extremely deafening but unintelligible gibberish at the same time. Her head started spinning the longer she sat there with herself. It became unbearable.

"...ana?" A voice said through the fog.

"Huh?" She said softly, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

"Solana?" Stan's voice said clearly, snapping her back to reality promptly.

"S-Stan," Solana said softly as she tried to compose herself. She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. After shaking her head a little to reduce the fog in her brain, she saw Stan clearly. Smelled him too. He smelled so...*good*.

Stan was standing there with a bouquet of roses and sunflowers like Mabel suggested with a distressed look on his face. He was worried sick about the state Solana seemed to be in at the moment.

“Wow, you look fucking amazing,” she complimented as she looked him from head to toe a few times over. “The sexy black shirt. We just so happened to wear all black and match? That’s cute. And oooh, the earrings? You really pulled out all the stops,” she rambled, trying to get the residual nerves to go away at this point.

Stan’s entire face turned red at the compliments she rapidly fired at him. He was completely speechless.

“I…uh…speakin of earrings. I…I had these commissioned for you. From my niece,” Stan said after clearing his throat. He pulled earrings from a little part on the bouquet and handed them to her in a decorative baggie. The florist did him a solid and gave him a mini bag for them.

Solana took the baggie gently and opened it then poured them into her hand. A soft look plastered itself on her face. It was an expression that held admiration for Stan and happiness that he’d even think of something like this so quickly.

“Stan, I…”

“Oh! It’s not me askin ya to do anything ya don’t wanna,” he said quickly, his embarrassment becoming much clearer the longer they stood there in silence. His neck and ears heated up.

Solana stepped forward then stretched onto her tippy toes in her heels to place a kiss on his lips. Stan cleared his throat to hide the pride he felt in getting another kiss from her.

“Thank you. I love these. I’ll put them on right now, actually.” And she did just that. As she was putting them on, she finally turned her full attention to what was in Stan’s hands.

“Flowers? For me?” She asked, tears clear in her tone. “Homemade earrings and a bouquet of flowers so delicately made and designed? For me?” She asked again as she started sniffling.

“WAIT, why are you cryin!” Stan said, holding his free hand out at her. Admittedly, he didn’t know what to do with her like this so he waited until she told him what she needed.

“Should I get ya some tissues??” He asked worriedly.

“No, no. I’m fine,” she said through her copious amounts of sniffles as she pulled a jet black and lace trimmed handkerchief from her cleavage. Stan blinked at that motion. That was…kinda hot. Solana started dabbing her the waterline of her eyes with the cloth then patted her cheeks dry.

“I’m sorry. It’s just so sweet of you to do all of this and I don’t have anything for you.”

“S’fine, toots. I don’t need anything,” Stan deflected quickly.

Solana rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I asked or said. Now I have to get you something as equally or even more amazing than these gifts. Can I?” She asked, holding her hands out for the flowers.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. They’re all yours,” he said while putting the flowers into her hands gently. “I got ya sunflowers cuz ya been lightin up my life like the purest ray of sunshine since we met and sunflowers always face the sun no matter what. So…yeah.” He took Mabel’s advice but he tried to doctor it up a little from what she originally said.

“Stan, that is…” She started sniffling again. “That’s the sweetest thing a man has ever said to me. You got game, old man,” she joked through her stifled tears.

“Yeah, you know, I try,” he said with a shrug and charming half smile that could only be interpreted as him trying to be humble but failing miserably.

Solana giggled at his attempt to seem nonchalant. “You’re so funny,” she sniffled once more, wiping her eyes and cheeks again. After she did that, she folded the handkerchief up and put it back in her cleavage.

“Are you…ready to get this show on the road? It’s a night of fine wine and fine art beside a fine man.”

“With a fine lady on my arm,” Stan added before holding out his arm for her to take.

She let out an excited but quiet “ooh” sound then took his arm just as he wanted her to. “Wanna get the wine before or after the art?”

“After. I don’t wanna be tipsy for this,” he said honestly.

“I respect that so much,” she said sweetly. “Lead the way?”

“Glad to do it, toots.” Stan started towards the beginning of the gallery with his date on his arm and his confidence through the roof. He leaned down closer to her ear. “Ya look great by the way. I’m diggin the whole goth vibe. It’s sexy,”he said in a low voice.

“Oh!” She said as her face flushed. “Thank you.”

As they walked deeper into the gallery, Mabel, Maze, Candy, and Grenda were peeking around a corner and watching from afar. Mabel and Candy were borderline crying at how Stan managed to pull everything together and make it cohesive.

“I am so proud of him!” Candy nearly sobbed.

“The sunshine line was my idea. He just dressed it up a bit,” Mabel said in a wavering voice as her bottom lip quivered.

Maze rolled his eyes and, of course, put his hands in his pockets. “You guys are so mushy.”

“Guys, they’re getting away from us! We have to focus!” Grenda said as she grabbed Mabel’s face and held it tightly in place. “We have to see,” she whispered.

“Grenda’s right. We gotta go!” Mabel said in a louder than she should voice. Maze immediately covered her mouth.

“Do you wanna ruin your own covert operation??” He asked her. She shook her head. “Then we gotta be quieter so we don’t get found out. Got it?” She nodded and he removed his hand from her mouth.

“Let’s go,” Candy whispered, sneaking forward to try and catch up to Stan and Solana at a reasonable distance. Everyone else crept beside her.

[qdrex]

TCDO ep 8

Honestly... I always imagined it differently.

I imagined telling him everything one by one, calmly...

But it went crazy.

This... What I feel for Chosen is hard for me. I don't want to feel this, and no matter how childish it is, I had to complain to someone, and my victim was an empty book that I turned into a diary.

What a fucking shame that this idiot had to read it.

Fuck...

I wiped the light tears from my face. I want to go back to him... But I'm afraid of how he will react. He may not want to see me at all. I'll stay somewhere for a few days, maybe... No. Just not there.

Although.... This is the only place left for me...

I have nowhere to go, I have nowhere to stay. Alright...

I lifted off the ground and soared into the sky, heading for the chosen direction.

I don't want to see him, but maybe I can at least take revenge for what he did to Chosen.

Noogai's computer.

A moment passed and I was already in there. I quietly crept inside. Okay, Alan and I, alone. Easy peasy.

With that thought, my eyes turned to the right. My heart stopped for a moment.

What...?

This kid. He was there. So it's as I thought, he's also on Noogai's side. When he noticed me too, he looked me straight in the eyes. Before I could turn to run, what I noticed on his face was... Fear.

Is he the one who should be afraid in this situation? I remind you that he was the one who finished me off at the end of the fight. HE almost killed me. And he's just an ordinary teenager.

I decided to take advantage of the situation when the young man was completely paralyzed.

-Well, well, well... Who do we have here, huh?

He just continued to stare, slowly starting to back away.

-Y-you... You... But...

His friends appeared around the corner, the green one was the first to speak.

-Orange, everything's oka-

He paused. Yellow one nudged red and jerked his head towards me.

At that moment I felt more strength and self-confidence. I was in control. They were afraid of me. Just like then, even more so.

-Tsk, tsk, tsk... The whole group?

Wait Dark... Focus on the target. On both targets.

-Okay, where's that cursor, eh?

-Y...You mean, Alan? - the orange one gasped, the blue one just covering his mouth.

-Yes. Alan.

-I... I don't know. He's not online right now...

-So we'll wait here for him...

I lifted the now outstretched Virablade to the boy's neck

-Yes?

-Y-yes...

Hour. Another one. Shit. When will he come back? I'm getting impatient.

I was just sitting on some beige couch, thinking about how to get my revenge, and whether the kid would activate his powers again if I did.

The voice of one of the stcikfigures pulled me out of my thoughts.

-E-excuse me, sir?

I looked to my side, chest hurting.

-I noticed that... It's difficult for you to breathe... Can I help somehow? - said the blue boy.

I can't remember the last time someone offered to help me, but... Why not? And anyway, during the fight with Alan, I'll probably kill them, so okay. Better for me.

Ugh... but... Chosen wouldn't want me to kill them... guess i'll leave the children alone, but Alan won't pass through it.

[gabessquishytum]

omg step up dance movie my beloved. And you're so right, the dynamic of rich snooty ballet dancer and not rich hip hop dancer from "the wrong side of the tracks" is so dream/hob. the hip hop dancer character feels like it fits hob so well too bc it's like. The feeling and expression of self in hip hop is... Very different from the strict rules and standards of ballet. Hob doesn't hate ballet, but he didn't grow up with it, not being from a particularly wealthy background. And he does feel hip hop is a superior form of dance in that it is so much more... Free. And honest and raw and real. Less tense over rehearsed painful movements and more flowing authentic and human.

Dream however. He could not disagree more. He doesn't even consider "hip hop" or "street" dancing as real dancing. Real dancing is practised, incredibly difficult routines and strict schedules (not just around rehearsing but eating too). Real dance is something you devote your whole life to, not something you do for fun in your free time (whatever that is) with your friends (another concept dream isn't very familiar with). Has he actually deigned to watch any hip hop dance? Don't be silly, he doesn't have time to waste on something so frivolous.

Dream turned up early (as usual) for practise before classes and scheduled rehearsal time. He assumed the studio would be empty as it usually was at this hour, however walking down the hall the sound of ... Heavy bass and a seductive rhythm with lyrics to match spilled out from his studio (okay it's technically not his but no one else uses it nearly as much as him so it might as well be) down the corridor. Dream slows down, curious, if a little annoyed, that his early morning extra practice was going to be delayed in the least. When he gets to the door what he sees stops him dead and makes his mouth fall open. What this man is doing with his body is... Unholy to say the least but dream can also appreciate the muscle control and timing displayed here from a technical stand point. Of course he isn't observing for any other reason. Not bc the way this man's hips move is hypnotic and quite frankly down right sinful. Dream becomes aware that he's staring and has inexplicably started to grow hard, which his legging do very little to conceal.

Anyway pretty please share anything that dreamling step up makes you think of !!! I would be forever grateful 🙏💞

AJSJDJFJDBD YEAH <333

Absolutely love this. I'm imagining that Hob notices that Dream is there and the two of them immediately get into an argument about who booked the studio to use, which devolves into Dream saying "your dance form is ridiculous and foolish so you should just give me the studio" and Hob is like??? WHAT??? He can't believe anyone would be so rude but he's got to fight back. He tells Dream that ballet isn't even that hard, anyone can do it if they're rich enough.

Dream runs at Hob, intending to demonstrate that Hob won't even be able to catch him - let alone do a lift. But he's very surprised when Hob grabs him by the hips and effortlessly shifts him into a fucking angel lift.

Dream is unmistakably hard and blushing. Hob is like "You shouldn't have done that, you didn't know that I wouldn't drop you" and Dream can't even SPEAK. He decides to graciously allow Hob to finish his practice session (while he sneakily watches from the side of the studio). Hob keeps smirking him in the mirror and Dream genuinely has to cross his legs to avoid being caught with a major boner in his leggings.

He later discovers that Hob has quite a big following online for his dance videos and tutorials. He stays up way too late (far out of his usual strict schedule) watching Hob dance. He is undeniably beautiful and talented but more than anything he looks so happy! He looks like he's enjoying himself, like he enjoys his own body and what he can do with it. He wears baggy track pants for most of his routines but Dream is still convinced that he's caught a glimpse of a very impressive bulge.

Not to mention that Hob occasionally dances shirtless... and that some of his videos are more thirst trap than dance...

So what can Dream do but show up at the same time next week to see Hob all over again? Hob seems pretty thrilled to see him, anyway. He even offers to share his breakfast (another big step outside of routine for Dream, who hasn't eaten a store bought pastry for... a very long time). And when Dream gets up to start his practice, Hob settles in to watch with a wink.

"You had an opportunity to thirst over me. Now I'm repaying the favour. I want you to show me why ballet is the superior form."

And Dream has never been able to resist a challenge...

[firstkokon0is]

tokrev characters when you did the “i told you to look good today” prank to them

lol this trend is quite old but its been on my mind lately but yall can request sum goods to me😁👍

tw: heavy swear words and grammar errors

characters: draken, mikey, mitsuya, baji, chifuyu, hakkai, takemichi.

gn reader

DRAKEN

the moment those words came out of your mouth he just stared at you

while you’re smiling idiot

he will literally just stare at you

“yea same to you” showing a annoying smile

he get the situation, HE KNOWS HE LOOK GOOD SO THIS AINT GNNA WORK

you guys just laugh it off, you didn’t even told him that it was just a prank because he already knew it but will still ask you in the middle of your date

“hey is my style in clothes really aint that good? were you serious? i mean its not that bad…..” he said while looking himself up through his phone camera

“nope, i thought you get the joke but oh well……ken, you look so good everytime yk even if u wear nothing u still can pull it off” you told him and smack his bald head playfully

“yea yeaa i would’ve gone feral if u went and bash my hair instead of my clothes so thats a relief” he respond with a smile

“ken why this hair-”

“aight im leaving”

“no hakahajwlwbsha”

took the joke very well

MIKEY

he spent hours looking for good clothes for this date, there’s clothes everywhere in his room and still “damn…..there’s nothing to wear”

AND WHEN U TOLD HIM THOSE WORDS???

he just pout, told you that he’s sorry, and he spent hours looking for something to wear to match your style and many more reasons

pls apologize to him

but when you told him that its a prank he just pout and said “not a good joke y/n i know you were lying because i really look good, i knew its was a prank”

just agree with him lol

will think of pranks that he could do to you for revenge, literally stressing about it while on the date with you

he wants to say the same thing to you but he can’t because you look beautiful today, just for him, and will smile just looking at you

while walking to the park he will even ask himself “does my style really match them?” “should i be the one to adjust and put my taste on clothes higher?” “i should ask mitsuya about fashion things” his mind is just filled with questions

“mikeyyyyyyy, you look good today i was just doing a silly prank im sorry if that made you feel bad, not gonna lie you’re drippy as fuck”

“i know i know im gonna prank you next time real hard” he said “if i catch you we’re gnna switch wardrobes” he said as he started to chase you around the park

in the end he came over to your place and explore your wardrobe and tried your clothes, he even stole some of your hoodies and shirts.

MITSUYA

overthinks

this mf thinks he looks good no matter what

duh he’s a designer

“well y/n i think you’re right, and i should style you sometimes dont you think?”

your hand went to your mouth so fast

he laughed at your reaction and hug you

“just kidding you look good, we look good i know that trend damn thats old” he said

you smack him playfully for that, his reaction is normal but because of that he wants to be more stylish

he can take a joke yk

after a lot of overthinking he suggests to shopping with you

even though he have some knowledge about designing and how to look good he thinks your taste in clothes is so good

will think that he’s right for you and you’re right for him

he’s your 4lyferss😩

BAJI

he will give you that “excuse me” face with a hand oh his chest because he’s offended as fuck.

“babe stop fooling people, and yourself we both know i look good”

“you dare to bash my drip hell no baby”

will brag his clothes for like 15 minutes just to prove what you’re saying is wrong

“this shirt i brought this online with a nice fabric its not cheap mf”

“my pants, you see this huh? see those sutffs on tiktoks where they style their own pants i did this shit its so cool”

“now now, baby see this shoes? oh dont even get me started but hey you look nice today hehe can i take you on our date now?”

he went from being defensive and screaming proving his shit right to his signature smile

by just that he already made your day, you really cant out keisuke baji

because he is baji, he will look good for you, and you look good for him, he will joke you around, tease you a lot, you will also do the same to him.

100% can take a fucking joke. and it will be like a competition to him.

CHIFUYU

confused baby

im sure you feel a lot of guilt rn

because baby panicked

will suggest to go back to his house and change his clothes if you want

pls apologize 😭

almost cried because he thinks he’s a bad boyfriend again lol

will spat a lot if reason like, he’s in hurry, he’s been overthinking this date since last night.

but boy he look good actually he has drip

“nononono baby, you look good i just saw the thing on tiktok so i thought it will be funny but damn im sorry i-” you didn’t even finish when he laughed

“ohhhhhh yeaaaa that trend fuck, how could i forget, nice one you got me there god dammit ill take revenge sometimes” he said laughing slightly

well he’s always on tiktok, have some few vid too, actually some went viral bc of takemichi being dumb

just like mitsuya too, will suggest to just go shopping with him and tell him what kind of clothes that you’re interested in

would love to buy your clothes for you but he’s just a broke middle schooler but he promised you that both of you will shopping someday

he took that prank seriously but when he knew that it was a joke its fine

life goes on for him

HAKKAI

oh my god please y/n why

you always complement his style because its true he has some style

after you told him that he will just scratch the back of his neck and said

“my other clothes are still wet haha…..i mean i dont look bad i mean……”

apologize, drop on your knees and do it.

nah jk

u gave in a small laugh and said sorry to him

he know about this trend actually but he never actually expect you to have the guts to do that to him

he knew about his shy personality and he knew that you know about this

he’s not offended just taken by surprise that you actually did that to him

“well anyways i dont care about me you look good today y/n”

you immediately regret saying those stuffs to him bc he’s sweet hot and respectful

but its a joke anyways he enjoyed the silly joke

he knew he look good lmao

yuzuha will be hearing this

she will prolly scold you for doing that

are you gnna repeat the silly prank again?

TAKEMICHI

💀💀💀💀💀

he will run

run back to his home attack his wardrobe and find a good clothes

ofc you feel bad so you followed him

you saw him looking for a new clothes to wear

you told him its a prank but he still didn’t want to go out looking like that

so you just decided to style him yourself

he thinks you’re right

he looks bad, his style is not it

but overall happy for pranking him and making him realize that he need to be as your same style

“takemichi, look i dont care…..whoever told you that you look bad i will kick their face, to me what ever you wear your fun personality and the reason that i fell inlove with you wont disappear” you put a hand on the top of his head and he just

cried.

“im sowwyyy- i- i cant look good- fuck ughhghuh- please dont leave me i-” he’s crying mess on your chest

“STOP CRYING DAMMIT YOU ALWAYS LOOK GOOD,”

you will never prank him again

no pls dont do it again

[phykios]

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

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

1)

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

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

Percy might hate college.

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

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

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

“How bad is it?”

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

“Ouch.”

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

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

Percy slams the computer shut. 

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass. 

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

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

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

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

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

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

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t forget--”

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

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

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

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

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?” 

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

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

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

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

By morning, he has a response. 

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

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

“Hey mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

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

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

“Thanks, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

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

“It does.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

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

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all. 

2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

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

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

It’s… not what he expected.

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

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

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

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

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

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

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

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

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

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

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

“You did.”

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

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

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

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

“Gross.”

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

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

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

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

“The what?”

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

“That doesn’t help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

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

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

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

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

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

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

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

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

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

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

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

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

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

“You’re so weird.”

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

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

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

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

“Shh!” Nico hisses. 

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

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

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

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico’s eyes widen. 

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

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

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

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

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

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

3)

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

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

“Annabeth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Very interesting.” 

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else? 

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Who are you working with?” 

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks. 

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

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

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth goes dry. “Um…” 

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

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

Annabeth, behind him, coughs. 

“S-sure. No problem.” 

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

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

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

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

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

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

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

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

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far. 

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

Well, most of them, anyway.

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

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

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

“And how big were these models?” 

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

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

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

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

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

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

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

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

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

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

“At my… summer camp…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

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

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

The baby says nothing.

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

Junie blinks at him.

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

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

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might be in over his head a little.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops. 

He squints at one of his doodles. 

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

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

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

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

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

No response. 

Percy approaches the table. 

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

Percy picks up the book, squinting. 

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

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

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

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares. 

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

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

And he closes his computer.

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

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

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

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

***

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

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

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

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

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

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

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

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

He starts. “What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabeth takes her without a second glance. 

Then she does take a second glance.

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

Annabeth gapes. 

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

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

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

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

5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

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

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

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

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

“No, why do you ask?”

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

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

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

“Can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peas,” Junie says. 

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

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

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

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

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

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

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

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

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly. 

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That gets his attention.

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

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

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

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

“Then let’s make it happen.”

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

+1

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

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

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

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

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

“Psst.” 

Jamie looks up. 

There’s a four year old staring at her. 

“Hi,” Jamie says. 

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

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

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

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.” 

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

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

Junie beams at her.

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

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

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.” 

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

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

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

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

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

She really should have just stuck with German instead. 

[spencersawkward]

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted! 

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.

[nctsjiho]

Your Fault

warnings: strong language, consumption of alchol, mention of death without actual death, very much angst

era: July 7th 2021

❀ NCT 127's 5th anniversary isn't a day to celebrate and be happy for everyone

To Doyoung:

“Happy 5th anniversary oppa!”

“I hope you and the boys are having a great time <3”

JiHo stared at her phone intently waiting for the “sent” at the bottom of her screen to turn into “read”. She had been staring at her phone like that for nearly an hour, yet nothing changed. The girl knew that the boys were busy, but somewhere she hoped that she’d hear from them. Besides the short “wished you could be with us” message she had received the evening before from Taeyong she hadn’t heard from anyone else. Of course JiHo was aware that the boys were busy, but was it a crime to feel left out and maybe want a phone call or something more than a “wished you could be with us” from anyone?

And so JiHo continued to stare at her phone, everything on the small screen getting progressively more blurry as time went on. Her eyes were straining, one almost pressed shut, the other slowly going cross-side. Her right hand, which wasn’t holding the phone, reached out to the glass bottle on her desk. A quick shake letting her know it was empty. So she reached for the other one, opening it skilfully with one hand – like she did with the other two bottles now empty on her desk – and bringing it up to her lips. “Must be nice hm~ Being an idol or whatever…”

“I’m glad you came over.” Sihyun, JiHo’s Esteem manager that lives with her, said as she grabbed the boy’s coat off his shoulders. The piece of clothing, along with his hair, slightly damp caused by the light drizzle outside. “JiHo’s been a bit sensitive and doesn’t let me in her room. She doesn’t want to talk to me at all.” Jaemin watched the woman’s face full of worry. He gave her a small reassuring smile and then glanced at the door leading to JiHo’s room. “I’ll try to talk to her.” Thanking Jaemin, Sihyun then excused herself, telling him she had to run some late night errands.

Not knowing what was happening behind the closed door of the bedroom, Jaemin knocked a few times. “Unnie~ Just leave me- leave me alone.” JiHo hiccupped between her words, her speech sounding a bit slurred. She had been drinking? JiHo?

Without a second thought Jaemin pushed the door open. A jumbled mess of protests escaped JiHo’s lips, but she froze in her chair as soon as her eyes locked with Jaemin. “What… are you doing here?” She muttered to the best of her abilities. “Coming to check up on you.” He neared the girl and poked at the bottles and the mess on her desk. “Clearly you need it.” His tone sounded very much disappointed and for a split second JiHo felt her heart ache, but she quickly turned defensive. “I do not!”

A sigh escaped deep from Jaemin’s chest and he pulled JiHo to sit on the edge of her bed next to him. “Since when do you drink?” It was quiet for a bit. JiHo looked at the bottle of the alcoholic beverage in her hand, swirling it around by circling her wrist and then started to giggle to herself. “A new hobby?” She turned to Jaemin, a big smile on her lips – however Jaemin could see the sadness behind it easily. “It’s fun. Feeling… Nothing! I can barely feel my… my lips.” Her body swayed from side to side prompting Jaemin to grab her by her shoulders and hold her in place. “It’s fun until you wake up with a hangover tomorrow.” He scoffed. “Can’t get a hangover if I don’t sleep.” She said, before turning to her desk. She then pointed at the box of another 9 bottles of alcohol next to it on the floor. “Or if I don’t stop drinking.” She grinned.

“Yah! What’s wrong with you?” Jaemin’s patience ran dry quickly. He just felt so furious seeing how badly JiHo was treating her own body. She never drank and now she was planning to drink 12 bottles of alcohol? Drinking herself straight into the hospital, and if it weren’t for Jaemin being here, maybe straight into her own grave. “This is strong alcohol! For all I know you can’t even handle it, so what made you decide to drink now huh?” He yelled, anger only rising watching the girl just stare at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Those same eyes turned to look at her laptop, located on the desk she sat at earlier. The NCT 127 online fanmeeting being streamed, muted.

Of course Jaemin knew it was NCT 127’s 5th anniversary, he knew it must’ve affected JiHo in some way, even if she kept insisting she was going to be fine and was happy for the boys. She even said that she wasn’t “part of the group since debut, so it wouldn’t even be my 5th anniversary” and everyone just had to nod and smile.

“Is that a reason to potentially drink yourself to death?” Jaemin poked her side – maybe a bit too harsh – to gain her attention again; she seemed to be zoning out every few seconds. “What else was I supposed to do? I’m tired of keeping things in.” She sneered at him and it was almost as if she didn’t drink anything. She sounded much more coherent than just a minute earlier. “Aren’t you doing just that though? Drinking on your own. Not letting Sihyun noona in? We keep telling you to talk to us, yet all you do is keep things in. The hyungs even took you out to do stuff and get your mind off things yet you get home and do the thing you always do.”

JiHo felt every drop of alcohol leave her system as she heard the somewhat condescending tone in her friend’s voice. “What the fuck? So this is my fault-“ “Kinda, yes! You just sit here feeling sorry for yourself while everyone is worried over you! We’re your friends for a reason JiHo. There are so many people who care for you, just start fucking talking when you feel down like this.”

The blood inside of JiHo’s veins started to boil and at the same time she felt tears pricking behind her eyes. “You think it’s that easy? What am I supposed to say? That I feel upset that I can’t be with 127 now? Okay. Then what about it? Me telling you this won’t change shit!” “At least you should stop lying and stop telling everyone you’re fine when you’re not! Why do you continue keeping things a secret from everyone?” Both JiHo and Jaemin’s chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. “But I guess you’re good at that anyway.” He added in a mumble.

Once the words registered in JiHo’s mind, the bottle that started to hover towards her lips was quickly forgotten. “What do you mean by that?” Jaemin just shrugged his shoulders and turned his gaze away from JiHo. “Jaemin? What do-“ “You were supposed to debut in 2016 with NCT U?” JiHo’s eyes widened and she pushed herself to stand up. “How’d you know-“ “Then they asked you to debut in 127? Also with us… In Dream?” “How do you know?” Was the only thing JiHo could say.

“Does it matter?” Jaemin yelled, standing up as well. “Why do you continue to keep secrets from us? Do you not trust us? Is that why you sit here alone? Drinking and crying alone.” The boy watched as JiHo stood in front of him wordlessly. He could see how his words were affecting her, but he wanted to be selfish for once. He wanted to let JiHo know how frustrating things were for him and his friends. He was well aware of how JiHo had her own worries and hardships, but if she never wanted to confide in anyone, then he was allowed to be mad right?

The only sound filling the room was both of their ragged breathing and the occasional shift from one foot to the other. The silence was almost deafening, a ringing shooting up JiHo’s clouded mind making her feel like she was going to lose it any second now. Her friend sending hurtful glares her way didn’t help ease the growing pain either.

“You’re right. I could’ve debuted in 2016, what about it?” JiHo whispered, afraid that her talking too loud would send surges of pain into her brain. “Why did you hide it from us? Why didn’t you say yes back then?” Jaemin interrogated her. “There was no reason to tell you if it didn’t happen. I didn’t debut so telling you I could’ve wouldn’t change a thing. I’m not in Dream, I didn’t debut in U and clearly now, I’m not in 127 either. Jaemin… It doesn’t matter anymore…” JiHo’s voice stayed as calm as possible.

“How long have you known Jaemin?” JiHo spoke up again as Jaemin didn’t say anything. She felt the tension grow exponentially, the pressure on her body and more noticeably her head increasing and bothering her more as well. “I heard it during that last meeting you had with Yebin noona and Mister Lee Soo Man…” JiHo let out a small chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. “I guess we’re eavesdropping and keeping secrets from me as well.”

She brought the glass bottle still in her hands to her lips, throwing her head back, to down as much of the liquid as possible. Before she could finish it all in one go, Jaemin gripped the bottle and pulled it away from her. “It’s not the same, JiHo!”

The liquid rushed from between JiHo’s lips, making a wet patch on her grey sweatpants. She could feel her throat and lungs burning as she coughed, caused by the alcohol going down her windpipe instead.

Jaemin watched her with concern painting his features, his hand slowly caressing her back hoping it would ease her violent coughs. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He whispered and JiHo gave him a small nod as her body calmed down.

The two 00 liners stayed like that for a while, with Jaemin’s eyes burning at the back of JiHo’s downturned head. Even after JiHo’s body stopped shaking violently, Jaemin’s concern continued to grow. It was only when he noticed the drops, which only could be tears, fall onto her sweatpants and create even more wet spots, that he decided to step in.

Jaemin’s hand securely gripped JiHo’s shoulder and he pulled her up to face him. A gasp left the boy’s mouth as he watched large tears spill from his friend’s eyes. “Ji…” It proved incredibly difficult to speak when he was faced with a situation he wasn’t ready to deal with. Maybe Jaemin shouldn’t have confronted her the way he did. Maybe acting like everything was fine wouldn’t have caused him to witness JiHo at possibly the worst she has felt.

It became a full minute of Jaemin staring into JiHo’s pain- and tear-filled eyes, feeling like he could drown in them himself, before a loud pained sob brought him to reality. The sudden jolt of JiHo’s body forward made Jaemin act quickly and pulled the girl into his chest. His hand, just as quickly, found its way into JiHo’s slightly tangled hair.

“I’m… sor- so sorry.” JiHo sobbed into his chest, tears soaking through even the thicker material of the boy’s jumper. Jaemin could feel his sweater start to stick against his chest, yet what felt more uncomfortable than the damp piece of clothing was the feeling of JiHo’s body shaking in his hold.

As best as he could, Jaemin tried to soothe JiHo. Almost like taking care of a crying toddler, he swayed the girl from side to side. His lips were pressed against the shell of JiHo’s ear as Jaemin whispered affirmations into her skin. “Don’t apologise... Stop apologising.”

“I’m only bringing the team down-” “Shh JiHo. Stop that.” He told her, as his fingers continued to comb through her hair, slowly and carefully detangling it along the way. JiHo pressed her eyes tighter as even more tears spilled from her cheeks and pushed herself closer into Jaemin’s grasp.

Mouth agape, a sob that was building up in his own chest was threatening to fall from Jaemin’s own lips. “You don’t deserve any of this JiHo, you only deserve the best.” JiHo only shook her head, but didn’t dare to speak again. “You do... You really do.”

The night in the capital of South-Korea was never really that dark. Lights always seemed to find their way past the pulled back blinds of any building that wasn’t directly blocked by another one due to bad city planning. So even during the darkest time of day, even when all the lights inside have been dimmed, somehow, it was still light enough to see inside.

So when Jaemin pulled back to look at JiHo’s face, her eyes still tightly pressed shut - which pained him immensely - Jaemin could see the light reflecting off of her wet cheeks.

Feeling two hands being placed on her burning cheeks, JiHo finally decided to open her eyes again. A few more tears rolled over her cheeks onto Jaemin’s thumbs, but luckily no new ones seemed to form. “I’m sorry for everything, all this drama. It’s my fault.” Jaemin shook his head and pulled the girl back, this time to hide his own tears that were starting to form. “Please stop apologising, it’s not your fault.”

“But-” JiHo sighed, her arms found their way around Jaemin’s small waist. “I hate that it’s always about me. I don’t want to be this cliche ‘emotional girl with so many problems and everyone has to pay attention to her problems’. I don’t want that. I don’t want to burden you guys with that, but I also don’t want that kind of attention. I know people already hate me for being in a boy’s group. I don’t want my stupid problems to be the only thing that people assiociate me with NCT.”

“Your problems are not stupid JiHo. And though I understand what you’re saying, I think it’s worse to keep it in. If anything, keeping it in just makes us worry about you more and may get you more attention. JiHo I know things suck right now, and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling with everything going on right now, but… Please just talk to us when things are bothering you. We all love you.”

At those last words JiHo loudly sniffled back some stray tears. She pressed herself into Jaemin’s warm embrace and softly nodded her head. “From now on I will. I promise. And…” JiHo looked up at Jaemin, sending him a small smile that he gratefully reciprocated. “I love you guys too. You’re all I have here and that’s enough to make me stay.”

Jaemin’s hand resumed with his previous ministrations. A deep sigh left his lips as he rested his head atop of JiHo’s. “Everything will be just fine.” Jaemin pressed a kiss against JiHo’s hair. “As long as we stay together everything will be just fine.”

[watchmegetobsessed]

Crash Course - Bucky Barnes

a/n: this one? im in LOVE with this fic and im not even ashamed of it. there is just something about the MC helping him get used to living in the new century and im a sucker for it. so please enjoy this fluffy piece!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: Bucky is a regular at the café where you work at and seeing him struggling with technology, you offer to help him, teaching him the basics while you are both thinking about taking it a little further than just a crash course.

masterlist

The time between the morning rush and lunch time is always quiet, the café is almost completely empty, that’s why Bucky prefers to go out during that time, tuck himself away in the corner of the small but cozy place, a black coffee steaming on the wooden table in front of him, his laptop or a book or his phone reserving his attention, whatever he decides to put his energy into that day.

Today has been a rainy day, therefore the morning was a lot quieter than usually, not many likes to make an extra trip for a coffee in the pouring rain, so you’ve been enjoying the calmness, the soft jazz music playing through the speakers as you are putting away the freshly washed cups behind the counter. As if he has an appointment, Bucky walks into the café with a laptop under his arm, his cap hiding part of his face, but you can still see the shy smile on his lips as he closes the door behind him, the little bell chiming for a second time at his arrival.

“Welcome back, the usual?” you ask as he heads to his spot.

“Yes please,” he nods, shooting you a thankful smile.

You try to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach at the sight of the man, it’s almost ridiculous how you still get nervous when you see him, even though he has been showing up every day at the same time for the past about two months. You just can’t help it, there’s just something in those ocean eyes and perfect manner he always treats you with, something you don’t often get these days. Not many take the time to ask about your day or wish you a good one after you hand them their coffee, but Bucky is different. The same question falls from his lips every time you appear at his table with his order.

“How has your day been going?” he asks when you place the cup next to his laptop that’s loading.

“Pretty quiet, the rain keeps people away,” you chuckle, hoping your blush is not as apparent as it feels. “What about yours?”

“Just the same as usual,” he smiles softly and you nod, though you have no idea what’s usual for him. He might be friendly and quite welcoming when he is sitting at the café, he often chats with you about anything and everything, yet still, you know near nothing about him and his life outside of this place. It’s clear he is the kind of person that prefers to keep things to himself, but sometimes you are so desperate for just the smallest crumb of information about him. With the lack of details, you often find yourself making up things about him, like what his favorite dish is, where he likes to shop, what shows he watches on the TV. You might be entirely wrong about all of these, but it’s all you have.

Moving back behind the counter you busy yourself with cleaning it off as Bucky’s attention shifts to the screen in front of him. There are only two more customers in there and they are quite locked away in their own world as well, a college student working on some kind of assignment on her second espresso and an old lady solving Sudoku at the table near the window, sipping on a nice latte.

You can’t help but glance in his direction every now and then as you move the muffins around on the counter. He seems deeply focused, eyebrows knitted together as he is clicking away on the computer. From the looks of it, he is solving some kind of enigma, but when you walk past his table you see that he has an email open on the screen, his cursor moving around kind of aimlessly.

“Not finding the right words?” you ask, stopping to clean the table next to his that was previously occupied by a young couple. His eyes snap up to you before he huffs shaking his head.

“No, I’m just… terribly bad at IT stuff and I’m supposed to “CC” someone on this email,” he explains, using his fingers to air-quote as he glances back at the screen. “But if I’m being honest I don’t even know what it means,” he admits with a nervous chuckle.

You find it amusing, even cute that he is like an old man with these stuff. You’ve seen him struggling to type in a text message before on his flip phone that’s from the last century for sure and now this.

Placing the tray of cups down on the table you move over to him, taking the free chair next to him as you reach for the laptop, but you stop before touching it.

“May I…?”

“Go ahead,” he gestures with a nod.

You turn the device towards yourself as you click a few times, bringing up the option to send a copy of the email to another receiver.

“CC means that more people get the same email. You can put their addresses here. But you can also BCC people, in that case, the original receiver won’t see if the email was sent to others as well,” you explain patiently. Bucky tries his best to focus on the screen and what you’re saying, rather than the way your lips are moving and how badly he wants to taste them.

You haven’t been the only one feeling flustered and like a giddy teenager and Bucky didn’t choose this café as his usual spot for nothing. He spotted you the first time he stumbled in and the way you smiled brightly at everyone and the sweet chiming of your laughter made him want to come back the moment he stepped out that day. So he returned the next day and then the next day again… and now he couldn’t even imagine a day without seeing your eyes light up when he walks in while he can only hope you are just as happy to see him as he is to see you.

You help him send his email and you cheer in victory once it’s done and sent.

“See? It’s not as hard as it seems,” you smile at him gently, patting his arm that’s covered by a hoodie and your eyes fall onto his gloved hands on the tabletop.

“Yeah, I just have a lot of catching up to do from the past seven decades,” he mumbles under his breath, though he immediately regrets not keeping his mouth shut.

Your eyes flicker to his hand once again, then up to meet his gaze and he knows he just outed himself. He is expecting the usual: disgust, disappointment, even fear. That’s how most people react when they find out who he really is. But as he stares back at you, scared like a little kitten, you just smile back at him softly.

It’s not that you haven’t heard of the Avengers, because it’s impossible not to know who they are. You were just not expecting one of them to become a regular at your working place. The few times you saw him on TV he had long hair and his face was covered with a mask, so you’re not surprised you didn’t put the picture together. But knowing now who he is, you don’t see him in a worse lighting. If anything, you feel a little sad that he had to go through so much in his extremely long life.

“Well, feel free to ask any more questions. I’m not an IT guy, but I can help you with everyday stuff,” you tell him and he is in awe at your very normal, very sweet reaction. All he can do is nod as you stand from the table and grab the tray you abandoned not long ago, moving back behind the counter.

When you glance up your gaze meets his as he is still staring at you, nervous, a little anxious, but definitely relieved by your smooth reaction to finding out his identity. You shoot him a bright smile before moving to the table of the old lady who asks for another latte and as Bucky follows your frame move across the room he can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips.

Your offer doesn’t stay unused. In fact, Bucky shows up at the café the next few days with a handful of questions for you, genuine ones, and a few he already knows the answer to, but wants to hear you explain them anyway. And you help him with anything, sitting at his table whenever you have a few free minutes between customers. He asks you about the internet, social media, online data bases and sources, going through a list from the little notebook he always keeps with himself.

The times spent with him are your favorite part of the day. You always look forward to whatever issue Bucky is going to bring up, fearing that one day he might run out of questions, but that just never comes. And you don’t know it, but your little sessions are the highlights of his days as well, listening to your smooth voice as you explain even the smallest things to him with so much patience, he is convinced you should become a teacher.

He thinks about asking you out every day, the question is always on the tip of his tongue.

What are you doing tonight? Would you want to go out with me? Do you want to grab a bite with me after your shift?

However he just never gets to actually say the words out loud. He is growing impatient with himself, he used to have no problem with asking girls out, but seven decades and another life as a brain-washed assassin later, this task feels way too impossible.

You’ve been telling him to get a smartphone for the past couple of days and though he seemed adamant, one day he shows up with a brand new one, still in the box.

“Oh my God, is that what I think it is?” you tease him with a dramatic gasp. Chuckling to himself he nods as he places the box to the counter while you are making the order of one of the customers. Today has been a little busier than usually, probably because of the special offer of 10% off from the new Cuban coffee beans your boss ordered in.

“I need a teacher to show me the ropes though.”

“Oh, Bucky, I would love to, but today is a bit crowded,” you pout as you put the lid onto the paper cup and hand it over to the customer, another one already walking in, eyeing the offer written on the black board behind you.

He didn’t even think you wouldn’t say yes, it never occurred to him that the timing might not be the best. You see as his smile slowly disappears from his scruffy face and your heart breaks seeing him like this.

“Yeah, sorry. Don’t want to keep you up,” he mumbles feeling defeated, but before he could grab the box from the counter, you put your hand on it, your fingers brushing against his gloved one, the tiny touch making both of you flustered.

“But how about after work?” you suggest and his eyes immediately light up. Spending time with you without any customers interrupting? That sounds like heaven to him.

“Y-you sure? If you have something to do, I—“

“Nothing to do,” you smile at him. You grab a napkin from the counter and a pan from near the cash register, quickly scribbling down your address before handing it over to him. “I’ll be home by seven,” you inform him as he glances down at your handwriting, noting how well it fits your personality. He then looks back at you nodding, as if he was just handed the best Christmas present ever.

“I’ll be there,” he smiles gratefully before stepping away from the counter and letting you work.

 Five minutes after seven, Bucky is standing at your front door with a bag of Chinese food in his hands as he is trying to build up the courage to ring your doorbell. He found out that you live just a few corners away from the café, so he found your address easily.

“Come on, dude. Don’t be such a loser,” he mumbles to himself as he circles his shoulders before finally pushing the button. A short, buzzing sound is heard from the other side of the door and he stares at the 6B sign in front of you as he hears footsteps from inside. A few moments later the door swings open and there you are, still wearing the same clothes from earlier, a bright smile adorning your face as you beam at your guest.

“Come on in!” you gesture for him as he steps into the small apartment. “Tried to clean up a bit, but if I’m being honest I’m starting to grow out this place,” you chuckle as you push a box out of the way. It’s a small studio apartment with everything cramped into one space except the bathroom. You have a double bed pushed up against the wall in the corner, a small sofa with your wardrobe next to it, a TV, a tiny coffee table, a bookshelf and a dresser, a little dining table near the kitchen with three chairs and a pantry right next to the fridge that stands where the hardwood floor changes into checkered tiles. It really is a tiny space that holds a lot of stuff, but all the gadgets and clutter makes it cozy, lived-in, a place that’s so much like you that he feels like he is peeking inside your head as he walks farther inside.

“I brought dinner,” he shyly holds the bag up as you lock the door.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” you smile at him gratefully, because you didn’t really have time to buy anything on your way home since you had to make a quick trip to the post office after your shift, leaving you no spare time before his arrival.

“It’s the least I can do for all the help,” he smiles as you take the bag from him and bring it to the designated living room area of the place. Bucky joins you on the sofa and he thanks all higher powers your place is so small that you only have a loveseat, giving him the chance to sit close to you. Your thigh brushes against his as you hand him a box and make yourself comfortable as well, starting your feast while he asks you about your day, listening to your every word intently.

When the food is gone and you’ve grabbed two beers for the two of you, he pulls out the phone that’s the reason behind his visit. He bought a simple one, not at all one of the latest versions and it’s going to be the perfect model for him to learn the ropes on.

You help him put his SIM card into the new phone and then you set his account up before finally gaining access to the phone. You start with the basic features, showing him how to make a call or send a text before moving onto the different apps and possibilities while he listens to you as if you were talking about rocket science, but in a way, it feels like that for him.

“And here you can switch to the front camera,” you explain as you push the button and suddenly, the two of you come into picture on the screen. “Perfect for taking selfies,” you add with a chuckle.

“Oh, selfies. I’m not too good with those,” he huffs shaking his head.

“Because you probably haven’t found your angle!” you smirk. “Everyone has a good angle.”

“You think so?” you knits his eyebrows together.

“Mhm, look!”

Opening the contacts you go to yours, choosing the option to add a picture that will show up on the screen when you call him, and open the camera to take one instead of choosing from the empty gallery. Holding up the phone you position it so your good angle is in the picture before snapping the photo and saving it as your caller ID.

“See?” you smile at him before handing the device back to him. He just nods, even though he can only think about how all your angles are perfect to him and that now he has a picture of you in his phone. “Let’s take one together!” you beam and moving closer to him you take the phone once again, holding it up in front of you, trying to fit both of you into the frame.

Bucky tries his best to focus on the picture, but he can’t ignore how close you are to him, he can smell your shampoo and your cheek is almost pressed against his as you smile into the camera. The corners of his mouth curl up as his eyes fix at your reflection on the screen before you snap the photo. Opening up the camera roll you take a better look at it and it’s probably your favorite photo that has ever been taken of you. Mostly because he is in it as well, smiling so sweetly.

“It’s a good one,” you say and as you turn your head to the side you realize how close you really are to him.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, definitely aware of just the few inches separating the two of you.

“I-if you had an Instagram I would tell you to post it…” you stutter as your eyes flicker down to his lips, the urge to lean in and kiss him growing with each passing second.

Feeling a little dizzy, one of your hands fall to his lower arm, the one that’s made out of metal and your gaze drops to where you are touching him, a panic filled look flashing through his eyes.

He thinks that this is where the moment is ruined, where you realize the monster he really is and decide you don’t want anything to do with him. He almost starts to apologize for God knows what reason when you reach out and your fingers start to work on the straps of his gloves. It takes a few moments for him to realize what you are doing, and he tries to pull his hand back, but you grab it stopping him from doing it.

“It’s alright,” you smile at him softly, your eyes meeting his as you finish what you started and pull the glove off his hand revealing the metal underneath the leather. Then you move onto his other hand and do the same, dropping the pair of gloves to the floor as you take both his hands in yours, thumbs running across his knuckles, feeling the difference between his own hand and the artificial one.

You see his jaw flexing at the touch and reaching up you cup his cheek in your palm, making him to look you in the eyes. The strong and confident man you see sometimes is gone now, fear and hesitation taking over his expression as your other hand keeps holding his vibranium one.

“I’m sorry,” it falls from his lips as he closes his eyes for a second.

“For what exactly?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t have to hide yourself around me.”

“You don’t find it… scary?”

“Not at all,” you assure him. “You can’t be held accountable for what happened to you. Anyone who thinks differently is just an ignorant asshole,” you add grinning and it finally breaks his fearful expression, planting a smile on his handsome face.

Keeping your hand on his cheek you lean closer, your nose touching his but you stop before your lips could meet, giving him the chance to pull back. But he never does. Instead, he closes the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours, finally making the fantasy you both have been daydreaming about reality. He starts off slowly, savoring each other gently, getting accustomed to the feeling, but it doesn’t take long before the kiss grows hungrier and your tongues meet in the middle.

Your hands rest at the base of his neck while his find your waist, pulling you closer until you swing a leg over him, sitting on his lap as you smile against his lips. His kisses feel delicate and soft yet very passionate at the same time, you love the dynamic you create, tugging and biting each other playfully, it feels like kissing him is the sole purpose of your life.

When it gets hard for you to breathe you pull back, eyes opening and finding his flushed face as he stares back at you with bright, joyous eyes, his lips slightly swollen, already making you want to go back to where you were just a moment ago.

“Who knew selfies could be so much fun,” he jokes making you laugh, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sound that’s so dear to him.

“I’m glad you liked my crash course on smart phones,” you grin down at him, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “Do you have any more questions?”

Smirking his hand, his flesh one, moves up your back as he presses you closer, your lips almost touching his.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” he chuckles before kissing you again eagerly.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Can't Keep a Secret

Word count: 4300

Warnings: tickling, fluff, reader with an inability to keep secrets, reader with a crush on a certain god of mischief

I'm so excited for 100 followers!! I didn't expect so many people to actually be interested in my writing when I started posting 🥰

This one is based on @atlas-of-the-universe's request here for a fic where Loki tickles the reader to get information of some kind 😉 I hope this is what you were looking for!

This one also has a little more crushing/romantic fluff than some of my other fics at the end, so if you're not into that just skip that part. As always, completely SFW!

* * *

No one ever seemed to do anything nice for Loki. So, when Thor approached you to ask if you’d help him and the others plan a surprise birthday party for his brother, you wholeheartedly agreed to assist. As the Avengers’ best party planner, you jumped at the chance to start brainstorming ideas to make this party the best Loki had ever experienced – including on Asgard. And, if it meant he’d pay a little extra attention to you, well… that was an added bonus.

The only problem was – you were terrible at keeping secrets.

It wasn’t as if you went around spilling the details when someone asked you not to tell the others about something. You knew enough not to just blurt out the fact that you were planning a party. Unfortunately, though, you had a tendency to let your feelings show in your facial expressions. Trying to keep secrets made you anxious, knowing you’d been the one to accidentally say just a little bit too much in the past and ruined other surprises.

The fact that you were the worst secret keeper was no… secret, for lack of a better word. Your teammates frequently exploited this fact when they wanted to know what you were hiding from them. Tony, especially, loved to talk circles around you until he could get you to trip up and give some detail away. On the other hand, they also tried not to let you in on too many details when they were planning a surprise for one of the other team members.

This time, you were determined not to give anything away. You were thrilled that the team was finally going to do something special for Loki, and you were NOT going to ruin it by spilling the beans to the trickster. Thor was probably one of the more trusting members of the Avengers, and he assured you when he asked you to help with the party that he had faith you wouldn’t screw up (quite literally in those words).

You started researching online to get some ideas. This party had to live up to the standards of an Asgardian prince, so you couldn’t just order a few pizzas and beer and call it a party. Plus, Tony had offered to pay for the whole thing (you suspected he felt guilty for having accidentally blasted Loki through a wall in the training room with his new Ironman suit the week prior) so your funds were basically limitless.

Inevitably, though, you were bound to run into situations where you had to spend time with the raven-haired god without allowing yourself to let any details slip.

The moment Loki first started to suspect you were hiding something was when he walked in on a conversation you were having with Thor in the kitchen. You had been asking him about the Asgardian mead his brother loved so much and wanted to know if he could manage to get some here on Midgard for the party.

“What is it about the Asgardian mead that you like so much better than standard alcohol?” you inquired curiously.

“Ha! That is a very funny question, Lady Y/N,” Thor laughed heartily. “As if any Midgardian liquor could so much as hold a candle to the spirits we drink on Asgard.”

“Hey! I enjoy my tequila! Margaritas are arguably a delicious alcoholic beverage,” you bantered.

“You truly believe this ‘margarita’ as you call it could compare to the smooth, sophisticated taste of an Asgardian mead?” Thor countered.

“I must agree with my brother on this one – I have seen this ‘margarita’ drink you speak of, and it is highly unlikely to be superior to Asgardian spirits.”

You gasped involuntarily when you heard Loki’s voice in the doorway, spinning around to face him with a look of bewilderment on your face. He cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as he scrutinized your expression.

“Oh, hey Loki! Didn’t see you there,” you greeted, trying to lean casually against the counter you were standing beside.

“Yes… it appears you didn’t. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Loki folded his arms across his chest, eyeing you intently. “What was it that brought you to the subject of Asgardian liquor?”

“Oh, that? Well…”

“I was just informing Lady Y/N that I have been feeling a bit nostalgic thinking about the celebrations we had on Asgard, when we would drink heartily with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three,” Thor cut in, quickly interrupting you mid-sentence. “Brother, you must recall the time you had a bit too much while drinking with us and…”

“I believe that’s quite enough nostalgia for one evening, dear brother,” Loki cut in, appearing almost frantic as he glanced quickly at you before turning back to glare at the elder Asgardian. “Stark asked me to inform you he requires your assistance in the laboratory. You’ll need to continue this conversation another time.”

“Ah, yes, alright then. Another time,” Thor agreed, winking at you before he exited the kitchen. Loki followed close behind, but not before giving you one last calculating glance before he crossed through the doorway and out of sight. You let out a breath of relief, hoping he hadn’t thought much of the conversation.

You noticed, though, that Loki started conveniently popping up around you more often after that incident. Maybe he didn’t want Thor to have the opportunity to tell you about whatever embarrassing story had occurred when they were younger, you thought. Regardless, it meant that you had to be extremely cautious about doing any planning for the party in any of the common areas.

The second time you nearly let something slip was during a hushed conversation in the training room with Peter after one of your sparring matches. He had pulled you aside after training to ask your opinion about whether he should ask his friend MJ to attend the party with him. He’d had a crush on the girl for quite some time, and now that she knew his secret identity he thought it might be time to introduce her to his Avengers family.

“I’m nervous she might not want to come, but I think it would be a great chance for her to meet everyone when the focus would be on someone else,” he explained. You hiked your backpack up onto your shoulder with your training gear and made your way toward the door to the training room with Peter by your side.

“Why wouldn’t she want to come? From what you’ve told me, she seems to be more of a social butterfly than you are, even,” you asked.

“Yeah… you’re right, I’m probably overthinking this, aren’t I?” he chuckled. “I just don’t want to screw things up!”

“What are you screwing up this time, spiderling?”

You stopped short as you heard Loki’s voice from behind you, making your heart leap into your throat. You turned around, trying not to look startled.

“Oh, Peter wants his friend MJ to attend… a training session with us!” you fibbed, trying to think quickly. “You know, so he can show her his Spider-Man moves!”

“Yeah! That’s right,” Peter agreed, nodding vigorously. “I’m going to go call her right now, thanks Y/N!” Peter scurried off down the hallway, leaving you standing with a somewhat skeptical looking god of mischief.

“Why was Peter asking you about inviting a friend to his training? Would he not have asked Stark?” Loki inquired. You shrugged in a non-committal way.

“Who knows? Anyway, uh, it was nice talking to you, but I’ve got to get going… big assignment to finish up tonight, can’t really stop and chat. See you later!” you blurted, not waiting for a response as you hurried toward your room. Phew, that was close, you thought to yourself, hoping he hadn’t been standing behind you for too long.

Later that week, you found yourself alone in the common room while watching television. You pulled out your laptop during one of the commercials and started searching the internet for caterers, hoping to find something fancy enough to appeal to an Asgardian god. You had thought that everyone else was out for the day, so you weren’t overly concerned about anyone seeing what you were doing.

“What mindless reality television show are you watching today?” The smooth, baritone voice caused you to jerk your head up from your laptop screen and instinctively slam it shut. He hadn’t even been standing behind you to see what you were searching – it was purely on reflex that you closed the computer. Loki raised his eyebrows at you. “I see you aren’t really watching anything, are you? What is it you were viewing on your computer?”

“Nothing! I mean, nothing exciting, really. Just some old photos that I was trying to sort through,” you stammered, standing up with the laptop clutched to your chest. “You can have the TV if you want, though. I have to go… work on that assignment some more. I was just taking a break. It’s almost done!” Loki opened his mouth as if to say something, but you didn’t wait around to let him ask any more questions that might make you give away something you shouldn’t. You spent the rest of the evening in your room, avoiding the trickster at all costs.

The next morning, after getting ready for the day, you grabbed some breakfast before heading back to your room to continue to do some additional party planning research where Loki wouldn’t walk in on you unexpectedly. You shoved the last bite of one of Thor’s pop-tarts that you’d stolen into your mouth as you approached your door, opening it and walking toward your desk where your laptop sat. You always left the door slightly ajar when you were in your room, and so you were quite surprised when you heard the door thump shut behind you, the lock clicking into place.

“You’ve been hiding something from me.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned around slowly, staring wide-eyed at the god of mischief now standing in your bedroom between you and your only exit. His hands were clasped behind his back, his blue-green eyes gleaming ominously as he stared you down.

“Oh, hey Loki! What brings you to my room?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Let’s end this little charade, hmm?” He took a few slow paces forward into the room, closing the distance between the two of you. “It’s become clear to me over the last week that you have knowledge of some information that you do not want me to become aware of. I’d like you to tell me what it is.” His tone was calm; low, but dangerous. You swallowed hard.

“Loki, I-I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t have any secrets.” You took a step back from the advancing Asgardian, your back meeting the cold, hard wood of your desk behind you.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is up to you,” he threatened, stepping even closer so he was only a foot away from where you stood trapped against your desk. “Tell me what it is you’re hiding, or I will… coerce you into talking.”

“Coerce me? Heh, what’s that supposed to mean?” you asked nervously, your hands gripping the desk behind you.

“I have my ways. I am the god of mischief, after all.” Loki stood in front of you unmoving, a barrier holding you hostage against your desk.

“Even if I did have something to hide, you wouldn’t hurt me. Your brother would kill you,” you warned.

“I never suggested I would hurt you, darling. I would never do such a thing.” He took the slightest step closer. “You seem tense. Am I making you nervous?”

“Very.”

“Good.” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Have you decided, then? Will we be doing this the easy way or the hard way?”

“I told you, I have nothing to hide,” you insisted.

“Very well then. We’ll do this the hard way.” Quickly, you darted around Loki toward the door, trying to make your escape. He was faster, though, catching you with an arm around your waist and dragging you back so your back was against his chest. “Tell me, darling…” he growled in your ear, making you shiver, “… are you… ticklish?”

“Wha-“ you opened your mouth to protest but stopped speaking as you felt gentle scratching on your side. You shook your head quickly, suppressing the giggles that were threatening to rise out of your throat. If you stood still long enough, maybe he would give up.

“Do you think you’re fooling me by not allowing yourself to laugh? I felt you tense up immediately the moment I touched you.” He tightened his grip, wrapping both arms around your waist and digging his fingers into your sides. You snorted at the sudden sensation, doubling over to try to fight your way out of his grasp. “As I suspected. You are extraordinarily ticklish.”

“S-shut up, Loki!” you demanded, your muscles relaxing as his fingers stilled against your sides. He released you, allowing you to turn and face him but still standing in between you and the door.

“Now then – are you going to tell me what it is you’re hiding? Or do I need to tickle you until you are begging for mercy?”

You felt your face flush with heat. You’d been tickled before, certainly, but only for a few seconds at a time, and never as a means to pry information from you. Truthfully, though, you were enjoying this playful side of Loki. You were also determined not to tell him about the party – it would be so much more fun if it were a surprise, and he deserved to have fun. You braced yourself, folding your arms defiantly across your chest.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Before you could react, Loki had tackled you, and you found yourself flat on the floor with your wrists pinned over your head. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as the dark-haired Asgardian loomed over you, his smirk growing wider.

“I see you’ve made your choice, then. But I should warn you – I don’t do mercy.” The fingertips of his free hand connected with your belly, lightly tracing the soft skin through your shirt. You turned your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him, his knowing stare making it more difficult to prevent yourself from laughing. Slowly, he applied more pressure until he was clawing at your belly with all five fingers, varying between the center and sides and analyzing your expression to evaluate your response.

“I-I’m telling y-you, t-there’s nothing to t-tell,” you insisted, jolting a little each time his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot.

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe you.” He shifted his attack to your side, his fingers spidering gradually up your ribcage. Your nerves were alight with ticklish shocks, helpless giggles now bubbling out of your chest.

“W-whyhyhy don’t you believe mehehe?” you asked, your tone starting to sound more desperate.

“You’re not exactly subtle. It’s rather obvious when you’re trying to keep a secret.” Loki was now scratching in between your upper ribs, and your giggles were evolving into desperate laughter. “I see this is becoming more challenging for you. I wonder – should I try to identify all of your weak spots? Surely one of them will get you talking.”

“NOHOHO LOKI!” you pleaded, thrashing to try to free your wrists from his grasp.

“You’ll need to provide me some information, then. What was it you were really discussing with my brother the other night?”

“HE TOHOHOLD YOU!!” You shrieked as Loki’s fingers found purchase under one of your arms, your feet pounding against the floor in desperation.

“Honestly, Y/N, I didn’t believe a word either of you said.” His fingertips grazed the underside of your upper arm, tracing from your elbow down to your underarm and back up again. You hadn’t realized how ticklish the soft skin of your arm could be, but his maddeningly light touch had you writhing to try to evade his fingers.

“STAHAHAP THAT!” you begged, yanking at your restrained wrists to try to lower your arms. Even before you were in this weakened state, the god of mischief was stronger than you.

“Then talk.”

“NEVER!”

“Aha!” he exclaimed suddenly, lifting his fingers away from your arm. You sucked in air desperately, letting out the residual giggles as he allowed you a moment to recover. “You ARE hiding something! You’ve given yourself away.”

“I… but… no I didn’t!” you pouted. He chuckled, a genuine grin spreading across his face at your adorable, disappointed frown.

“It’s too late now. You may as well tell me your secret.”

“I won’t tell! I’ll never tell!” you barked, a sudden surge of bravery rushing through you.

“I’m afraid I must continue, then,” he stated, feigning pity. “Why don’t you tell me where else you are ticklish instead?”

“What? No! I won’t tell you that either!”

“Fine. It’s much more amusing for me to locate your weak spots myself anyway.” Loki released your wrists and in the same motion reached behind him to squeeze above your knees with both hands. You yelped at the unexpected touch, trying with difficulty to sit up now that your arms were free. You reached toward Loki’s sides to try to retaliate but he was too perceptive, grabbing a wrist in each hand using his cat-like reflexes. “You don’t want to do that, darling,” he warned.

“Oh, but I think I do,” you argued, trying your hardest to break free of his grip. He wrestled with you for a moment, successfully forcing you onto your stomach so you could no longer sit up and try to counterattack.

“Now then – where were we?” he huffed as he sat himself down on the back of your legs, pinning you in place. You lifted your upper body up onto your elbows and turned to look at him, keeping a close eye on his hands. “Ah, that’s right. You were about to tell me what you were discussing with the spiderling the other day.”

“No I was-“ your retort died in your mouth as Loki’s fingertips touched down on the backs of your knees. “L-Loki, hold on, don’t you even think about it.”

“Why? Too sensitive?” he teased, tracing one finger along the tendon in the back of your knee. You let out a squeal, only egging him on as he began to flutter his fingers against the thin skin there.

“LOKI I WILL KIHIHILL YOHOHOU!”

“You hardly sound threatening when you’re giggling like a child,” he taunted, tracing along the skin on the inner sides of your knees. You reached back desperately with one hand while holding yourself up with the other elbow, trying to grab hold of his tickling fingers. He snickered at your feeble attempts, reaching up quickly to slide his fingers under your arm so your elbow would buckle beneath your torso before returning his attention to your knees. “This could all stop if you’d just tell me what your secret is.”

At this point, you’d come to the embarrassing realization that you were actually having fun, despite your abdominal muscles aching from laughing so hard. You were also still determined to keep the party a secret, if not for you then for Loki’s own good. You picked yourself back up onto your elbows so you could turn and look back at him defiantly.

“No!” you declared.

“No? I see I must not be trying hard enough, then. Let’s try somewhere else, shall we?” Loki shifted his weight so he could pin your legs down with his shin, his gaze turning down toward your socked feet.

“Don’t… you… dare!” you warned, noticing where his line of sight was directed. He placed his fingertips teasingly against the soles of your feet, maintaining eye contact with you, eyes glowing with mischief.

“I’ll give you one final chance. Spill,” he ordered. You merely smirked back at him.

“Make me.”

Without another word, Loki sprang back into action, his torturous fingertips skimming along the soles of your feet. Frantic giggles spilled from your lips as you tried jerking your feet away from his touch without success.

“I’d wager you’re regretting what you said now, aren’t you?” he goaded, scratching under your toes with one finger on each foot. Your giggles pitched up as you curled your toes to prevent him from reaching the sensitive skin. “Are you prepared to talk now?”

“NEHEHEVER!!” you screeched, still determined to win. Eventually he’d get tired of this and give up, right?

“Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” You practically screamed in ticklish agony as his fingers once again connected with your ribs, darting rapidly up and down your sides and under your arms, scribbling into the small of your back, fluttering against the sides of your neck and behind your ears, never staying in one place long enough to grow accustomed to the sensation. Your laughter fell silent as you tapped your hand hard on the floor, signaling you were giving up. Seeing your signal, Loki’s fingers stilled against you, still pressed gently into your sides as a warning that he could start right back up again at any moment. “Talk.”

“I will… alright… just… just give me a sec,” you huffed, your chest heaving with exertion. Your mind was racing, trying to come up with a plausible lie that would satisfy the god of lies. Your heart sank as you realized you couldn’t possibly come up with something in the next ten seconds that would fool him. It had to be the truth. “I’ll tell you, but you have to swear to me you won’t tell your brother that I told you.”

“That depends on what it is you’re about to tell me,” Loki bantered.

“No, I’m serious!” Loki shifted so his weight was no longer pressed on your legs, and you turned over into a seated position on the floor. “Promise me you won’t tell.”

“Fine. I promise. Now tell me.” You took a deep breath.

“We’re planning a party. For you. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Loki was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. His blue-green eyes searched yours as if trying to find any hint of a lie in your face. His face softened a bit as he began to realize you were actually telling the truth.

“What for?” he asked, his tone flat.

“For your birthday.”

“We don’t celebrate birthdays on Asgard, we have far too many of them to be excited for them.”

“Ugh, Loki, don’t you get it? Thor wanted to do something nice for you! I wanted to do something nice for you!” You held his gaze, trying to prove to him you still weren’t lying.

“You wanted to do something for me?” His voice was low, but there was something different about his tone; something you hadn’t heard before. Hope? Excitement? You averted your gaze down to the floor, poking at the fibers in the carpet with your finger.

“Yeah, I did. You deserve something nice. You’ve come a long way since New York. And you’re… a good friend.” You felt heat rush to your face. You’d nearly revealed another secret, one you had no intention of telling him today. Or ever. Unfortunately, Loki was perceptive.

“That sounded like another lie, Y/N,” he stated ominously. You risked a glance up at him, seeing a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

“What?! No, it’s not!” you argued, the warmth in your face spreading to your ears.

“Haven’t you learned not to lie to me by now?” Loki suddenly grabbed hold of your waist, dragging you closer to him. “Or do I need to repeat the lesson?” His fingers latched onto your ribcage, squeezing and kneading with maddening precision. Still exhausted from the previous attack, you immediately caved.

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! I like you, ok??” Loki stopped tickling you, not yet releasing you from his grasp. You covered your flushed face with your hands. “Happy now?”

Loki pried your hands gently away from your face, tilting your chin up with his finger. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them before as he gazed at you, a small smile on his face. With a surge of confidence, you closed the gap between your faces, pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back, gently but passionately all at once. When he finally pulled away, he grinned at you.

“Yes, I am happy,” he said simply. You smiled shyly back at him.

“Good.” You hardened your expression a bit, although admittedly it was hard to wipe the smile off your face. “You still have to act surprised. I can’t have people thinking I can’t keep a secret.” Loki laughed at that, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“But you can’t, darling.” He gave you one last poke in the side, eliciting a whine from you. “I’ll do my best to act surprised. I am the god of lies, after all. I should be able to put on a convincing display.”

“Good.” You allowed him to help you to your feet before shooing him out the door. “Now, get out of my room. I still have planning to do.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, stopping in the doorway to look at you. “I’ll go, but only if you’ll have dinner with me tonight.”

“Only if you don’t tickle me,” you countered.

“Sorry, love, but I can’t make any promises,” he replied, winking. You sighed, smiling at him.

“I guess I’ll take my chances then.”

[poisonedapples]

Patton’s Home for Traumatized Kids - Chapter Three

New School and Friendships

Chapter Summary: Roman has his first day in a new district while some bonds are strengthened.

First Chapter Previous Chapter Story Masterlist

Warnings: Past abuse mentions, mentions of hidden cameras, anxiety, some bullying, crying, and food mentions

Chapter Word Count: 5,860

Taglist: @shade-romeo, @grayson-22, @pixelated-pineapple, @acrobaticcatfeline, @astrozei, @edupunkn00b, @princey-7258

“Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?” Roman’s dad turned to face him. Roman felt his whole body start to shake.

“You know how you said that…I could ask for anything from you? Since, uh- since you didn’t know what present to get me last time?”

His dad smiled in a way so normal it was disturbing. “Got an idea?”

“Yeah, uh…I want a canopy bed.”

His dad’s face dropped, and Roman could feel the anxiety and regret bloom through his chest. “You know why I can’t do that, Roman.”

“Please? I know it’s probably a bit much to replace my whole bed frame, but I could make my own canopy for cheaper! I’ve already looked at a bunch of ways online how, I just need you to buy the materials-”

“It’s a no.” Roman’s dad looked angry, and Roman would’ve done anything to run the other direction at that moment. To burst out the door and never come back. “Nice try, Roman, but I’m not stupid. Come back when you have a better idea.”

Roman blinked to fight back the tears. “…I’m sorry.”

“Go back to your room.”

Roman ran up the stairs as fast as he could, wishing more than anything that there was a lock on his door. Instead, Roman took his desk chair and propped it against the knob for some kind of security, curling into the corner of his room as he shook and tugged at his hair.

He tried to block out the knowledge of the security camera on his shelf, hidden well but not well enough, pointed right at his bed.

***

Several fast knocks came onto Roman’s bedroom door, waking him up with a jerk. He groggily pushed open the curtain in front of his head to grab his phone and look at the time. Six o’clock on the dot, it read. Ugh.

The knocking on the door didn’t stop, and Roman whined. “What?” He called out.

“Get dressed, we need to leave the house by 6:30.” He heard Logan call back.

“Fine, fine.” Roman pushed the curtains out of the way and practically rolled out of bed, grabbing the clothes he’d organized for himself the night before. He put on a pair of jeans with a white and red t-shirt, nothing fancy but fancy enough for a first day surrounded by strangers. He grabbed his backpack and put his phone and some earbuds in his pocket before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

“Morning, kiddo!” Patton chirped as he made breakfast, “Didja sleep well?”

“Yes, I did.” That was a lie. He had some strange dream where his dad was also there, and he only managed to calm down and fall back asleep an hour ago. He still couldn’t stop thinking about it, even if the dream was hazy now.

“Good to hear! Be ready by 6:30 so I can drive all of you to the school. Then once you get there, you can ask about your schedule at the office.” Patton laid down a plate of bagels with cream cheese and strawberries in front of Roman, so Roman began to eat.

Once he finished his breakfast, Roman rushed back upstairs to style his hair and brush his teeth before they had to leave. As he brushed his teeth, he stared at the shower to the left of him and sighed. He touched his hair, feeling the grease slick onto his fingers.

He really needed to shower. He hadn’t showered since he got here, and with how thick his hair was it was really starting to gross him out. He hated feeling greasy and grimy, but Roman hadn’t checked the bathroom for cameras yet and he refused to shower until he did. Though, he knew that was also just an excuse. Roman also felt too tired to take care of himself.

Just brush your teeth, he thought, they told you that if you can’t shower, at least brush your teeth. Greasy hair can be fixed, cavities are expensive.

He spit out the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed out his mouth. He grabbed some face wash and decided to use it as quickly as he could to hold back the gross feeling he felt. It would help him feel a little cleaner, at least. A little more presentable for the first day.

A loud bang came onto the door. “Roman, hurry up!” Virgil called out, “Some of us need to piss!”

“Just a second!” Roman vigorously splashed water on his face and quickly dried it with a towel, rushing out of the bathroom so that Virgil could run in. He sighed again, walking downstairs to wait on the couch until it was time to go.

“Alrighty, everyone got everything?” Patton eventually asked, making Roman crack open the eyes he didn’t even realize he closed. Patton smiled and clapped his hands together when his response was tired hums of agreement. “Perfect! To the car!”

All three kids bunched themselves together in the back of Patton’s car, Roman and Virgil at the window seats while poor Logan was squished in the middle. Roman squeezed his legs together so he could fit his backpack between Logan and himself, acting as a barrier so Logan couldn’t touch him. It was uncomfortable, but it was what Roman had to do.

“So, Roman, are you excited?” Patton asked, making Roman open his eyes again to look at Patton through the rearview mirror. Roman leaned his head against the window.

“More nervous. I’ve never been to a new school before.”

“Well, hopefully you can make lots of friends here! The school is pretty big, so there are certainly lots of options!” Patton laughed at himself and Roman closed his eyes again.

We’ll see about that.

Eventually, after a failed attempt of getting in some extra minutes of sleep before school, Roman felt the car come to a stop. He opened his eyes and looked out the window to see the front of the large school building, kids with smiling faces talking to each other as they walked inside while others looked tired yet excited. Roman wasn’t feeling it.

“Alright, kiddos, have fun!” Patton exclaimed, “Remember to check in with the office for your schedule, Roman!”

All the kids started to pile out of the car, grabbing their bags off the floor to rush inside. Once they were all out, Patton’s car drove away to head for work.

Roman looked at the building as Logan and Virgil walked inside. It seemed huge compared to his old school, where the county was much more rural than here. They still had twenty minutes until school started and kids were already swarming in from multiple entrances, both from the main entrance and other doors connected around the building. Roman walked inside and held his arms close to himself, desperate not to be shoved around by the other students. 

The office was fairly easy to find, considering there was a giant sign over the door in bold, white letters reading Office. Roman opened the door and stepped inside to get in line, feeling a little bit better that he wasn’t the only student having first day issues. The line shrank very quickly until it was Roman’s turn to ask questions, being faced with an old lady who could either be very sweet or the rudest person in the building. Roman could never tell.

“Uh, I’m a new kid at this school, and my guardian told me to come here to get my schedule?” Roman asked.

“Name.” Okay, well, rude it was, then.

“Roman Goldsberry.”

The desk worker didn’t respond, only typed something on her computer and didn’t make eye contact. “Next door to your left of that entrance is the counselor’s office. Your counselor is Mrs. Walters and she’ll call for you shortly.”

“Okay, thank you.” Roman had never scurried out of an office so quickly in his life. So much for a great first impression.

In the other office, Roman sat on a waiting chair and awkwardly glanced at all the college items they had hung up on the walls, waiting until his name would be called. The school day hasn’t even started yet, what’s taking them so long?

Roman drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and waited. There was a lot of college stuff in this room. Granted, high school’s whole thing was trying to take you to college, his old school was the exact same. And he should really start thinking about that stuff since he’s a sophomore now. He only had two more years left after this, but it’s not like he could go anyway. He wasn’t even supposed to graduate high school, let alone college.

Besides, his dream was stupid anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“Roman Goldsberry?” A voice called out, taking Roman out of his thoughts. Roman stood up to follow the counselor into her office.

“I’m Mrs. Walters, and it’s nice to meet you Roman!” She said cheerily as she sat at her desk with Roman sitting right in front of her. “Your schedule was a bit last minute to pull together, but I tried my hardest based on your last school’s transcript and your test scores from last standardized testing. All I need is to schedule some extra electives for you. You have advanced English 12, advanced geometry, advanced biology, and world history. You can also choose Spanish 3 here if you wish to continue that. You also still need your gym credit, so you can take regular PE or strength training. I also have a list of other electives here if you want to look at that.”

“Yeah, I can look.” The counselor handed Roman a paper of all the electives organized by their subject. Well, Roman definitely wanted to continue Spanish, so that choice was easy. Strength training sounded like a fun way to do gym class with less dodgeballs to the face, but it was only a semester long, so he’d need to pick another semester class for the second half of the year. And he could join another painting or drawing class as his last elective, but he’d already taken those at his old school…

Roman gazed at the arts section of the packet, trying to find something he might like. His eyes lit up as he noticed the names of two classes: set design, which was a semester long and sounded magical, and something called sculpture. “What does the sculpture class teach?” Roman asked.

“It’s an art class that teaches you how to sculpt with different things. Like clay, wood, things like that. It’s a very hands-on class if you’re interested.”

Roman smiled. “I want that one then.”

The counselor typed something into her computer. “Have you chosen your other classes?”

“Yes, Spanish 3, set design, and strength training.”

“I’ll put you in strength training for this semester, but next semester you can join the set design class. I’ll email your elective teachers to inform them you’ll be joining their classes, but for now…” The counselor printed off a piece of paper and handed it to Roman. “This is your new schedule. Your first class is English with Ms. Fritz, and her class should be up on the third floor at room 316. Do you think you can make it there?”

“I can, thank you.”

The counselor smiled. “Have a nice first day.”

Roman walked off to head toward his first class, going up two flights of stairs and wandering across half the floor before he finally found his classroom. Thankfully, the halls were full of students desperately trying to locate their classrooms, so Roman didn’t feel as weird. He eventually stumbled upon the correct room number after checking multiple hallways and trying to follow their scattered number system. He looked at the door with a paper rabbit and a book with a phrase reading hop into a good book, and could guess immediately what type of teacher this would be.

Roman pushed open the half-cracked door and stepped inside.

The dozen kids who were already sitting stared at him when he walked in, but quickly resumed their conversations shortly after. Roman glanced at an empty seat off in the middle row near the other end of the class and moved to sit down in it. He looked around at the other kids off in their own worlds, with no one to get excited to see him and strike up a conversation. He was sitting alone in a class where it seemed like no one else was.

Roman got bored quickly with no one to talk to, drumming his fingers on the table and starting to daydream instead.

The long lost princess with the power to see into the future is forced to hide in protected wilderness, Roman thought, picking up from an old story idea he’s had for a while. Can’t have a teen novel without an orphan, so she lives with a guardian healer instead. Then, she needs a trusty companion to not only start her adventures, but to assist her alongside them. Perhaps he could be a peasant boy born with more magic power than the normal peasant has? It sure would be interesting. Or maybe, he’s not a trustworthy companion at all! What if he’s using the princess to promote his own selfish ideals? But as the story goes on, they actually become close friends and he has an intense internal conflict as he turns into the antagonist! Then maybe-

“Alright class, I think it’s been late enough for us to start!” Roman tried not to be aggravated at the teacher for interrupting him. The teacher stood at the front of the class with a wide smile. “I’m Ms. Fritz, but of course I’m sure a lot of you already know that since you had me last year. I teach all grade levels for advanced English, so if you keep down this path you might stick with me until graduation! Now normally, teachers will start their first day with class expectations, maybe a rubric or a supplies list, but I have a better idea! How about we travel across the class and try to get to know each other better? I can pass around a ball, and if you catch the ball, you have to share three fun facts about you!”

A sense of dread filled into Roman after hearing that. He usually didn’t mind games like this since it was a mindless way to pass the time, but he didn’t have any friends to pass him the ball anymore. Was he just going to sit there until the end? Sounded awkward, no thank you.

“I think,” Ms. Fritz said with her hand gripping her chin in thought, “I’m going to start with the new kid.”

Roman perked his head up as all the other kids turned to him. Well, that was unexpected.

Ms. Fritz tossed Roman the ball, and thankfully he caught it without making a fool of himself. The teacher smiled at him encouragingly as he stood up, looking around at all the kids waiting for him to talk. What should I even say?

“Can you say your name first?” Ms. Fritz asked.

“Well…I’m Roman. Uh, I like to paint, I’m half french, and…” Roman tried to think. What else was interesting about him? Something that shared a lot about him as a person?

Quickly, it dawned on him. One idea that I could possibly share, he thought. Well, it’s a bit invasive, but they’re all looking at me. So whatever.

He took a deep breath in. “…I’m a foster kid.”

When Roman admitted that, all the kids seemed to be more interested in him, leaning closer as their eyes widened. It was the first time Roman ever said it aloud, and it was so strange to hear coming from his mouth. He was a foster kid. That was an important part of his identity now.

He didn’t know how he felt about it.

“You’re half french?” Ms. Fritz pulled Roman out of his thoughts with that question. “Do you know any french?”

“I’m fluent.”

“That’s so cool! Can you say something in French for us?”

Roman seemed to think about it. “Quelque chose.”

Ms. Fritz blinked. “Well, I hope it was appropriate to say in a classroom. When did you move here, Roman?”

“Like…four days ago. Very recently.”

“You only got added to my roster last night, so I believe you! How about you pass the ball to another kid now?”

Roman looked around the room awkwardly before making eye contact with a random girl and tossing her the ball. He sat back down and only paid half his attention to what the other kids were saying. Well, at least he didn’t have to wait awkwardly anymore.

The rest of the class went like that. It seemed like a lot of these kids were students that Ms. Fritz had in the past, as well as being students that were also close friends with each other. They talked a lot and made lots of jokes with the teacher, and they seemed really close, which Roman understood since he was the same with his old group of advanced kids. The extra conversation dragged the game out longer than it probably should have been, but Roman didn’t mind. He didn’t want to actually work or anything anyway.

Eventually, the game ended, and the last kid tossed the ball to Ms. Fritz. “Alright,” she said, “That game dragged out longer than I thought it would, but that’s fine! The bells are shorter the first few days anyway. We only have a couple minutes left, so talk amongst yourself if you want, I don’t care. The assembly should be after your fourth bell for the sophomores, so don’t let your teachers forget!”

All the students turned around to talk to the kids around them. Roman simply watched their conversations with no one to talk to himself, realizing how all the new kids at his old school must have felt. It was like looking in from the outside, where no one else could see you. Roman was just…there.

“Hey,” the kid in front of him turned around to face Roman. Roman almost jumped at the sudden attention. “What’s your name again?”

“Oh, Roman. Roman Goldsberry.” Roman turned to sit properly in his seat and leaned in closer. This was a good start! He seems nice, maybe I can make a friend!

“Roman Goldsberry!” He mocked, turning to his other friends to laugh. “That’s such a pretentious name. And very American sounding, by the way. I thought you were French?”

Roman’s shoulders sagged. Nevermind. Eight in the morning on my first day, and apparently I’ve made an enemy before a friend. “I’m half french, not fully french.”

The kid turned to his friends and made a face at them before they all laughed. Roman felt his blood boil.

“So your dad is the American?” The kid asked.

“Yes.” Roman hoped his sharp tone would help them realize not to mess with him.

“Are you close with your dad?”

Roman froze, and the group of kids turned to each other to make faces at each other again. He really didn’t see what was so funny. Who asks a complete stranger a question like that out of the blue?

Before Roman could snap and tell the kid to mind his own damn business, another kid from the other side of the room scoffed. “Mitchell.”

“What? I’m just asking!”

The other kid opened their mouth to retaliate, but a loud and obnoxious bell went off before they could. Kids started to get up to rush to their next class, and Roman joined them. The sooner he got away from Mitchell (who had no right to bully Roman for his name when he was called Mitchell), the better.

Roman rushed out into the hall and hyper focused on the schedule in his hands. World history, room 203. The next floor down.

Roman was so occupied in trying to find a flight of stairs, he didn’t notice the kid trying to catch up to him.

***

The rest of Roman’s day wasn’t half as eventful as his first bell. History class had a chill teacher, which was nice, then next was his strength training class. His teacher was a little confused when he showed up but was happy to have Roman on board. He seemed very strict with his class rules though, and Roman hated that considering one of his rules was they had to change into gym clothes. Which meant Roman had to wear gym shorts.

…Well, guess he’d have to get used to wearing multiple pairs of boxers again.

Besides that, he also got lost on his way to sculpture, so he showed up ten minutes late telling this random teacher he was her student now. At least she didn’t seem bothered. After that, they all went to the sophomore assembly where they were told the school rules and updates, which Roman’s pretty sure he was the only kid who actually listened. Then, after the assembly, Roman went to the cafeteria to eat a lunch that Patton packed him. He hadn’t actually brought a packed lunch to school in years, so the sentiment was…strange.

Not that Roman would complain about an edible lunch, though.

Roman looked around the cafeteria for a place to sit. The place was starting to become crowded as more students got out of line for buying lunch, so Roman needed to find a spot fast. It’d be easier if he made a friend to sit with, but after the morning Mitchell incident, Roman hadn’t cared to try again in his other classes.

That’s when Roman spotted him. A kid with thick glasses eating a fruit cup as he worked on some papers next to him, completely ignoring the world to finish some homework. Roman wasn’t exactly close with his foster brothers, but hey, maybe Logan could prove himself a little useful. He had to be lonely too, right?

Roman took his chance and sat across from Logan. Logan didn’t look up from his papers. “Hey there, nerd!”

Logan glanced an eye toward Roman. He focused back on his work. “Hello.”

“How’s your first day of high school going?”

It took Logan a solid minute before he responded. “It’s going alright. I got unlucky with a teacher of mine, who already gave us a homework packet for the week, so I’m trying to get a head start on it.”

“Really? What teacher?”

“Mr. Owens, he’s the more strict teacher of the two that teach medical technology.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Medical technology? That’s a class here?”

“Yes. I had to do a lot of things last year to get into it, however. It’s part of the intensive medical learning path. However, the extra work is necessary.”

“…Right. What other classes are you in?”

“Advanced biology, advanced geometry, advanced English, medical tech as I just mentioned, German 2, health, and painting.”

Roman tilted his head to the side. “Wait, I thought most of those were sophomore classes?”

“And I took freshman classes my eighth grade year. Your point?”

Roman blinked. “…Fair enough.”

Roman brought out his own sandwich and ate it in awkward silence. Logan seemed so focused on his paper that he wasn’t saying a word, and trying to spark conversation with him when he was like this was next to impossible. He felt like he was intruding by sitting next to Logan, the air feeling thick for a reason Roman couldn’t quite place. Once he finished his sandwich, Roman had enough.

“I think…” Roman said, “I’m going to sit…somewhere else.”

Logan didn’t react. “Alright.”

Roman stood up and awkwardly shuffled to an empty spot at a table on the other side of the cafeteria, placing down his lunch box and trying again. Well, he thought as he opened up a cheese stick wrapper, better get used to being alone, then.

“Hey, excuse me?”

Roman looked up at the voice while he was mid-bite. It was the same kid who scolded Mitchell back in his English class, tired circles under their eyes and a gray sweater on despite it being August. Though, Roman had been freezing in most of his classes today, so maybe this person had the right idea.

“Oh- I’m sorry, were you sitting here?” Roman asked.

“No, you’re fine, I just…” The kid looked side to side anxiously. “…Mind if I sit with you?”

“…Oh! No, I don’t mind at all.”

The kid smiled and set their lunchtray across from Roman. “Thanks. I’m Elliott by the way, they/them pronouns.”

Roman’s brain took a minute to process what they meant. “Uh, hello! I’m Roman…he/him?”

Elliott seemed to get happier when he said that. “Nice to meet you. How’s your first day been so far? Besides for you-know-who this morning.”

Roman laughed. “Well, aside from that uncalled for mess, it’s been quite normal. I got lost a few times, but that’s not new for me. My teachers seem quite alright so far.”

“That’s good to hear. We have a lot of good teachers, I think, unless they teach calculus, then they have some serious issues. But so long as you don’t act like an idiot it’s easy to get past those teachers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind! Hopefully I stay on this hot streak, though.” Roman took out a water bottle from his lunch and started to drink it. “But it’s the students I’m more worried about. They all seem so off on their own. Or just outright rude like that guy this morning.”

Elliott groaned, leaning his head on his hand and slouching. “I’m really sorry about him. He can be a huge jerk for no reason. I think he’s just itching for a fight.”

“You seem to know him quite well. Old friend or something?” Roman asked.

Elliott groaned again. “…He’s my ex.”

“…No offense to your type or anything, but…ew.”

“Oh no, yeah, dating him was definitely an ew,” Elliot sighed. “We broke up like, four times in the span of a year and a half. It was a mess. Eventually, over the summer I broke up with him for good. I think he’s still upset about that and taking it out on the first easy target he finds. That, and he’s a jerk.”

“Well, he’ll soon learn I’m not one to be described as an easy target.” Roman gave a cocky smile and posed.

The bell sounded off again, and all the students stood up from their tables and started to swarm the trash cans and cafeteria exits. Roman and Elliott gave each other a look as they also stood up.

“So…what class do you have next?” Elliott asked nervously.

“Let’s see…” Roman pulled out the schedule from his pocket and looked at it. “Advanced biology with Mr. Weber.”

Elliott’s eyes lit up. “Me too! Uh…wanna walk together then? I can show you where it is.”

Roman smiled. “Of course!”

The two kids headed down the stairs, talking more and laughing long after they sat down in the class and the bell rang. Roman continued to whisper to Elliott during class until the teacher gave them both a warning glance, shutting their mouths but smiling at each other.

Even as Roman tried to pay attention, he felt a weight lift from his chest.

He’d obtained a friend after all!

***

The entire bus drive home, Roman spent it texting Elliott’s number that they’d given him right after biology ended. He talked about his last two classes and listened to Elliott ramble about his bad luck with classmates this year, grinning to himself with his eyes glued to his screen until his stop came. Virgil banged his fist on Roman’s seat to get his attention, making him jump and stand up to get off with Virgil and Logan.

During the walk home, no one said anything. Roman was off in his own world and Virgil just looked tired, with Logan staring intently at his own shoes as he walked. Virgil unlocked the door for them all to come inside, and they all branched off into their different directions. Virgil got a snack from the kitchen while Roman and Logan ran up to their rooms.

Roman spent a lot of his time in his room now that he’d gotten the curtains around his bed. Lying there was a lot softer than hiding on the bathroom floor with his legs propped up, and Roman was still confused as to how he managed to get away with installing this. He’d have to make sure Patton never entered his room again in case he planned to rip the curtains off their hooks.

He’d have to make a plan to effectively keep him out.

But for now, Roman actually needed to talk to Patton as soon as possible. He needed to ask for gym clothes, since that was the only thing Roman still needed to get for class, and he wanted to get it over with so Roman wouldn’t need to keep worrying about it. He was almost certain Patton had come home half an hour ago, but Roman just ignored him and stayed in his room. But he had to take advantage of the fact that he was remembering to ask for the clothes, so there was no time like the present to go find him.

Roman hopped out of bed and exited his room, making his way downstairs to the living room. He figured Patton would be either watching TV or doing something in the kitchen, but when Roman looked around, he didn’t see him anywhere. Virgil was sprawled across the couch on his phone, but no one else was around. Roman put his hands on his hips.

“Where’s Patton?” He asked Virgil.

Virgil didn’t look up. “Upstairs. In his room I think.”

Roman groaned and stomped back upstairs. He hated going into an adult’s room, so he instead opened the door and poked his head in so he wouldn’t have to step inside. But before he could get a word out to Patton, Roman stopped himself.

Patton was sitting on his bed with the lights dimmed, his back resting in the headboard, but what shocked Roman was that Logan was there also. He had his face hidden in Patton’s neck as Patton rubbed his back and played with his hair, holding him tight to his chest while Logan sniffled. Roman had never seen Logan emote before, so watching him cry was…disturbing. Roman wanted to run over and rip Logan from Patton to protect him.

Patton looked at Roman in the doorway and smiled. “You gotta remember to knock before entering, kiddo. What do you need?”

Roman forgot the main reason he came here. “Is Logan okay?”

Patton looked down at Logan and whispered something in his ear. Whatever Patton said, Logan agreed with a quiet nod of his head. Patton rubbed at Logan’s neck in a way that made Roman’s skin crawl as Patton began to speak. “He’ll be okay, kiddo. He’s just a little overwhelmed from school today. Do you need anything?”

Roman took a step inside Patton’s bedroom. It made his whole body shift into fight or flight, but he couldn’t leave Logan alone with him in good conscience. “I just wanted to say I need to buy gym clothes by next Wednesday. I’m in a strength training class this semester.”

Patton smiled. “That’s fine, we can go shopping this weekend.”

Roman looked down at the floor. “Well…I was more thinking, like…I go into the store while you wait in the car.”

Patton raised an eyebrow at him. “I need to buy the clothes, kiddo.”

“You can just give me the money. I’ll stay within the budget and give you any left over, so…please?”

Patton’s face dropped a little, but he didn’t get angry, so Roman considered that a win. “Sure, kiddo. We’ll do that Sunday.”

Even after the conversation seemed to end, Roman still stood near the door, shifting on his feet awkwardly. Patton shifted his eyes between Logan and Roman as if he was analyzing both of their mental states, but Roman’s throat felt stuck as he tried to bring out the words he wanted to say. He was so scared, but he couldn’t force himself to ask the question he knew he needed to ask now. Yet his feet refused to make a run for it out the door despite his fear.

“Do you need something else, kiddo?” Patton lightly prompted. Roman attempted to swallow the rock he felt in his throat.

“Can I…Can I stay with you and Logan?” He hated it, but he had to do it. He didn’t know what Patton would try when Logan was vulnerable.

Patton looked down at Logan, and Logan nodded. Patton turned to smile again. “You can if you want, Logan doesn’t mind.”

Roman carefully walked to the other side of the bed, sitting as far as possible from Patton but keeping his eyes glued to Logan. He knew he wasn’t helping much, not saying a word and not even being close, but it was something Roman had to do. Just because him and Logan weren’t close didn’t mean he’d leave him in danger. Even if Roman felt stuck in his head and couldn’t find the power to move his arms.

Roman sat there for a while, watching Logan’s chest rise as Patton rubbed his back. It felt like ages before Logan’s chest slowed and he fell asleep on top of Patton, somehow not caring at all about being asleep in Patton’s presence. Roman’s heart ached for him. He was too trusting and innocent for his own good.

“I gotta do some chores,” Patton whispered, “So I’m gonna tuck him in and let him nap. Do you still wanna stay with him?”

Roman nodded, not being able to get the words out himself. He felt stuck as Patton lifted Logan up gently, petting his hair to soothe him when he stirred. Roman helped by tugging the covers back from his end of the bed so that Patton could tuck him in and let go of him sooner, his hand on the back of Logan’s leg making Roman anxious. Patton tucked Logan under the covers and watched his reaction. After a few seconds, Patton grabbed a squishy stuffed frog from his bedside table, handing it to Logan who curled around it in his sleep. It’d be cute if Roman wasn’t so worried.

“Tell me if anything happens, okay kiddo?” Patton said right as he was halfway out the bedroom door. Roman nodded, only finally relaxing after Patton left and slowly closed the door. 

Roman immediately ran over to lock it. He didn’t have his security bar, but this would be good enough. Hopefully Patton wouldn’t test anything when he knew Roman would be by Logan’s side.

Despite all of Roman’s worries, Logan slept peacefully on the bed. He didn’t shift or seem distressed at all, just snuggling closer to Patton’s stuffed frog and resting. Logan was calm.

Roman sat on the floor to block the door and watched to make sure no one took that away from him.

[writingsfromhome]

Crystal Clear

A/N: Here’s some fluff, friends to lovers I’ve had going on while I work on something bigger :))

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

“Y/N,” a strange man calls my name. I look him up and down but I don’t think I know him.

“Who’s asking?”

“Y/N, it’s me? Harry.”

“Oh,” I laugh and greet him how I would have if I’d recognized him under all those layers, in a great big hug. “Your disguise is brilliant!”

“It’s not a disguise,” he says into his coat. “It’s bloody cold here.”

“Coldest day so far,” I accept the hot chocolate from the vendor and ask him for another, Harry could use one, poor thing. His plans this week were changed last minute, and since he was in New York City where his best childhood friend lived, he decided to actually hang out with me. Ever since he got famous, it was hard to catch time with him.

“Did the cold freeze all the English out of you? You’re not even wearing mittens,” Harry accepts his own cup from the vendor.

“I’m got them in my pocket,” I point to the bulge on the side of my coat as we step aside and make our way deeper into the winter festival that was at Bryant Park. “Don’t insult me, I can still make a better cup of tea than you ever could.”

“There she is,” I hear the smile in Harry’s voice more than I see it. It truly was ridiculous--not only was he wearing the thickest parka I’d ever seen, he also had on a beanie and a scarf, as well as knit gloves that held tightly to his hot chocolate.

“I’m always here, you’re just too busy to see me.”

“Not this again,” he groans. I was always giving him grief every time he touched down to NYC but didn’t pop by for a visit. I knew he had a hectic schedule, and even though I wasn’t that bothered I still liked to tease him.

“It’s true, you come to the city so often but I see you once a year. And maybe again when I’m in London if I get lucky.”

“I’m busy Y/N, I talk to you all the time!”

“I know,” I elbow him. “I just like to rile you up.”

“Well now that you’ve got that out of your system,” he tugs my hat over my eyes. “Where are we going next?”

I push it back up, “I thought we could just wander the shops, then get on the skating rink if you’re not frozen to death.”

“Alright I’ve got to pick some gifts up anyway let’s see what’s here.”

We make a good team as we visit stands selling ornaments and kitschy decor, handmade gifts, and hot cider. We sift through exactly what we might want, or what the other’s looking for. And with the light dusting of snow coming down, and the bright lights strung around the Park, it was like walking in a Christmas movie.

“Look at this,” I point ahead. We’d nearly visited all the stands and holiday shops but a festive psychic advertises their services in a small glass booth. “Should we?”

“It’s a waste of money,” Harry scoffs. “She’s just going to read your body language.”

“She might be the real deal-”

“You can’t be serious-”

“C’mon!” I tug his gloves hand and it takes a few but he stumbles towards me. It’s slightly warmer inside and I notice the space heater running in the corner. “At least it’s warm” I whisper to Harry.

“You really want to do this?” He asks one last time.

“It’s just $10-”

“$20 for the two,” the woman almost shifts out of the wall and I hide my jump with a laugh. There’s a curtain behind her, I realize, she must have stepped out.

“It’s just me,” I clarify.

She eyes Harry and Harry eyes her back. “You look familiar.”

“Just have that face,” he shrugs, burrowing into his scarf. “I’m just here to watch.”

She stares at him a moment longer before settling at the small table. I flash Harry a smile before sitting down myself, setting my bags onto the floor.

“Palm reading, cards, what will it be dear?” The psychic asks. I remember the sign out front said cards would be more than having my palm read so I opt for the cheaper option.

“Hm,” she says thoughtfully as she traces the lines on my palm. I wriggle my eyebrows at Harry and he rolls his eyes, but he stays watching her like a hawk. It was cute how overprotective he got sometimes. The psychic glances up to catch him watching her, she then glances at me and tilts her head.

“I see longevity, in life and love, a few bumps but you’re a strong persistent woman.”

Harry grumbles behind me and I resist the urge to say something to him.

“I see success after hard, hard work. But a big success that will change the course of your career.”

“Wow, how soon?” I ask.

“Mmm, after a big milestone. Turning 30?” she continues to examine my hand. “I see a second life later in life, with kids...just one no maybe two children.”

“How about her love life?” Harry asks. “Her last love s’not too nice.”

“Seriously Harry?” I turn to glare this time. He’s grinning with flushed cheeks, knowing it was a sore spot he liked to say i told you so to. It was true, he had told me so about my 3 year relationship but I’d ignored him.

“Your love life,’ the woman speaks up. “Shows me two great loves. One cuts short, the other is as long as your life line.”

“Ooh,” I lean in, interested. “I think I know about the one that was cut short. Tell me about the second!”

“This second...” she traces my palm and I feel a tingle. “This second love is very close, a bit rocky but it will last.”

“A bit rocky?”

“Hm,” she chews her bottom lip. “Time, distance...it will make it rocky. But it lasts.”

“So how close is close?” I ask eagerly.

“Close,” she says with a smile that tells me I wasn’t getting anything else out of her.

“That’s a bit vague isn’t it?” Harry pipes up from the back.

“The future isn’t always crystal clear,” she says without looking up at him.

“Lay off,” I scold him.

“It’s okay, I get nonbelievers all the time.” She laughs. “That will be $10 dear.” When I hand her the bill she stops me as she takes it. “A little free advice?”

“Sure.” I pick up the bags I placed on the floor earlier.

"Don’t be so focused on the life you want that you don’t see the life you have around you.”

“I’ve actually told her that before,” Harry decides we want more of his unsolicited opinions. “Maybe there is something true to all of this.”

“Thanks,” I pocket her words for later. Harry was right, he’d said something along those lines to me before, especially when it came to giving up control and going with the flow on trips and events with him. I always declined his offers, we lived a modest life growing up and accepting these gifts from him always felt so excessive. I wanted to make my own way in the world, but Harry always had something to say. “And sorry for his attitude, he’s not always this rude.”

“Yeah,” Harry shifts forward. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m a lot nicer usually.”

“I know,” she smiles.

“She’s psychic,” I remind him.

“I’m also online,” she laughs. “Can I get a picture?”

Harry eyes me, before going in for a selfie with her. I know he usually didn’t mind getting asked in smaller settings but he’d admitted it was something he was still getting used to. It had been a couple years since he became so famous, in such a short amount of time I went from being able to go down to a local pub with my best friend to schedules and security details and a whole other list of complications. Sometimes I hated it, mostly I was happy for him.

“Another day, another fan.” I tell Harry after we walk away from the psychic and he flips me off. “Should we get something to eat and get out of the cold?”

“God yes,” Harry shivers. “Can we just go to yours?”

“Let’s go,” I loop my arm through Harry’s.

Harry wants instant warmth so he hails a cab and we pick up takeout once we reach my neighbourhood. Harry had been here a few times, my roommate had gotten used to the fact that I was best friends with him, and sometimes he preferred to stay here when he wanted to be anonymous. Paparazzi sometimes crowded outside his hotel when word leaked he was there.

We eat ourselves into a food coma and Harry decides to stay the night, not wanting to face the cold again. Since our living room couch sprained his neck the only time he’d slept there, he usually crashed in my bed. His head barely hits the pillow before he’s snoring, I guess the jet lag finally caught up.

***

I jerk out of sleep, a crashing noise followed by swearing catches my attention.

“I think your roommate dropped something,” I hear from beside me. I turn my face to get a facefull of Harry’s thigh tattoos.

“Y’think?” I croak and shift backwards to see his face. He’s sitting up in bed and scrolling through his phone.

“Guess which psychic is officially internet-famous?” Harry asks dryly.

“Hm?” I’m still calming my heart from waking up so suddenly so it takes a moment to register Harry’s words. “What?”

He shoves his phone in my face, the selfie he took with the psychic yesterday is posted on social media with over half a million likes. He swipes away and a lot of his tag is filled with news outlets and fan accounts spamming the picture. He pulls it back to read a heading: “Harry Styles visits Psychic for ideas on his next album. There’s also Harry Styles rumored to be connected to the Occult...I don’t know what that means. Psychic tells all on Harry Styles reading.”

“How did that picture circulate?” I rub my eyes and sit up beside him. “And where is all of this coming from?”

“She has a Twitter, and she posted the picture.” He shows me, it’s there with the caption A handsome face showed up to my booth at the Bryant Park Market tonight. Get your future told, 5pm to 9pm 7 days a week.

I can’t help but laugh, she was a business woman and she really took the opportunity to sell her service.

“It’s not funny Y/N,” Harry looks furious so I cover my mouth and squint at his screen as he scrolls. A ton of people are responding asking about his future or what he came there for. Amongst them, she responds to only one person: His love life was involved.

My jaw drops, “That’s such a lie! She read me my love life, and life lines!”

“I told you she was a fraud,” Harry jerks the phone back to him.

“She lied for sales, but doesn’t mean she didn’t tell the truth yesterday.”

“If she lied about this she lied about it all and you wasted $10. She only talked about your love life, not mine...”

I remember her words, my second love was very close...could she have meant...

I glance at Harry and he seemed to have followed the same train of thought because we lock eyes, his probably just as wide as mine.

“D’you think?” he says just as I say “Was she...?”

We immediately burst out laughing as the tension comes to a head and bubbles over in a safe trickle.

“Is that what she was trying to say?” I say when I’ve finally caught my breath, my stomach hurt from laughing this hard.

“I guess when she said close she meant close,” Harry’s flat on his back from laughing. “Quite literal.”

“And you were calling her out on being so vague.”

“I’ve got to give it to her,” he shuts his phone off and throws it onto the covers between us, releasing the annoyance. “She’s a good businesswoman.”

“I was thinking the same thing but I thought you might kill me if I said that,” I admit.

We lay on the rumpled covers in silence, I think about everything else she said. The potential of it all is tarnished by the idea of Harry being my second love, for life. It was so ridiculous, unless by love she meant the way I love him now. As my best friend. Our lives were so different, there was no way it could ever work. Not to mention...he was my best friend since forever.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Harry asks out of the blue.

“Thought about what?” I prop myself on my elbow.

“Us, like...the way she predicted?”

“Together together?” I can’t help but laugh. “No never, you’re my best friend!” I recognize the flash of hurt so I backtrack a little. “No offense Harry, I love you but could you imagine?”

“I have,” he says it so quietly as I lay back down. “What?” I ask. He shrugs, “I’m surprised you haven’t. We’ve been friends since...we were 7. You’re saying you never thought about it?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Actually I haven’t. When...what did you think about?”

“I dunno,” he fiddles with his rings. “Like for school dances, when I didn’t have a date I thought about asking you as more than a friend...thought about where that could lead. Or every time you had your heart broke. I wanted to take the pain away and just show you what you deserved.”

“Harry I...” it was sweet, what he was saying. But he never gave a single clue about it the entire time we grew up. He was always chasing girls who looked nothing like me, so I always thought that’s what his type was. Never did I think about anything more with him.

“Not-not recently though,” he forces a laugh. “Just when we were kids.”

“That’s sweet Harry. I had no idea.”

He shrugs, and sits up.

“No seriously I...that’s so sweet. But just so you know, you have shown me what a good man can be. Just by being the best friend ever.”

“Aw,” he swipes my cheek as he gets up. “That’s cute. I don’t know if I’ve done such a good job when you’ve only dated knobs.”

I could recognize his defense mechanism--turning it into a big joke. But he leaves the room before I can call him out and I’m left sitting in the mess of what he’d just told me. It’s not that it was awkward or a bad thing, but suddenly it felt tense and the tension triggered an anxious feeling in my chest.

I decide to get out of my room and find my roommate cleaning up the remains of her broken mug. I offer to clean the spill as she dresses to go out for her run. Helping her distracts me, and when I hear Harry leave the bathroom I lock myself in, and try some breathing exercises to clear the anxiety creeping up. When I realize I was trying to avoid Harry, I scold myself. This was ridiculous and funny! Harry wanted to ask me out when we were kids, it was cute, and that was it. The psychic was a fake anyway, nothing she said meant anything.

I head back to my room where Harry’s made the bed. I change into trousers and my favourite fisherman sweater, and find him having coffee at our small kitchen table with his phone on speaker as he talks to someone. His legs barely fit underneath, so they’re sprawled to the side. He’s still shirtless, and my attention snags on his torso.

I shake myself out of my thoughts as I bump into the kitchen island, and glance up to see that although he was talking to the person on the phone, his eyes had been on me...while my eyes were on his abs. Oh god, I cringe. I try to act casual, mouthing if he wanted breakfast but he shakes his head and points to the call he’s having.

I make myself a toast and try to ignore what just happened but it only adds to the tension from this morning. When he gets off his call he brings his cup up to the sink.

“I think I need another cup.”

“Be my guest,” I move aside. “You sure you don’t want breakfast?”

“Are you going to feed me avocado flax seed quinoa toast?” he teases.

“There’s no quinoa.” I correct, crossing my arms. “But...yes.”

“I’ll take this banana,” he holds the lone banana on the counter. “I’ve got to be in East Harlem by noon, that’s what the call was about.”

“Aw,” I hated saying goodbye. “Are you busy the rest of your stay?”

“I can make it back here,” he says.

“Do whatever you need to do,” I say. “I’m used to being discarded after you hang out with me in the city.”

“I don’t do that!” he reaches behind me to slot his cup in and set the machine to grind his beans. I can smell my shampoo on him, he must’ve showered. “If you want me back, you can just say that.”

The morning sunlight streaming through the kitchen window leaves no room for shadows; the shift in the mood is clear as the daylight streaming in. Or maybe I was reading too much into his words.

“I always want you back,” I look up to his height now that he’s standing so close, and the kitchen tightens further.

We’re stuck in a tableau; with my back against the fridge looking up at him as he gazes down with a curious expression. My mind grows blank the longer I stare. No one says a word, the sound of beans grinding the only noise in the kitchen.

My best friend in the whole world looks torn standing in front of me like this, and as my senses slowly rush back I realize that even if my expression doesn’t show it...I was torn. Because out of nowhere, all I can think about are all the questions I ever shoved away in the dark: what would it feel like if I kissed him right now? And what would have happened to us if he had asked me out to our school dance? Would we still be best friends? Would we have cut each other out? How many universes were we still good together like this? How many universes were we good together as more than this?

An urge to touch his face, make sure this was real, takes over me. But as soon as my fingers brush his cheek he snaps out of his trance and stumbles back like I’d burned him.

He forces a laugh. “I really do need that coffee.”

“Right,” I turn to the machine to put the grinds into their slot but I yank too hard and the freshly ground coffee flies out towards me. “Shit!”

“What happ-” Harry takes one look at what’s happened and turns away, his shoulders shaking.

“I can see you right in front of me laughing!” I shout. “Help me!”

“It’s all over you Y/N,” he turns around, tears in his eyes. “Give me this, I’ll put it far away from you.” He takes the remaining grinds and sets it down. I brush away what’s closest to my eyes so I can see and try to shake it off my sweater but they stick to the fibers of the knit.

“Great,” I grumble. “This is dry clean only.”

“It’s in your hair,” he runs his fingers through the strands that hang over my shoulder. I shake my head to dislodge the grinds; his fingers brush my neck away and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Uhm, that should be most of it.”

“It’s not out of this sweater,” I pout. “Screw dry clean, why did I think I could buy dry cleaning clothes?”

“I can drop it off on the way out today?” he offers.

“That means you’re coming back to drop it off to me?!” I ask hopefully.

His expression softens, “Y/N I’m coming back to your flat. I promise.”

“He promises!” I shout. Even though things were a bit awkward this morning, I got to spend more time with my hard-to-catch best friend and for that I was over the moon.

“We could also try to vacuum the sweater?” Harry suggests.

“So you don’t have to come back with dry clean?” I tease. “I’m not letting you get out of your promise, let me give it to you before you change your mind.” I tug my top off and ball it up, shoving it in his hands. It falls to the floor when he doesn’t hold it.

“Hello?” I look up and he’s a deer in the headlights. “Harry...”

“I can’t do this right now,” he takes a step back. I get the sweater from the ground and hold it out to him again.

“Do you want to wipe the kitchen floor with the sweater too? Take it!” I sigh. “Harry are you really acting so chaste about seeing a girl in her bra?”

“It’s-” he decides to stop mid-word. “You’re not just any girl Y/N, I’ve already made it clear.”

Now it’s my turn to stare--he hadn’t made it clear. “You said you only felt something when you were younger...”

“And you believed me?”

I realize I didn’t, but I wanted to believe him so I hadn’t questioned it. “Well it’s not the first time you’ve seen me in a bra. Can you take the damn sweater?” 

“Yeah I can I’m just...” he seems to calm down a bit, enough to step towards me and take it. “I didn’t have to face this conflicted feeling in me if I didn’t see you often. I can just be the best friend. But now, with the whole psychic thing and you in--like this in your kitchen and I--I’m remembering how much I just want to...”

“Kiss me,” I say.

“Yeah...” he looks away.

“No, I’m telling you to kiss me.” I clarify. His expression would’ve made me laugh if my heart wasn’t beating so fast. I couldn’t believe I was being this impulsive.

“Really? You’re not just saying that cuz of this morning?”

“Fine,” I step out of his reach and cross my arms to hide my shaking hands. “If you don’t want to kiss me-”

He pulls me back too quickly and I bump into his chest. “I never said that.” He says in a tone I’d never heard from him before, it’s serious and sexy and it sends tingles through my body. I press myself up against him and he finally, finally, kisses me. Every bit of tension and anxiety the day had built up releases in the single moment his lips cover mine.

How had I waited this long?

The kiss is gentle, delicate like he’s still not entirely sure I want the same thing he does. I show him I do by using my tongue to open his mouth slowly and the hesitation disappears immediately. We’re a fighter jet taking off from there; I don’t know where I end and where he begins as he walks me to the kitchen island and lifts me onto it, our limbs tangling together, His hands roam down the side of my body, but he stays in the safe zones until I unclasp my bra.

“Oh hell no,” my roommate’s voice interrupts us from behind. I hold my bra close and turn. She stands at the entryway, shaking her head. “Not here. Not on our kitchen island. You two have a room literally 10 feet away...”

“Oops,” I say quietly which seems to set Harry off. My roommate is still shaking her head but I see the smile on her face. I’d caught her hooking up on multiple occasions so it wasn’t anything new. But I didn’t do this often. I jump down, apologizing to her. “Harry’s going to clean the coffee off the floor...I-I’ll find a shirt.”

“Mhm,” she closes her bedroom door and I look over at Harry who’s crouching on the floor in tears.

“This is all your fault!” I whisper but he tugs me down to where he is and holds my face as he kisses me.

“I know you two aren’t behind the island,” my roommate’s voice comes out again. I stay there as her footsteps move to the bathroom and the door closes behind her.

“I hate you,” I skirt out of his reach, and rush to my room yelling another sorry as I head back and find a top. Harry appears in my room as I put it on.

“I guess that was a good time for her to walk in on before it got too far?” he still has a stupid grin on his face.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” my cheeks were burning and even more so that Harry was elated.

“I’ve actually got to head out now.”

I pout but he kisses my pout instead. He promises he’ll be back in the evening and I let him go with one more kiss, my mind catching up with everything that just happened.

Oh my god.

***

It’s nearly 8 by the time I’m done running all my errands--taking holidays off for work was usually a good decision for me. I had a big family and picking up all the holiday bits before I flew back home was always a big job. I take an Uber home, I couldn’t handle a 40 minutes trip back home carrying everything home on the subway.

I call out to my roommate when I get in but she doesn’t respond. I check her door and it’s open and dark, the bathroom is also empty. She must have evening plans.

I open my door to a surprise. Harry is sprawled on my bed. He jerks awake when I settle my bags down.

“Y/N?” he squints as I turn the light on.

“How did you get in here?” I shrug my coat off.

“Y’roommate let me in before she left,” he rubs his eyes. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep...I had a whole thing planned.”

I’d gone over the whole morning during my errands, surprised and excited and nervous about this new step for us. But I continued to think about what the psychic said, our love lines extended alongside my life line. Even though there wasn’t much comfort or trust in a psychic who used a photo opp as a marketing opp, what she said had come true. And I put my faith in that, calming my nerves about this new step potentially ruining our friendship forever.

“Was that okay?” Harry sits up. “She didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Oh no that’s fine,” I unwrap my scarf and stand at the foot of my bed. “I really wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“Of course I would,” he reaches for my hand. “I wouldn’t leave you after this morning, I’m not that flighty.”

“Well we never really got to talk about it,” I say as I sit down. I’d texted him during the day but it never showed he read it, I wasn’t sure how to read into that; finding him passed out on my room meant he was probably on the go all day.

“Are you okay with this?” he says with such concern, I nearly tear up. This was making me way too emotional.

“I am,” I smile at my best friend in the whole world. “I just don’t want to go too fast.”

“We won’t,” he promises as he holds his arms out. I lean in towards his solid chest and he wraps his arms around me. I feel his breath on my cheek, then his lips in my hair. “I’m yours for eternity Y/N, we can take it as slow or fast as you want.”

It was a good thing to say, and I believe him entirely.

We eventually untangle ourselves to get food in us, and even though things are different, they’re also not. We still pick out the same parts of our food to give the other person, we still talk the same shit and laugh at the same jokes. But his hands grasps mine and his thumb brushes over my knuckles absentmindedly. His eyes stay steady on me as I talk like I’m someone new he’s exploring. We kiss after dinner, but we also load the dishwasher and laugh about the one time I’d managed to burn soup from a can. Eventually we end in my bedroom, where we lay together, our conversation growing quieter by the minute, the space between us growing smaller.

And even though we’d slept like this a hundred times before, it’s different now. I can feel it in every atom of my being, I was his and he was mine. And I don’t know how long it’s been like this for it to feel so easy, but accepting it was a no brainer, like accepting the sky was blue or the sun was hot. I remember the advice the psychic gave, I was following it: living the life I had around me even though it wasn’t the life I thought I would have.

There were a million things Harry and I had to figure out to make this work--I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But I did know that it was right, it was true, and it was going to be forever.

The future may not be crystal clear, but my future with this man was.

[aziraphales-library]

Heyyy can you recommend some fics for me? I'm a huge pining fan. Love slow burns as well. Open to all ratings, but prefer romance to smut.

Hello! You’ll want to check out out #pining and #slow burn tags for loads more fic recs, but of course I have more for you now...

Put Out The Fire by Aleakim (T)

Aziraphale finds himself in a very awkward position as some sort of spell makes everyone merely glancing in his direction instantly fall deeply and desperately in love with him.

Absolutely everyone.

Well, apart from Crowley, that is.

And while both angel and demon search for a solution to this fairly unique problem, Crowley can’t help wondering whether Aziraphale might finally figure out some things he kept hidden for so very long.

carry my heart home to you by lexophile (T)

Aziraphale takes a piece of bruschetta and shoves it into his mouth. It is at that exact moment, while his cheeks are puffed out like a hamster’s, that Crowley’s head snaps around as though an alarm has gone off at a pitch that only he can hear. His gaze zeroes in, with terrifying accuracy, on Aziraphale.

“Oh drat,” Aziraphale mumbles around his mouthful of bruschetta.

Then he runs straight out of the restaurant.

-

In which Crowley takes a solo holiday to Italy after the thwarted Apocalypse. Aziraphale proceeds to stalk him across the continent.

The Curve of Old Bones by Jenanigans1207 (E)

Aziraphale watches as Crowley’s smile grows, sharpens and turns distinctively dastardly. And even though Aziraphale knows what he’s in store for, he’s entirely unprepared for the words that slip out of Crowley’s mouth next. “Name’s Anthony Crowley, Aziraphale’s husband.”

Aziraphale is eternally grateful that he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at that exact moment for he would’ve surely choked on it.

--

When Crowley claims to be Aziraphale's husband to ruin what he assumes is a date, he doesn't think anything of it. But a day later it comes back to bite him in the ass when Crowley finds out that the date in question is, in fact, his new boss, who is looking to hire Aziraphale and hoping that Crowley, his husband, will put in a good word for them. Now Crowley is caught in a tight spot: either admit to his new boss that he was lying, or convince Aziraphale, his sort-of enemy, to pretend to be his husband to save face.

Veni Vino Vegas (I Came, I Got Drunk, I Got Married) by A_N_D (T)

After a whirlwind drunken evening, author Az Fell came home from Rom-Con without his heirloom pinkie ring – but with a wedding license from a 24-hour Las Vegas chapel. Elsewhere, book fan Tony Crowley woke up with a hangover, vague memories, and a brand new ring he’s only seen in author photos.

Mutually attracted, mutually terrified the other one thinks it was all a regrettable mistake, they turn to their dear but anonymous online friend to vent and ask for advice.

…Maybe they should tell each other their screennames someday.

Come Set Me Free by Slow_Burn_Sally (E)

Aziraphale, a humble, inexperienced bookstore owner, marries Gabriel, an up and coming spiritual and relationship guru, author of a wildly popular series of books on maintaining a happy marriage in the new age. They move together to New York state to help support Gabriel's flourishing career, and Aziraphale finds himself a kept man in a stilted marriage.

Gabriel inherits a sprawling Victorian manor house up in the Catskills and a faded greenhouse when his father passes away. They hire Crowley, a talented horticulturist with a shady past to bring the greenhouse back to life, and Aziraphale is instantly smitten. He's also dedicated to his marriage, even though he is coming to terms with the fact that it's unraveling. Anyway, it's a moot point, Crowley is straight... or so Aziraphale and Gabriel assume...

The Journey by ElderlySardine (M)

“Anthony J Crowley… Mayfair, London… Next of kin: Mr A Z Fell…”

Crowley nodded. It wasn’t as if he had anyone else.

“Emergency contact: also Mr Fell…”

Crowley had almost stopped listening.

“Relationship to applicant: husband…”

“Husband?!” Crowley and Mrs Lowry spoke together as one, for the first and almost certainly the last time in their lives.

“Husband.” Crowley recovered first, and fixed Mrs Lowry with a hard stare into which he infused just a little bit of demonic energy. “Is that a problem?”

It was a problem.

It was Aziraphale's harebrained plan, and it was clearly doomed to failure, as well as embarrassment and ignominy. But since when had Crowley been able to say no to the angel?

It was only two weeks, and 3,850 miles. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

- Mod D

[mcyt-imagines]

Hey, can you do a dream x fem!reader where the chat hears the reader mumble to herself in the background of dreams stream and he introduces her to his fans. I hope this is ok, thanks in advance xx

Thanks so much for the request! I hope you enjoy :) Also, I’ve used she/her pronouns, as requested!

Once A Silent Bystander

Dream’s quick rise to popularity left little space for you to believe that introducing yourself beside him in the limelight was ever going to be a good idea. Part of you thought that you wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of so many eyes being on you at all times. You’d seen firsthand the highs and lows that came with internet fame, you had shared countless sleepless nights with Dream in the early days. His popularity was still rising but now his drama and controversy had begun to plateau nicely, leaving him far more mental energy to focus on bigger and better projects to further his channel. One of these ‘projects’ was a commitment to stick to a concrete streaming schedule for as long as he could.

This had led to Dream frequently texting you whenever he would start streaming, knowing you could come into his streaming room unaware of him being live. However, Dream is merely human and quite forgetful if he’s distracted, and he is easily distracted. Dream hadn’t planned on streaming for at least a few more hours but upon receiving several messages from George and Sapnap pestering him to join them in a discord VC he gladly joins them, going live as he does so. This spur of the moment stream decision is what allows you to slip from his mind as his friends’ laughter reaches his ears upon his arrival into the VC.

“Hey, babe! I ordered your usual from the Chinese place, is that okay?” Your voice pours into the room, Dream’s door now wide open as you look up from our phone to realise the damage you had just caused. Your eyes lock onto the microphone sat on his desk the little red ‘on’ button tauntingly blinking at you, silently mocking you. Dream stills for a moment when you initially enter, looking over to you.

He presses something on his stream board, you assume he’s muted his mic. “I’m streaming, and they definitely heard you. And yeah, my usual is fine.” He motions for you to join him at his desk as you groan. “You’re sure they heard?” You shuffle over to him, when you grow close, he happily pulls you onto his lap. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around your middle. “Look at the chat.” You tentatively cast your gaze onto Dream’s second monitor; the chat is running a mile a minute and you can only make out a few phrases. Most of them being a mixture of, ‘WHO WAS THAT?’, ‘IS THAT A GIRL?’ or ‘DREAM HAS A GIRLFRIEND??’

You both knew this day was going to come eventually, keeping it a secret, unfortunately, couldn’t last forever. “What do you think we should do?” You peel your eyes away from chat to watch your boyfriend hum thoughtfully, he’s spent a decent chunk of his time online dealing with controversies and drama. So surely, he has some idea on where we should start with this whole thing, or if we should just refuse to open that can of worms at all. He can always just lie and say it was a tv in the background, or someone passing by a nearby open window.

His suggestion catches you off guard, “Why don’t we just tell them? You don’t have to come on stream or anything but there’s no real point in denying it now. They heard you clear as day babe.” He offers a hopeful look, hand moving to intertwine with one of your own and squeezing. “But it’s entirely up to you. I’ll follow your lead.” Dream presses a soft kiss to your forehead watching as panic continues to flash behind your eyes, his eyebrows are drawn together in worry. “I wouldn’t have been able to survive without you in the early days of my channel. You know I will always return the favour. I’m here for you sweetheart.” His tone lightens at the cheeky pet name, giving your waist a soft squeeze.

With a deep breath, you make your decision. “We’ll tell them. You’re right, there’s no point denying it. I mean, we were gonna tell them eventually anyway.” You shrug a little trying to relax your tense shoulders, he notices and places his cheek against one of your shoulders. “Exactly, this is just a natural progression! Plus, the guys have been asking me for ages about playing with you on stream.” He chuckles, “But we’ll only do that when you start to feel more comfortable obviously.” Dream adds pressing soft kisses to your neck, you feel his grin against your skin as you giggle at the ticklish sensation. “Alright, I’ve been muted long enough. You ready angel?” You nod with mock confidence.

Dream presses a blinking button on his stream board, “Sorry for the short break guys! But I’m back and with a special guest.” Dreams tone lightens as he looks to you expectantly, “Hi chat.” Your voice sounds foreign when you speak mouth feeling as if it was filled with cotton. You watch as the chat explodes with messages, “To all of you who guessed she was my girlfriend, give yourselves a little pat on the back.” 

He mocks knowing that the whole chat was begging for that outcome, “Now be nice or I’ll end the stream. Yes, that is a threat.” He smirks as you blush, “Baaaabe.” You smile softly shaking your head exasperatedly, somehow the chat runs by even quicker. “Sorry mods, I’d planned on giving you guys a heads up for when we were gonna announce this but uh, not everything always goes to plan.” Dream chuckles his own eyes widening a little at the sheer number of people who are tuning into the stream, obviously, news has already gotten around Twitter.

Dream leans forward to type furiously on his second monitor trying to control chat as you stammer through your personal introduction, refusing to use your real name of course. Chat runs by with nicknames to call you akin to the naming conventions of ‘Drista’ “Drearlfriend? Like dream and girlfriend? Is that really something I just read in chat?” You laugh, Dream watching as your shoulders relax and a soft smile grace your face. “C’mon chat you guys can do better than that! I was hyping you guys up earlier and this is the reception my angel gets?” 

Dream looks to you happily gauging your reaction as you blush and stammer, “Baaaaaaabe.” You groan, trying to cover your face with one of your hands. “Oh no, I want to see that blushing face.” He grins, “Hey! Not on stream!” You cry, face only growing a darker shade of red. He continues to grin but backs off to stop pestering you, your phone buzzes. “Okaaaay. But you’ve gotta stay and keep chat company, because I need to go and grab the Chinese.” He is quick to hop up from the seat, placing you gently back down where he had been. “Wait don’t leave me here!” You cry as he waves with a cheeky grin and disappears from your view.

You audibly gulp before looking back at Dream’s screen pulling on his headphones, “Now that he’s gone put in chat what kind of embarrassing stories you guys want me to spill before he gets back.” You giggle lightly watching chat explode with cheers and suggestions.

Dream returns in a few minutes to see you interacting with chat and laughing along with their jokes like a natural. He simply stands in the doorway for a few moments dumbfounded over how lucky he is to be able to call you his.