thanhadz

[captainswan618]

she just got to "YOU FOUND HER?" and it’s so funny to me that she UNKNOWINGLY made two connected predictions

(for context I have a sticker of Lup on my water bottle. all I’ve said is that she’s from TAZ Balance and it's a spoiler to say any more, and I think the lack of canon appearances for Taako and Lup really saved my ass there lmao)

[starkwlkr]

Can I request Ruby getting her period for the first time and her mom's not at home so Charles has to take care of her? If you're comfortable writing it ofc

we’re all girls here | charles leclerc

I know not everyone woman has the same period story (this is a safe blog and if someone starts judging about PERIODS I WILL COME AFTER YOU)

also i changed it up a little because surprisingly i had another story like this in my drafts before it was requested 😭

Y/n decided that a trip to her home country would do her some good. She hadn’t been back home in a while so she missed everything about it from her family to the delicious food. She missed home. Charles knew how much she wanted to have a vacation so he bought plane tickets just for her so she could have a stress and kid free vacation back home. She loves her kids to death, but it seemed like everything she sat on the sofa to take a break, one kid always yelled for her and with Charles gone, she just had to get up.

There was a month break from the season so Charles was home with his son and daughter. Arthur and Lorenzo were coming over soon. Ruby mostly spent her time in her room reading or watching some movie. But not this time. She was on a FaceTime call with her friend, Cassie, who was talking about the latest rumor in school.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this but Elliot West has a crush on you. I heard Elizabeth from Art class say that. But don’t tell anyone!”

“Elliot? I thought he had a crush on you?” Ruby asked, letting out a low groan as her stomach began to hurt. All day she had been feeling sick, but she didn’t tell Charles.

“No, he likes you. His friend likes me. I think.” Cassie said.

Suddenly Ruby got a sharp pain. She never experienced it before so instantly her mind started thinking of the worst possible ideas.

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked over the phone.

“I don’t know. Bye, I have to call my mom.” Ruby ended the call before Cassie could even say bye. She quickly called her mom, but right when she needed Y/n the most, she wasn’t home. Immediately the call went to voicemail no matter how many times Ruby called. Ruby threw her phone to the ground in frustration and got up from her bed.

She paced around the room, holding her stomach in pain. She didn’t have a fever or felt like throwing up so she was extremely confused on why she had stomach pains.

Since Ruby’s door was opened, Mathéo peeked inside just to ask why she was pacing.

“Get out! You’re so annoying! Dad!” Ruby yelled, pushing her brother out the door and slamming it shut.

“Hey! Don’t slam the door! Be nice to each other!” Charles yelled back from his spot on the sofa. His brothers had arrived and now they were watching a movie on the tv.

“You’re such a dad.” Arthur laughed.

“Just wait until you have kids.” Charles teased.

Mathéo strolled into the living room with his toy car in his hand. He look unfazed by his sister’s actions. “Ruby is being weird.” He told his papa and uncles. He walked to his uncle Arthur and hopped onto his lap.

“Why’s that, Théo?” Charles asked.

“She looks like she’s in pain and I asked why she was going in circles and she kicked me out then she slammed the door.” Mathéo explained.

“Is she sick?” Lorenzo asked Charles.

“No, she didn’t mention anything. I’ll be back.” Charles said as he got up and walked to Ruby’s room. He knocked on the door several times, but got no answer so he opened the door and saw clothes scattered all over her bedroom door.

“Papa?” Charles heard Ruby call out from her bathroom.

“Baby, what did you do to your room?” Charles walked to the bathroom door. “Théo said you were in pain. What’s hurting, Ruby Jules?”

“My stomach. But . . . Papa? There’s blood on my pants.” Charles instantly knew what she meant by that. Sure, he didn’t have any sisters, but he did have girl cousins and a wife that went through it each month. (Unless she was pregnant, which she was glad she didn’t have to buy pads during that time)

“Okay, um . . I- shit. Okay, don’t panic. You’re okay, baby, everything’s fine. I’ll be right back.” Charles didn’t think his baby girl would get her first period when Y/n wasn’t present. He wasn’t exactly prepared for the moment. He left Ruby’s room in a hurry. He needed to call the only person who knew about periods that was still in Monaco.

“Is she okay? Is she dying?” Mathéo asked, still on Arthur’s lap.

“No one is dying! No!” Charles frantically looked for his phone all over the sofa. “Where is my phone?!” Mathéo pointed at the cracked phone on the coffee table. “Thank you, Théo.”

The three Leclercs watched as Charles looked like he was about to pass out. Was Ruby actually sick? They needed to know.

“Maman! You need to come over right now. Please, Ruby needs you. No, she’s okay, but Y/n isn’t here and I don’t know how to explain to her that she’s going to bleed every month without freaking her out.”

Lorenzo and Arthur both understood now. Ruby Leclerc had gotten her first period.

“Ruby is bleeding? Is she dying?!” Théo asked his uncle.

“No! Your sister isn’t dying!”

After what seemed like forever, Pascale had arrived to her son’s house. Charles led her to the bathroom Ruby was in. Unknown to them both, the other three Leclerc boys followed them.

Pascale lightly knocked on the door. “Ruby, amour, it’s grand-mère.”

“Hi.” She heard Ruby say in a whisper like tone.

“Your maman isn’t here to teach you about what’s going on, but I’m here. Can you let me in?” Pascale asked.

“But . . .”

“Amour, we’re all girls here. I promise you this isn’t something to be embarrassed about.” Pascale assured the girl.

Suddenly Mathéo laughed. He looked up at his two uncles and pointed at them. “Grand-mère called you girls!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “She said all of us so that means you too.”

Mathéo stopped laughing. “This isn’t funny.”

Pascale sighed. “Ruby darling, unlock the door. You and I have to talk.”

“Can they leave first?” Ruby asked. She referred to all the men in her room.

Charles understood that his daughter felt more comfortable with his mother at the moment so he took Mathéo in his arms and left along with Lorenzo and Arthur.

While Pascale was busy teaching Ruby about periods, Charles was able to talk with Y/n. He caught her up on everything.

“You do know where the pads are, right?” Y/n asked.

“Can’t she use yours?”

“I forgot to stock up before I left. I didn’t think she would start early.” Replied the worried mother.

“Okay, no problem. I know which ones you get so I just need to go to the store. Should I get chocolate? Where do you keep your heating pad?”

It was safe to say that whenever Ruby would start her period and her mother wasn’t around, she was in safe hands with Charles. He was always a sweetheart whenever Y/n was on hers, bringing her all her snacks and letting her stay in bed. Ruby had nothing to worry about.

[shroomiewrites]

If your love burns, dear, set me ablaze || Simon Riley x Reader

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader || 2.5k words || SFW ||

Warnings/tags: Gender neutral reader, hurt/comfort, mentions of animal gore, non-canon backstory, fluff, sprinkle of angst.

Song recommendation: Indigo Night | Tamino

Synopsis: “They asked "do you love her to death?” I said “speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me to life.” | Mahmoud Darwish

It took Simon Riley 17 days to touch you. 

Not touch in an intimate, sexual way. Touch as in a graze, a brush of the fingertips. Touch as in an even accidental bump or gentle meet of shoulder blades when you sit too close to someone in the train. Touch as in the way his knuckles feathered your hand when he handed you your drink on a night out with friends a few weeks and meetings of your friendly circle after you first met.

It had been surprising to you how a man like him even had any friends in the first place and even more that said friends also happened to be friends of yours, but Manchester could be small and funny like that, you thought. He made a strong first impression on you, never introduced himself, in fact, he almost never talked, not loud enough at least. Not in the way that people who want to be heard spoke, it was always a rather fatigued mutter, voice brittled and seemingly unbothered and unamused by everything around him. His eyes always felt sharp and alert but also… never there. He existed in a plane of his own, haunting conversations and people he didn’t seem to enjoy, like a ghost.

Ghost.

That’s what they called him, he told you one of the first few times you tried some small talk, embarrassment flooded your cheeks as you laughed before realizing that. Oh God. He's not joking. He didn’t seem affected by it, but then again, he never seemed affected by anything at all. Not the way your friends always talked a bit too much, laughed a little too loud, got a tad too drunk and touched him way too much. He never complained tho, no one could even tell he was bothered by it unless they noticed the slight twitch of his eyes in annoyance as they slapped his shoulder, howling at something he didn’t find remotely funny. You found yourself amused by watching him, like experiencing first hand a cat in the middle of a bunch of golden retrievers. He seemed to notice the way you stared at him for a little too long for it to be just a coincidence. But he never said anything, amused by it too.

Simon, he said his name was one time. You realized how no one ever spoke his name. You thought maybe it pissed him off, but no, not many things pissed him off. He was a surprisingly easy person to be around, not easily ticked off by the stupid jokes or the chaotic antics of your fellow companions. He was a bit skittish and straightforward when he did speak, an acid tint to his sarcastic jokes and monotone timbre. It was actually charming. To your own twisted mind at least. He was also a great listener, another charm of his you noted. He heard you talk for minutes to hours on end, without ever making you feel like you were rambling too much or boring him to death, eyes focused on yours throughout the entirety of whatever gossip or story you felt like he should hear. He secretly enjoyed it a bit too much. Looking forward to your next encounters so he could hear a follow up of something stupid that was happening to someone’s cousin, just to hear your dramatic pauses and mocking interpretations of someone’s voice. He made sure to keep tabs on the names and events, because you always started with a ‘Do you remember-” and he relished the little gleam in your eyes when he repeated back what you told him when you last saw each other with astounding accuracy. 

On the good days, he’d gift you a story of his own. A little tale of his time in the military, sometimes about an operation or mission that he got assigned. Never too many details, just the gist and a little highlight, and you didn’t pry, feeling grateful enough that he felt comfortable to share anything at all. That, and the mysterious aura of his person actually suited the if-I-told-you-I’d-have-to-kill-you way he shared his own experiences with you. You collected them like pieces of the puzzle that made up Simon Riley, celebrating mentally when two distinct strands of information he gave you allowed you to pierce together a slightly fuller picture of who he was, what he liked and what he didn’t. 

He started going back to Manchester often after you two met. He didn’t have much else to go, frankly. His job was his life and when he wasn’t deployed, he felt quite lost in his own head, like it was unknown terrain that he didn’t have coordinates for or a clear strategy. His social life was an even bigger mess, a battlefield is easier to navigate than everyday life. When he was on duty people were blue or red, with him or against. But things got confusing once he didn’t wear a vest anymore and suddenly they were yellow, green, purple… The easy way out? Never strive for more than company. It’s what his body needed, the bare minimum of human connection required for the average person to somewhat function. At least that’s what he told himself. 

His friends – your friends – were people he could tolerate being around and that on rare occasions got a chuckle out of him. But they didn’t mind the mask or that he pretty much only spoke when spoken to. People tend to be a lot easier on those who underperform to their standards, not trying to steal away their spotlight. So he made a social life out of it, walking the noisy streets of his city and drinking bourbon in whatever bar the people he hung out with dragged him into. 

Until you.

You see, when Simon was a kid he found a cat once. Bone thin and wounded. It took a liking to him, to his bruised little hands and puppy eyes that watched the things around him curious and woefully. He found a semblance of comfort in petting the cat, letting it sit on his lap as it purred gently, basking in his warmth. He fed it for a while, gave it food and water as much as he could, given his own difficult circumstances. He watched it regain its strength ever-so-slightly, but even then, he never took it in. Never considered it a friend. Never even gave it a name. It was just a stray cat and he had time and patience, despite the world constantly giving him reasons not to have. Some time later he noticed the food and water were left untouched. Insects crawled on the makeshift bowl he had made out of discarded paper plates and empty tins. He didn’t go after it. Wasn’t his, never was. A few days later he found it on the street near the curb, mashed into the concrete, thick marks of wheels on top of it’s small body, crushed it to death, probably. A weird pang in his chest made him stumble back, the foul smell of rotting flesh filling his nostrils and no matter how long he washed his face after it never left his nose completely, constantly mocking him with the inevitable fate of every living being in existence had to face – the putrid reality of death. The sight before him that day ingrained itself into his young brain, creating roots around his mind and making sure he never forgot it. He couldn’t understand why it hurt that much, why things had to be that way and if he could have done things differently.

It was only years later, after a lot more experience and pain in his life that he finally understood the lesson he was taught that day. That you never start something you’re not ready to finish. He lived by that, built his career on it, his reputation. An operation with his name on it meant an operation carried out, clean, no loose ends. He guaranteed it. The mantra was easy to apply, easy to repeat, gave him comfort and helped him pick his battles right. Never bite more than he could chew, keep his feet on the ground. He repeated it everyday and it helped him improve, strive for more. Not that he was a perfectionist, no. He saw himself as more of a… highly dedicated individual. Committed to the results and the results alone.

He knew something was wrong with him when his mind wandered off to you in the middle of a briefing, or when he laid down in base, staring at the ceiling of his room. He thought about what you were probably doing, if you had any more stories to tell him. He found himself anxious to tell you stories. As he snipped down enemies and dropped down to knife others, a fleeting thought of “I have to tell her about this” made him stop dead in his tracks and physically shake off the alarm sirens that rang in his mind. Everything about you made his brain scream danger. Made him want to run away and close off. And yet, he found himself going back to Manchester, to you. Every. Single. Time.

When his gaze darted down to your reddish lips as you laughed at something he said, while he walked you home after a night out with your friends, and his hands softly brushed a strand of your hair out of your face, breath hitching as you melted into his touch, pressing your cheek further into his palm as you looked at him, fuck, so yearningly he nearly passed out, when you raised your small hands to his cheeks, a surgical black mask covering the bottom half of his face, and you batted your eyelashes at him in permission and he didn’t stop you as you pulled it to his nose and brought his lips to him in a kiss so tender and careful he felt sinless for a moment, that’s when he knew he was beyond the point of no return. 

You attached yourself to his life so seamlessly, so readily, he nearly missed it. He felt like you had always been there. In the early mornings when he woke up from nightmares or plagued by insomnia and he just watched you sleep soundly next to him, not a single wrinkle on your heavenly face as your dreams probably never ended up with you dead. In the afternoon when you danced around the house in only one of his t-shirts, practically a dress to you, and sang loudly, a big smile on your face when you noticed him watching you lovingly from the doorframe, pulling him to your living room as you urged him to join you, laughing at how he pretended to be annoyed at your antics, but he could barely hide the grin that filled his expression whenever you giggled around him, the sound being enough to wash away any worry out of his system and put him at ease. Simon felt his heart burst in euphoria whenever you as much as glanced at him, each touch lighting a fire in him that made him believe in a God just so he could pray for more of you. 

When Simon told you about the cat you cried. Sobbed into his shoulder until you felt dizzy. Not because of the cat itself, although that got into your feelings, but because he’d made a lesson out of it. Punished himself so deeply about something out of his control, had convinced himself so hard that it was his fault, couldn’t stand the guilt that ate him away from losing something that was precious to him when he was far too young to understand what it meant. It physically made your heart ache. The way he shaped his life around it, building walls upon walls until nothing could get in and he couldn’t get out, because it’s easy to avoid the fear of loss when you make it so you don’t have anything to lose. But he failed to realize that it also meant nothing to live for. How he made his life’s purpose to never fail again, beating himself up everytime it inevitably happened. 

His motto hadn't come from a place of efficiency, of a duty well carried. It came from hurt. From the desperation of having so much love to give and nothing to put it into. But he didn’t realize it. Not until you showed him. Not until he saw how you wore your heart on your sleeve, how you poured yourself into every single thing that you did. How everytime you kissed him you had starstruck eyes and a light scarlet tint to your cheeks. How when you made toast you took the time to rotate the pieces of bread slightly in the toaster so the grill marks would make a checkered pattern, simply because it brought you joy. How you always chose to buy the mugs that were chipped or slightly broken, because you said you’d be upset if no one wanted you just because you were slightly imperfect.

God, how far off were you.

To Simon you were perfect. From the tip of your toes to the last strand of hair on your head, to the brightest of your smiles and ugliest of cries when you had to bid him goodbye for another few months. He thought of you every single day, every second possible. He knew that if he lost you, it’d crush him. Irreparably so. Would tear him into pieces until he was just a shell of a man. And yet, he stayed. Dug his grave deeper with every kiss, every hug, every intimate moment you shared together as he felt you clench around him and could swear that he was in paradise. Because it was worth it. He learned that his previous mantra was slightly off, and fixed it into a new one. 

You don’t start things you wouldn’t risk yourself for. 

So he went out and did his job, because protecting people, his teammates, was worth the risk. And he went back to you, tired and sore, but he let you jump on him and squeeze him tightly, let you remove his mask with your delicate fingers, a sigh of relief escaping your lips every time before you got on your tippy toes to press your mouth into his. And he reveled in it. He let you see his face, his body, his soul. He let you see everything of him, the good and the bad. Ask whatever you want to know, take everything from him. He’d rip his heart right out his chest if you begged him once. Because he loved you. Painstakingly, deeply, with enough force to move mountains and start wars, and enough care to sweep the debris and tend to the wounded. Because, by God, loving you was worth the risk. 

For your anniversary you got him a cat. It was the first time you saw him weep. Truly weep. Tears staining his face as his bloodshot eyes rained down on to the carpet, broken whimpers falling from his trembling lips as he sunk to the ground in front of the brightly colored open box. You thought he didn’t want it, that maybe it was too much, too soon. But he assured you it was okay. That it was worth the risk. 

He named her after you.

A/N: This story has been stuck in my head for a few days now, as I often find myself lost in my thoughts, imagining how a man like Simon might love. Frankly, I like to think it'd be like this. Too deeply for his own good, but, personally, I think that's the best way.

Constructive criticism and feedback are always more than welcome! I hope you enjoyed reading~

[shadowqueen402]

Hiya! How about a fic about Balan going on a pranking spree on the inhabitants?

Pfft! Okay! 😂

Jose watered his crops on his stage today. He was getting ready to plant strawberries on the farm of his stage after this. For Thanksgiving, Jose hoped to make it real plentiful.

He stopped when he heard the sound of rustling coming from one of his corn mazes. He turned around to see if anyone was there. Since Yuri came by his stage through the corn mazes, he wasn't too alarmed. "Yuri, are you there?" He called out.

But Yuri didn't respond. However, he took notice that…a scarecrow was standing in his fields. Odd, considering that he put it in the field of carrots. Shrugging this off as his mind playing tricks on him, he went back to doing what he was doing.

Then, Jose heard the rustle again. He turned around…and was face to face with a scarecrow that resembled Balan. He yelped back a bit as the 'scarecrow' started to laugh. "Balan!?" Jose cried. "I thought you were Yuri!"

Fiona relaxed peacefully on the beach of her stage. The sound of the waves splashing against the shore was really relaxing. She closed her eyes and began to relax. Little did she know that she was being watched.

With a water balloon in his hand, Balan watched Fiona from afar. A mischievous glint was in his eyes. Holding back a giggle, he drew an arm back and threw the water balloon right at Fiona's face.

Fiona yelped when she felt a water balloon make contact with her face. Water splashed onto her suit and in her hair. She coughed out some water. "What the!?" She exclaimed. "Did someone really just splash me?"

Yuri giggled as the caterpillars crawled on her hands. She had just finished feeding them their meals for today. She carefully scooped them up and placed them back into their cases.

"I should go visit Uncle Jose and see how he's doing," Yuri said. She turned around and started to make her way to Chapter 1.

But suddenly, Balan appeared out of the blue while wearing a bug mask. "ROAR!" He yelled. Yuri yelped and stumbled back, falling to the ground. Balan let out a hearty giggle. Yuri stood up, relieved that it was Balan. "Mr. Balan, was that a prank you did?" She asked, amusement replacing her earlier fear.

Haoyu lay on one of the hills of his stage and relaxed. After his visit to Fiona, relaxing was what he wanted to do. But before the bespectacled boy could close his eyes, something caught his interest. It was a…remote control airplane flying around in a circle above him.

"Huh?" Haoyu asked, eyeing at the remote control airplane. Suddenly, it zoomed close towards him. Haoyu ducked as the plane zoomed by. He stood up and saw that it was returning towards him. Next thing Haoyu knew, he found himself running away. From a toy that was chasing him.

Meanwhile, Balan giggled while he held the remote control in his hands.

Sana was on patrol as usual on her stage. This was something she always did everyday. She reached a certain point of her stage, making a mental note to visit Eis later on. After all, this was the only free time they had after patrolling their stages.

At some point, Sana heard the sound of rattling coming from one of the many treehouses. "Is someone there?" She asked, confused. Normally, the other Inhabitants didn't visit her at this time… With a shrug of her shoulders, she climbed up the rope ladder in order to investigate.

But when she went inside, a bunch of birds suddenly zoomed in on Sana for cuddles. Sana was taken aback by all of this. She took care not to fall as she held onto the rope ladder.

To her dismay, she saw Balan peek over with a cheeky grin. "Very funny, Balan," She said, pretending be unamused.

Cass smiled as she poured dry cat food into the little dish for her kitten, Daisy. Her kitten sat on one of the benches and mewed for her food. As she was pouring food, she didn't realize a certain behatted maestro placed a remote-control toy that was wind up down.

Cass suddenly heard her kitten hissing. She turned around and saw Daisy running around in fear. Then, she saw the toy chasing after her. "Who left this toy here?" Cass asked as she picked it up. "Sorry if it scared it, Daisy." She set the food dish down and let Daisy eat.

Cass yelped when she saw more wind-up toys approach her at medium speed. Daisy hissed before she jumped somewhere she would be safe. "Where are all these toys coming from?" Cass asked.

Cal had finished setting up the chess set. He had invited Lucy over to play chess with him. "Now, to wait for Lucy…" Cal said to himself. He began to make his way toward the exit of his stage. Little did he know that Balan was watching him with a glint in his eye.

Before Cal could take another step, he heard something coming from his chess set. Turning around, he looked to see the pieces were no longer in order. "Weird…" Cal said to himself. "I could have sworn that I had the pieces arranged…"

But as soon as he got to the chess set, a mixture of surprise and slight amusement formed on his face. "Oh, Balan…" He said. The chess pieces were now formed into the shape of a face with a tongue sticking out.

Iben stood by one of the buildings of her snowy stage. She just stared at one of the icy presents as though it interested her. But she was snapped out of her daze when she felt something cold hit her.

It was a snowball. She turned around and was instantly confused. Somehow, a snowman appeared in her stage. Odd, considering that she didn't remember putting it there. The 'snowman' threw another snowball at Iben, much to her shock.

"W-What—?" Iben couldn't finish her sentence as the 'snowman' now kept throwing snowballs at Iben. The blue-haired girl stifled a giggle at this, completely unaware that the 'snowman' was Balan.

Balan was in Attilio's stage and saw his clown suit. An idea filled his mind as he took the suit and swapped it with a 'special suit'. He giggled and left before Attilio could find him.

Attilio, ready for another round of entertaining people, put on his 'costume'. But as soon as he put it on, he was greeted by the flower that was on the suit squirting water into his face.

"What happened to my clown suit?" Attilio asked himself. The flower only responded by squirting him with water. Again.

Lucy hummed as she washed her hands. She had finished painting a vase with flowers in it and now had paint on her hands.

Balan noticed how distracted Lucy was and quietly flew in her stage. In a quick but quiet flash, he decorated the walls with paintings of him making silly faces. Then, he left before he could be spotted.

Lucy hummed as she made her back, having dried her hands. She gasped in shock when she saw the paintings. "Balan!" She cried.

Eis patrolled the city of his stage, making sure there weren't any fires. So far, everything was nice and tranquil as it should be. He was now looking forward to retiring for the day after his patrol was finished.

Balan peeked at Eis from a faraway corner. With a mischievous grin, he lit up a match, his prank for Eis in mind.

Eis's tranquil thoughts were interrupted by the sound of fireworks exploding in the sky. He was taken aback at this. "Fireworks!?" Eis exclaimed, utterly confused. But then, he saw that one firework said the following: I Eat Glitter!

Bruce walked around his stage, making sure that there wasn't any trash left on the ground. He had gone around, cleaning up his stage. Once he was sure that everything was cleaned, he would relax for good.

While he was walking, he noticed a tall figure standing far ahead. The figure seemed to facing something for some reason. Curious, Bruce walked up to the figure. "Are you lost, sir?" He asked.

But suddenly, Balan appeared of the suit he wore and shouted, "BOO!" Bruce yelped and stumbled back while the maestro laughed. Once the older man regained his balance, he shook his head while pretending to be unamused.

"Oh, Balan."

[deadratio]

Blackwood - Prologue

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!Blackwood!reader

Summary:  (Y/N) ‘Finch’ Blackwood had grown up her whole life without knowing the true identity of her father. She had always thought herself to be content without knowing who he was, but when her work crosses paths with his own, they both face challenges in trying to figure themselves out. Meanwhile, she doesn’t know that her childhood best friend has made his own way through the Navy, and will be joining them on their adventures. 

Word Count: 869

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy this! Please let me know what you think, and as always, happy reading! 

Masterlist

Charlotte Blackwood knew a lot about herself when she sat on the plane leaving Miramar, California in 1986. She knew that she was on a road that would lead her to the success she desired. She knew that she was leaving behind a man who was so wild, she thought she could tame him. She also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the baby growing inside of her was his. She hadn’t known for a very long time before stepping onto the plane, maybe several days. She hadn’t spoken to Maverick in weeks at that point, not since he quit being an instructor at Top Gun and had taken assignment elsewhere. She could only hope that the decision she was making would be the best for her and her unborn child.

She sat now in her garden, in 2022, reflecting on the days when she thought herself to be indestructible. Her daughter, (Y/N) ‘Finch’ Blackwood, sat across from her, a bright smile painted across her features. She had just told her mom that she was going back to Top Gun for a top-secret mission, one even she did not know the details of.  

“Mom, are you even listening to me?” She asked her, the aviator sunglasses sitting at the collar of her sundress.

Jolting from her daydream, Charlotte looked to her only child, a gentle smile adorning her lips. “Of course, dear. You know I just worry about you is all.” She stated simply, reaching to grasp her daughter’s hand, her thumb rubbing soft circles into her skin.

“Mom, I’ve been a fighter pilot and instructor for years now. You know you have nothing to worry about. I’ve got Phoenix going with me, you know how unstoppable we are when we’re together.” She assured her, a chuckle escaping her throat.

“I know, dear. Be safe and always double check your equipment.” Charlotte had always been careful to remind (Y/N) of this, especially after learning Nick Bradshaw died when his head hit the canopy of the jet all those years ago.

“I will mom. I love you lots, I’ll call you when I land in Cali.” (Y/N) said, standing to lean over the table, placing pecks on her mother’s cheeks.

Charlotte squeezed her hand as she watched her place the aviators on her face, looking nearly identical to her father all those years ago. As she watched her leave, she was taken back to 1986, and the memories that seemed to reel like a movie in her head.

~~

Growing up, (Y/N) had been told stories about her father from her mother, about his recklessness but also his bravery and his personality. Her mom only had one photo of him in the house, but she kept it in a discrete place where neither she nor her stepfather knew its location. She had seen it one time when they were moving, yet again. She was about fifteen at the time and could immediately see their resemblance. Her sleek hair and fiery eyes matched his own, along with her nose. Her other facial features though mimicked her mother, and she could consider herself a relative mixture of them both. She wanted to engrain the picture into her mind, but before the thought could cross her mind, she had heard her mom yelling for her from downstairs.

Many of her fondest memories also included when her mom’s friend, Carole, would come up from Virginia Beach with her son Bradley. She felt that the two of them were very similar, especially since neither of them had dads. She loved sharing her childhood and her pre-teen years with him, and they even had piano lessons together. Eventually though, her mom had decided to move states to marry her stepfather. She remembers Carole and Bradley coming up to their townhouse in Washington D.C. to help move, and the both of them trying to play the piano at the same time, all while singing.

“You should stop hogging the bench, Bradley!” She had shouted, her cheeks huffing out, the skin turning red slightly.

“Well why don’t you stop crowing like a bird!” He had retorted back, sticking his tongue out.

“At least I don’t sound like a rooster.” Her comeback was enough to have the in a fit of laughter, just before their moms had urged them to quit messing around and instead move the piano onto the back of Carole’s pickup.

She thought about him often, always wondering where he was now that they were all grown up.  She had gone off to the Naval Academy straight out of high school and hadn’t regretted the decision. She, like many of her colleagues, had moved through the ranks. She currently found herself as a lieutenant commander, one of the youngest the navy had ever seen. She was extremely proud of her position, but also that she had for the most part, done it on her own. Her mom and stepdad had given her a few nudges here and there, but she knew they were proud of her too, and loved and appreciated them for it all the same.

Chapter 1

[laurensprentiss]

Games We Play [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 8:

A/N: I cannot believe this is what I am offering you guys after all this time, please forgive me. Bossy but calculating Hotch, childish banter, tension, Hotch is actually nice sometimes, allusions to their past and first ever meeting (keep your eyes open) and a big plot reveal at the end. Hotch actually does something nice for reader. Twice. 

Warnings: Swearing, possessive, kinda bossy Hotch. Tension, mentions of alcohol. Pretty tame chapter in comparison to previous ones.

------

The night Hotch leaves to go back to New York, you call JJ and tear her a new one. You end up having to come clean about having never passed on the dinner invitation for Hotch in the first place and she makes a passing comment about how she’d never expected Hotch to fly out all the way to DC for one dinner. 

She’s right. The only logical explanation? He’s mentally unstable. 

The next morning in the car, JJ lectures him the entire way to the Hamptons where they’re meeting another prospective donor. “Do you know what people would say if they found out you were wasting jet fuel and using a private plane to make pleasure trips to DC?” She asks, scribbling notes.

“You’ve met her mother, I wouldn’t exactly call it a pleasure trip.” 

“The point still stands. No more spur of the moment flights to DC to harass my best friend. Now focus up, read the file Garcia put together on the donor.” 

Over the week and a half he’s been in New York, he’s been put in front of millionaires, even a few billionaires, old money tycoons and new money Silicon Valley types, in an attempt to drum up enough money for his coming campaign. He feels like a call girl, and JJ is his pimp, telling him to smile sweetly, and weave in a mention about hunting here, or golf there. 

He needs to tread lightly if what he thinks is true. He’s still waiting on confirmation from Garcia but he can feel it. Your repeated mentions of bribery in the hearings four years ago have lit a fire under him about his integrity. If bribery charges come out now, his campaign is fucked before he’s even had a chance to begin. 

Might as well put his all into his work while he can.

In the meantime, he sits in a home style Italian diner in The Hamptons, complete with red and white checkered tablecloths and a wood burning oven in the back. Donors usually prefer to do meetings in five star restaurants and swanky hotels, but JJ mentioned something about this donor being a down-to-earth old money guy who used his family fortune to branch out with his own publishing and media conglomerate. 

JJ swats his arm and gets up, muttering. “Look alive, Hotch. He’s here.”

He follows her lead, standing too, for a short older man with olive skin, a full head of grey hair and a grey goatee. He wears a button down and a blazer, a pair of slacks and a large ring on his ring finger. JJ immediately goes to greet him, circling around their table to shake his hand but he swats her away, breaking into a smile and taking her into his arms instead.  

“Jennifer! It’s good to see you again!” His voice is seasoned, a little raspy, like too many years of smoking cigars have taken their toll. 

“It’s good to see you, too! How’s Joy?” She leads him to Hotch. 

“Busy making me lose all my hair by chasing after serial killers.” He mutters. 

JJ chuckles, gesturing between the two men. “David Rossi, this is Senator Aaron Hotchner. Aaron Hotchner, this is David Rossi.” 

Hotch takes Rossi’s outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Rossi.” 

“Ah please. Call me Dave.” He shakes his head, taking a seat. JJ and Hotch follow suit, albeit tentatively. “Now, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from Jennifer. I understand you’re planning on running for office.” 

“That’s right, Sir.” When the older man gives him a warning look, he corrects himself quickly, holding up his hands. “Sorry- Dave.” 

The older man smiles, twisting the ring on his finger. “Look, I’ve never been one for small talk and fanciful meetings, and I think you’re a man who appreciates that so I’ll cut to the chase.” JJ shifts next to Hotch, sitting straighter. “My family and I have made a lot of money and I want to finally put it to good use. I’ve seen your work, I like you, and I think we align pretty well politically - although you’re a little more fiscally liberal than I care to be.” 

“That’s great-“ 

The older man holds out his finger. “-However. There are a few things that give me pause. I am first and foremost a family man, and quite frankly, the image you’ve managed to cultivate for yourself is making me doubtful. I don’t know that I can put my full backing into a candidate who doesn’t prioritise the same things I do. I don’t want to put my life’s work and money into somebody America doesn’t trust.” 

JJ and Hotch share a knowing look and she’s mindful that she doesn’t have time right now to tear him a new one or tell him I told you so. But she wants to. Desperately. So she does it with her eyes. Reminds him of the years she spent telling him to think and act proactively and not stick it inside anything with a pulse. 

“America likes a married man - a family man. Someone easily digestible. And Aaron, that’s just not you right now.” 

Shit. Motherfucking shit. His past, or rather, his body count has a way of catching up to him and in the interests of remaining as detached as possible after Haley’s death, he’s ruined his future. 

“What if we could change your mind?” Hotch asks, his calculating precision connecting the dots. 

“How’s that?” Dave asks. 

“Well, the donor retreat is tomorrow night. I’m confident I can prove to you just how much our values align by then.” JJ watches Hotch wearily out of the corner of her eye, he’s far too secure making promises he can’t keep. How the hell does he suppose he’s going to pull this off? 

Dave nods, considering it for a long while. The way he examines Hotch and JJ makes them squirm, he’s a little unpredictable and their dreams of the White House rest on convincing him that Hotch isn’t a massive slut. 

“Fine. You have until tomorrow night.” Dave confirms, shaking their hands. “Prove me wrong.”

———

That night, Hotch returns to his hotel room with the beginnings of a plan in mind. He completes his nightly ritual as best as he can, and he finishes off the night by checking your camera feed on his laptop. He’s done it everyday since he had the cameras installed and every night, something new manages to annoy him. 

The first night away, he learns that you’re essentially an insomniac, staying up until 3, sometimes 4am with cereal as your only real sustenance. The second and third nights, he comes to realise that you have a real issue with fire, diagnoses you as a pyromaniac because he watches you burn through an entire packet of matches just for entertainment. 

It’s mildly unsettling. 

On the fourth and fifth, he realises that you watch too much mind-numbing TV, and because he sprang for the audio-visual system, he can hear you quote Modern Family until 4 in the morning. 

‘Hey, Claire. What’s up?’

‘My fever, you orange jackass.’ 

“Fuckin’ A,” he mutters, watching you tonight. You’re talking to yourself, muttering about something or other as you work. That goddamn sitcom still plays in the background and with your mood tonight, he’s dreading asking you what he needs to ask you - especially after the dinner he hijacked last night. 

He doesn’t want to hear you bitch and whine and he’s certainly not in the mood to be talked back to. He dials your number and waits for you to answer, sits up straight when you look at your phone, roll your eyes and decline his call. 

“The fuck?” He dials it again, watches you repeat your previous actions, only this time you flip your phone off. Desperate, he uses his burner and dials your number only for you to pick up this time and his blood boils. 

“Hello?” 

“What? I gotta use a private number to get you to pick up? I’m getting a little tired of you declining my calls.”  

“Jesus. I don’t have time for this .” You roll your eyes. “Goodbye-”

“-Don’t you dare hang up on me.” He mutters. 

Your eyes narrow. “Watch your tone. Or what?”

“I’m telling you. You don’t want to hang up on me.” His voice has a tone of finality to it, but you’re too wired to care about whatever he has going on. Mai ko

“Whatever. I gotta go.” He watches you turn your phone off and throw it onto the couch, flipping him off one more time for good measure. 

He tries to keep the anger at bay and not overreact but you claw at his skin from the inside out. He calls Anderson who picks up on the fourth ring, his voice croaky. 

“Sir?”

“Pull the car around and get the jet ready.” 

“Sir, again? It’s midnight.” 

“Do it. We’re flying to DC. Within the hour, Anderson.” 

“Yes, Sir.” He sighs defeatedly. 

———

At 2am, you’re three cups of coffee in, heading fast for a crash. You're a little shaky and your heartbeat’s quick, falling deeper into a spiral of existential dread about your future at work. The mountain of research for the case that Lucas pity-shared with you makes no fucking sense either. You hear a knock at the door and think it’s your TV at first, but the knock is louder and more persistent the second time. 

This is a safe complex in a safe neighbourhood, so you make the mistake of not bothering to check the peephole. You only realise the gravity of your mistake when it’s too late, because when you open the door, you’re met with Hotch in a pair of grey sweatpants and a sweatshirt, a dark look swirling in his eyes. 

You’ve done it before, you know it doesn’t work, but you do it anyway. You close the door in his face, that doesn’t really close properly anyway because he manages to keep it open with his foot. He steps inside and slams the door behind him, his breathing ragged with anger. 

“Get out, Hotch. It’s 2am, what the fuck are you even doing here?”

He stalks forward slowly, making you back up. “I told you not to hang up on me.” 

What the hell? 

“You’re crazy. You flew from New York to DC again all because I hung up on you? Are you insane? That’s twice you’ve flown here and back in the last 24 hours!” Your backwards steps increase in pace as he steps forward until you have no more room left, your back bumping into the wall. 

He crowds you, caging you in against the wall. “Not insane. Just determined. And now, because you refuse to do as you’re told, you’ve lost the opportunity to pack your own stuff.” 

“Pack? Pack what, what are you talking about?”

“You’re coming to New York with me. Tonight. Now.” 

“The hell I am.” You laugh humorlessly. 

He seems to find that amusing because his lips curl into a twisted sort of smile. “Yes, you are, sweetheart. You can either come willingly, or I can take you myself, but you’re coming. And that’s all there is to it.”

You laugh dryly. “You can’t force me. I’m pretty sure that’s kidnapping.” 

His eyes flash with intensity and he leans in, his chest brushing against yours, his nose barely touching yours. He smells of toothpaste and a woody cologne that makes your eyes flutter closed. “And I’m pretty sure I can - force you - that is. Last chance. Are you coming willingly or not?” 

You squirm and try to push him off you, but he’s too strong. “Not.” You reply.

He inhales sharply. “Fine. Then I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” And suddenly your world turns upside down. Literally. He bends to wrap an arm under your ass, and lifts you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You pull and scratch at his sweatshirt, neck, hair, anything you can get your hands on. “Put me down! Put me fucking down, Hotch. I swear to God, I’ll kill you, put me down!” 

He swats your ass, sending a zing up your spine as he carries you out of your apartment building and drops you unceremoniously into the back of a town car. 

You pull harshly on the door handle a few times but it’s locked. “Let me out, Hotch. I’m not kidding.” The car quickly begins to move, making its way through the city streets but you’re still stuck on leaving. “Why are we moving? Let me out!” Your anger simmers under your skin as you slam against the car windows and you fight the urge to not sock him in the jaw.

“We’re moving because we’re going to New York. I have a donor I need to impress and you’re going to help me do that.” 

You laugh humorlessly. “How am I going to do that? I have no ID, how the hell am I supposed to get on a plane?”

He scrunches his face. “You don’t need an ID on a private flight.”

You huff. “You’re not very good at asking for favours, are you? You usually have to do this thing called ‘ask’ and ‘not be a complete asshole’ and kidnapping is never on the docket.” He rolls his eyes, checking his phone. “How do you suppose I’m going to impress this donor of yours? In my pyjamas and fluffy socks? I don’t even have any shoes for goodness sake.” 

“We’ll get you some new clothes tomorrow, it’s being taken care of. Here.” He takes his wallet out of his pocket and slides a piece of black plastic across the car seat. “You can use that.” 

That’s hot. 

But still not okay. There’s no point arguing with him any further because you’re not going to get anywhere with him, you know that. 

“What do I need to do?” You ask reluctantly. 

“Network, small talk. Big me up, make me seem like a good candidate. Maybe smile at me, do what a loving girlfriend would do.” He purposely says girlfriend so as to not bombard you with his plans for tomorrow. He knows you may just throw yourself out of a moving vehicle if he tells you his real plan. 

The desire to make his life a little more difficult doesn’t pass you by, though. The need to tell him what you think of him far outweighs any semblance of maturity or the concept of rising above you may have. “Difficult to do when I don’t have a lower opinion of anybody than I do of you.” 

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual. Lucky for me, I don’t care what you think. I thought we’d already established this.” 

Asshole. But if there’s one thing you can get out of a reluctant favour, it’s leverage. And you need all the leverage you can get right now. You look at him out of the corner of your eye and speak evenly. “Fine. But if I’m doing this for you, you have to do something for me.” 

“I don’t have to do anything.” 

You smile sweetly. “And I don’t have to impress this donor. In fact, I could meet with him, tell him what I really think about you, and nuke your career like you did mine, your dreams of the White House and any future you hope to have.” 

He licks his front teeth agitatedly and drops his phone in his lap. “Fine. What?”

“I want you to look over the preliminary bill. It’s-“

“-Done.” 

“-Really?” You ask, taken aback. It’s not like him to agree to something so quickly, not least of all when it’s you that’s asking. 

“Yes.” He sighs. “I don’t care much to hear you plead your case and whinge and whine for the next two hours. So yes, I’ll look your handiwork over. I’ll be sure to bring a pen though, no doubt I’ll have to gut it and rework it.”

“Fuck you, Hotch.” 

“Oh yeah? You change your mind?” He drawls suggestively. “Dinner was nice last night. Good to finally put a face to the people responsible for such a high-maintenance, preppy princess.” 

“And who’s responsible for making you a cold and entitled, miserable ass?” 

“My childhood nanny, probably. She raised me.” He says, matter-of-factly. A small laugh escapes you but you wonder if that’s true. You wonder if he was raised by housekeepers and nannies and au pairs his entire life and suddenly you’re a little more grateful for your own parents. 

Despite the overwhelming pressure and the constant nagging and the not-so-subtle criticism, you have no doubt that your parents love you and care for your well-being. At least they were conscientious enough not to dump you and your sister on outside help during your childhood. Which is not asking a lot of a parent, but from the circles you and Hotch hail from, it’s par for the course for strangers to raise your children, and you can place a safe bet that Hotch falls into that category. 

You ponder on that until you arrive at the airfield. His assistant - who you learn is called Anderson - corrals staff and makes phone calls arranging for tomorrow’s retreat. Hotch steps out of the car and opens your door for you, waiting for you to exit but you cross your arms over your body and remain seated. He’s too distracted by his phone to notice at first, but when he does, he slides it into his pocket and grits his teeth angrily. 

“What are you waiting for? Hustle.” 

“The floor’s wet. And I’m cold.” You reply petulantly.

“That’s my problem, why?”

“Because you kidnapped me and didn’t even give me a chance to put any shoes on! Or a coat!” You kick his shin. “I’m not putting my bare feet on wet pavement, that’s disgusting.” Your face contorts and he honest to God could think it’s one of the funniest things he’s seen if he wasn’t raging. 

“They’re not bare. You’re wearing socks.”

“Fuck off, Hotch.” 

He checks his watch, it’s almost 3am. “Oh my fucking- you’re so annoying.” He grumbles under his breath along with a string of incoherent sentences. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head, leaving him in only a tight fitting T-shirt that hugs his shoulders. “Fine. Hold your arms out.” 

You do as you’re told and he slips the sweatshirt on your body with a surprising amount of gentleness, caring enough to untuck your hair from inside the neckline. He then slides his arms around your waist, yours wrapping around his neck as he lifts you out of the car and into the cold night air. 

You go limp against him on purpose, weighing yourself down, making it hard for him to carry you but he maneuvers you roughly, putting a large hand on the backs of each of your thighs so your legs wrap around his hips. And while your skin still prickles with annoyance and frustration, the position you’re in doesn’t feel so unnatural. 

“Remember, I’m owed my monthly allowance on the 25th.” You remind him happily. 

“I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” He grumbles, squeezing your thigh.

“Yeah? What are you going to do? Off me?” You tease. 

———

Finding yourself without any decent clothes this morning, you’re relegated to one of Hotch’s too-large shirts and a pair of not-so-great jeans you’d had Anderson go out and buy as soon as it was light out. Thankfully, you’re able to roll the sleeves of his shirt up and tuck one bottom side into your jeans, and you force yourself into thinking it looks somewhat classy-chic. 

It does. Kind of. 

Hotch had bumped into you in the hallway as you were leaving your room, taken off guard by your outfit, mumbling something under his breath and walking away irritated. Truthfully, the sight of you in his shirt had complicated things, conflicted him, because while frustration swells in his chest at the mere mention of you, he can’t seem to shake the hold you have on him.

And it extends further than just four years ago. You don’t seem to remember. But he hasn’t forgotten.  

Meanwhile, in the hotel lobby, you fish around the back pocket of your jeans and flash JJ the black Amex Hotch had tossed to you yesterday. 

You return to the hotel at around five, new clothes, shoes, purses and accessories in tow and begin getting ready for the dinner that begins at 8. You still don’t know much about the donor, only that he’s fairly traditional and could possibly be the big fish Hotch’s campaign needs. You feel a little deflated at prospect of being a man’s accessory tonight, to make him seem like a great candidate in front of a who’s who of rich Manhattanites. 

You’d pursued a career so you could avoid having to do that. If you wanted to be a trophy wife, you could have stayed with Christopher and endured the passionless, banal life your mother would have chosen for you. 

You sigh, giving yourself a once over in the mirror. JJ has knocked on your door three times already and if you don’t get a move on, you’re afraid Hotch might actually carry you down to the car. It's not like you’d put it past him. 

It’s dark when you finally get outside and you find Hotch leaning against the towncar, distracted by his phone like he usually is, but the sight of him makes your steps falter for a brief moment. 

You have to remind yourself to keep your brain in check, to not get sidetracked by his looks. He stands tonight in a grey, perfectly tailored suit, a light shirt and a light grey tie to match - he’s the epitome of old school class and you hate him for it. JJ throws you a teasing look before she gets in her own car, the kind she’d give you in law school whenever a crush walked by. Except this isn’t a crush. This is hate. 

“Do you mind moving so I can get in? Or are you planning on making us late?” You nag.

“Like you’re not the one who’s been primping and priming since 5pm…” He trails off when he averts his gaze from his phone and looks at you, really looks at you. The asshole has a way of burning people with his eyes and it’s certainly making your cheeks heat up. 

“Move.” You swat him with your purse like a bug, moving him away from the door. He opens it for you, and watches you get in from behind, blood rushing to his extremities at your exposed legs. He falls in line, getting in next to you and you’re off. You weave your way through city traffic, the night lights twinkling as you pass them by. 

He clears his throat, pulling you from your thoughts. “Listen, I need you to wear this.” He holds a royal blue velvet box in his hands that looks suspiciously like it could have a ring inside. 

Anxiety creeps up your neck against the prospect of being laid bare in your vulnerability at this moment. “We said three months, right?”

“Three months. Now. What difference does it make? It’s going to happen eventually, now do as you’re told.”

“Do as I’m told?” You repeat. “The difference is I’m not ready yet.” You say defensively. “My parents barely even managed to digest the fact that I was ‘dating’ you, I can’t show up to dinner next week, engaged!” 

“Look, I’ll help you break the news to your parents, alright? We’ll tell them after the dinner, whatever you want, just wear this tonight. 

“You’re out of your mind if you think you’re coming to dinner next week.” 

“Boo hoo. Look, the donor we’re meeting - he’s expecting a fiancée or a wife - not a girlfriend.” You stare him down in a desperate attempt to get him to back off but he appears unguarded himself at this moment. “There’s no other way.” 

“This better be fucking worth it.” You mutter. “Hand it over.” You outstretch your hand to take the box but he takes yours in his and turns it over. “What are you doing?” You ask, immediately snatching your hand back. 

“Putting the ring on you.” He reaches for your hand again but you pull away. “What are you doing?”

You frown. “Just give it here, I’ll do it.“

“Quiet.” He ignores you like you’re a child, yanking you forward by your hand. His touch is rough at first, but it softens only slightly, his thumb absently rubbing the back of your hand. He slides the ring on your finger, rotating it so the emerald cut diamond sits properly in the centre. 

You don’t know whether it’s the apparent vulnerability etched on his face or the city lights, but you swear he could almost pass as human in this brief moment. Then, he tosses your hand back into your lap when he’s done, and suddenly he’s back to himself again. He tucks the box back in his inside pocket and reaches for his phone again, taking a few calls while you ponder your immediate future. 

You absentmindedly play with the ring on your finger. Fighting with Hotch had allowed you to repress the reality that you were really going to marry this guy, but the heavy rock on your finger pulls you back into the harsh truth. Even if he were to win the election, this alliance may ruin any chance you have at dating anybody after him. After all, Ex Wife of President-slash-Presidential Candidate Hotchner is a lot of baggage to carry. 

There’s no chance of spotting stars in the middle of New York City but you note the twinkling lights of high rises make it appear as though the city smog has cleared momentarily. 

You should be so lucky. 

Next to you, Hotch dives into his work to distract himself from you. He’d spent the better part of today with a knot in his stomach at the prospect of giving you the ring, memories of Haley clawing their way to the surface. Memories that he clings to with equal vigour as well to prevent him from becoming too attached to any one person. 

The last time he’d proposed to a woman, it had been different. 

You eventually happen upon the private country club in the Hamptons, located on the scenic beachfront, right next to the glittering water. The wrought iron gates are opened by two security guards, leading you to a winding, lit driveway. Wait staff appear to be floating with trays in their hands, tight-lipped women in cocktail dresses hold their champagne flutes a little too tightly, and the men look stuffy. 

JJ dismounts the car in front of you first with Anderson trailing behind her, then you and Hotch. You inhale deeply as the valet opens your door and you’re met by the brisk seaside air which puts goosebumps on your skin. 

“Alright, guys. Are we ready? Best feet forward, this donor is the key to securing this run.” JJ reminds you over the faint classical music in the background. She looks pointedly at your left hand, her gaze lingering wildly on the emerald cut diamond that wasn’t there when you set off. 

The gravel pathway to the entrance makes for a difficult walk and in your frustration, and admittedly, hard-headedness you slap Hotch’s arm away when he offers it to you. 

“Remind me never to offer you my help out of the goodness of my heart again.” He scowls. 

“Unlikely it’s from the goodness of your heart. That thing’s like coal.” If you’re to be his accessory tonight, you definitely don’t need his goddamn help, you’ll walk on your own. You’re made to regret your decision quickly when your Jimmy Choos get stuck in a piece of stubborn pathway and you fall into Hotch’s side, grabbing his strong forearm for balance. 

When you’re sufficiently balanced, he snatches his arm away again, throwing you off kilter on purpose, snorting under his breath. Anderson joins in until JJ glares at them. “Give her your arm or lose it, Hotch. Now is not the time.” She hisses. 

He rolls his eyes and you reluctantly wrap your forearm and hands around his strong bicep, using him for balance up the pathway. “Who taught you to walk, smartass? You’re like a freshly birthed calf.” He murmurs out of JJ’s earshot as you enter the main foyer. 

You grab a glass of champagne, leaning into him. He still had a decent amount of height on you, despite your choice in shoes which means his cologne wafts into your nose when you turn your head. “It’s because I’m wearing heels, Senator. Heels… which could puncture your leg nicely if you don’t stop pissing me off.” 

“Jesus, has anyone ever told you, you might have anger issues?” He rolls his eyes but swallows thickly at your use of his title. 

He takes stock of the room, and drags you along with him, wherever he goes, pulling you this way and that until JJ and Hotch both go stiff as a board suddenly, their gazes fixated to their left. 

You follow their line of sight and double take, your eyes bulging. “Uncle Dave?!” You break into a smile, letting go of Hotch who watches you, stunned. “Hi!” 

He breaks out into a face splitting smile, holding out his hands. “Cara mia! Oh, come here, let me look at you!” Dave grabs both sides of your face, planting a kiss on either cheek and taking you into his arms like he did when you were a kid. “What are you doing here, your parents didn’t mention you were in New York.” His eyes fall to your left hand and he gasps, immediately grasping it in his hand, holding it out to catch the light. “And what is this?”

You laugh uncomfortably, looking between Dave and Hotch. You’re about to utter these words for the first time ever and you’d always assumed you’d be happier than you are right now. 

“I’m… well. I guess I’m engaged!” You tell him. “Uncle Dave, this is Aaron, Aaron, this is my uncle Dave. Our families go way back.” 

The two men’s eyes widen in recognition as Hotch steps forward to shake Dave’s hand. “Yeah. We met yesterday.” He pulls you in, placing his hand on your back, the warm, light pressure making you twitch. You’re still outing the pieces together when Hotch interrupts your thoughts. “Honey, Dave is the donor I was telling you about, I had no idea you guys even knew each other.” He says. 

This is a done deal. 

Dave nods slowly. “Huh, you really weren’t kidding when you said you could change my mind - this is definitely a step in the right direction.” He looks at JJ. “I can see now why you were so confident.” 

“Small world.” You muse. “How’s Krystal?” 

“Ah, you know what she’s like at these things, she’s probably outside watching the waves come in. Why don’t you go on and find her while we talk business?”

There it is again. The infantilization. The implication that you don’t know how business and politics work, and God will these high-powered men ever change? Ivy League education, community service, drive, ambition but you’re still the woman who has to make nice with the other women while the men talk shop. You smile though, like you’ve always been taught to do and JJ decides to join you when Hotch gives her a look of confidence. 

The two men walk away while you grab a champagne flute and make the rounds, greeting guests with a kiss, accepting their congratulations on your ‘engagement’. By the end of the night, you’re exhausted and sitting outside beneath the massive pergola watching the waves roll in. 

Hotch has since managed to persuade Dave that he’s the right candidate for him to back, and with the added bonus of you on board, he’s more than happy to oblige. He’s making his way outside to join you and JJ to tell you the happy news when he stops in his tracks, just shy of the doors to listen to you. 

“It’s so frustrating, you know? Like I made one mistake, four years ago and everyone in that office treats me like I’m not to be trusted with anything ever again.”

“I’m sorry, hon.” JJ reassures you, rubbing your shoulders. 

“I was sure I had it in the bag. I know I should let it go but I still can’t believe he paid Lahey off. And now look at me, I’m still stuck in the same place, it’s like fucking deja-vu, only now, I’m engaged to the man.” You laugh humorlessly, repeating the words slower this time as if to digest them properly. “I’m engaged… to the man that ruined everything I worked so hard to build… by bribing a chairwoman.” 

There it is again. The bribery allegation that he knows nothing about but is becoming an increasingly bigger source of alarm. 

He hears you sigh. “You know, I went to the office yesterday and Gideon sent me straight home, threw the paper in my face with that picture of me and Hotch on it - said office gossip was distracting people and I should go home.” 

Suddenly your half-day makes a lot more sense to him. 

The barest of guilt tugs at his insides, he couldn’t care less about you he reaffirms, but he’s still a believer in karma. Plus he figures he owes you one for tonight. That’s the only reason. Not the fact that it’s becoming clear to him that your hatred for him may be justified, but it isn’t entirely clear to him why he hates you. 

Is it the way your first ever meeting ended? Even years before the judiciary hearings? The meeting that he remembers clearly but you evidently don’t? 

Nah. 

Stepping away, he pulls out his phone, and dials the direct line to DC Attorney General Racine who promised Hotch any favour he wanted after he’d pulled some strings to get him out of a bind a few years ago. He figures he could have probably used Racine as the prize cow of all favours, cashing it in when he was in really dire straits, but what the hell. Who doesn’t pull strings for someone they hate? 

Right? 

As soon as he’s done giving Racine specific directions - who reassures him that his problem will be taken care of by Monday - Garcia’s name flashes up on screen. He exhales in relief. “Gimme something good, Garcia.” 

“Well, that’s just it, Sir. I have an answer for your question but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” 

“What is it?” He sighs, rubbing his temple.

“You were right. Four instalments of $20,000 each were made to Chairwoman Lahey around four years ago - during the hearings. They were rerouted through multiple proxies and offshore accounts but I managed to track them down.” 

His ears ring and he feels as though the ground has shifted from beneath his feet. You were right and he’s astute enough to put the pieces together himself but he asks anyway. “From?” 

“Phillip Hotchner.” She replies. 

He paid her off. The son of a bitch paid her off.

———

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[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. 

[siriusmydeer]

ok but imagine where reader is in relationship with James and she randomly decides do put on a red lipstick for the first time and he is

mesmerized??? and maybe they make out and he is all marked with red lipstick ??? idkidk

smears of vermillion

james potter x fem!reader

summary: james likes your new lipstick

word count: 1.6k

warnings: kissing, borderline marking, undertones of a size kink, fingering, clit play, praise, exhibition, undertones of voyerism, swearing

a/n: so i might’ve turned this into a smut !

red. vermillion. carmine. scarlet. 

it was enamouring, to say the least. 

something so abundantly alluring, an eye-catching shade, the most prominent colour of hogwarts as it was the respected and eminent colours that the headmaster once wore himself. 

the glide of the vermillion stick was like the colour of cascading wine in an extortionate carved glass that remained behind the shelves of an elegant restaurant that only accepted the most pristine of people could drink from. the colour releasing onto your lips as a dark carmine hue, the most socially acceptable colour of hogwarts. your lips were routinely coated in the slick gloss with an undertone of shell-pink, the gleaming shimmers lingering in the formula whilst you remained under the rays of light deluging from the sky above. mid-day you had opted for a change, electing to strode out through the courtyard, the opaque clouds hung lazily in the sky. the dreariness lingering in the sky as a downpour of rain cascading on students was soon approaching from the dim clouds.

you had endeavoured to find your boyfriend that was clad in the all too familiar and well-respected colour, most likely goofing off with his mates or hanging around the poltergeist that would heckle first years around the tranquil corridors of the night when they were supposed to be neatly tucked in their bed dreaming about winning their first house cup. 

while in your venture for your boyfriend, you had stumbled back to the castle in a seek. the skid of your heels against the tiled floors could be the only thing audible noise as most students were in the library during the remaining free period of the day before their finalizing classes of the steady-paced day. you had glimpsed the brunet tufts in the distance as he bid his mates a farewell and curled his arm around the glaucous strap of his satchel that lay on the contracting muscles of his shoulder.

as the boy strode he had caught view of you and your attire, the way your legs enveloped in your skirt that had been hemmed shorter than usual for female students, the waxen kilt displaying off the planes of your lustrous thighs, the loose buttons of your ivory blouse were slightly unbuttoned as well as your tie that hung lazily against your jugular. he was already truly content with the view that was pooling in his irises, his eyes gaping at the minuscule details of your face as he continued to gape at you. a searing burn arose to the apples of your cheeks as well as the tips of your eyes whilst his jaw fell slack at his irises finally glimpsing upon your coated vermillion lips. 

it wasn’t the usually shell-pink gloss that reflected beneath the sun’s rays during the days under the scottish lands. yet, being an unfamiliar colour to his cerulean splintering optics that lay behind his spectacles, he was truly infatuated with the effortless glide of the pigment against your lips. he trapezed over to you with bountiful ease in his step, the hast steps being almost too much to juggle on his conscious that he could trip and fall; yet, he would bow if he could, the simple presence of your figure bringing a tingling coil sensation in his belly.

“y/n,” he spoke with a small stammer in his sonorous voice, his jugular vibrating in the deep cavern of his throat where his vocal cords had matured, the newly profound and hoarse baritone bringing attention to many at the start of the semester. “james,” you replied with a grin, your eyes setting on his jaw that had remained slack since he had set his optics on you.

“that’s new,” he pointed out with the pad of his thumb running across the deep scarlet lipstick, your lips in a faint jut. the pressure of his digits remaining beneath your chin as his pollex glided across the creamy vermillion painted across your lips, the blend of vermillion spilling onto his thumb.

“yeah, i wanted to try something new.” you replied with a heavy sigh, taking it upon yourself to remove his hand from your chin and slide his fingers through your own in a warm enclasp whilst you sauntered around the corridors where the only sound to be heard was the clacking of your shoes and your synchronous breaths.

he glimpsed over at you, his chin dipping down for a few mere seconds in the skittish sensations that were swirling around his lower abdomen over the meagre sight of your coated lips. a trifling amount of pride seething in his clouded mind over the colour that you had been seen in displayed his prideful house colours. he excessively gulped, the cavity of his throat becoming exceedingly dry at his actions for the rather lewd thoughts he had been experiencing as you both had trudged. 

you deliberated in thought for a moment, pausing your movements and backing against the gold and ivory-ridden corridors. your brow elevated as your spine began to curve against the wall, the dermis of his cheeks increasingly reddening as your lips quirked into a smirk. his irises dilating into the dark stygian shade of black and begun to rapidly glimpse between your posture and the decrepit oak wood door that leads into the confined space of a broom closet that most likely hasn’t been opened in ages. 

your brow remaining quirked he opened the door with a small creak in the hinges, managing to have you against the same door with no doubt dust sticking into your backside whilst you were pressed against the door in the dark expanse. james was excessively taller than you, his hover remaining whilst his lips were pressed against your ear in a faint hush, “do you know what you do to me, love?” he inquired condescendingly as his hand made a heavy grip at your waist. 

at the shake of your head in a horizontal motion, his digits pressed faintly against your thigh, steadily navigating his forefinger to be pressed against the thin lace of your knickers. he caught the gasp emitting from your throat with his lips, completely raw and uncovered now the hue of red blending onto his lips. kissing you was tremendously different from any other person he had ever melded his lips with, it was like a breath of fresh air after suffocating, your tinging perfume lingering in the air as his chest was pressed against your midriff. the spillage of his tongue into the hollow cavern of your mouth against your lips was urgent. like he had been desperate for your touch, aching and yearning for the day it would occur, it could almost overpower your senses by how languishing it felt. 

he released a strained mewl at your separation, your lips trailing across his jawline whilst his forefinger unceasingly teased your swollen button in small circular motions atop of your panties. his digits thumbing around the sheet of lace to the of bucking your hips on the calloused pads of his palm at the mere sensations, his two fingers ridiculing you around your entrance that had remained clenched and eager for his touch.

the minuscule teasing circles unceasing as his middle and ring finger dipped into your cunt, the clench around his digits like a unbudgingly causing him to groan out whilst you had begun to whimper into the crevice of his neck now coated in smears of carmine red; the teasing of his fingers pumping through your cunt thoroughly edging you along as his fingers were buried deep inside of you. 

“‘m close, jamie.” you continued to mewl acutely into the curvature of his shoulder, feeling the way his muscles contracted against the flesh of your cheek, your legs beginning to tremble at his faint praises into your ear, “c’mon baby, f’me.” 

your delighted whimpers rolled off your tongue as the nearing euphoria crawled up your spine and bubbled over to a pit of hysteria in your belly to have your irises rolling back into your skull revealing the white pigment at the elation that had completely taken over your conscious mind, now in a state of ceasing pleasure. at your breathily ‘thank you's' he brought his digits to suckle at your sweet arousal, “we, erm, have class.” you lazily murmur, almost embarrassed, against the ivory dress shirt covering his shoulder. he had pressed a lax kiss to your temple before guiding you out of the closet with a beckoning hand against your lower back, a tingling sensation sweeping across your face; the both of you too sheepish to make eye contact with one another as you entered professor slughorns classroom. 

little did each of you know a vermillion paint-like substance had been smeared against his lips and large spilt marks in the shapes of kisses had clad his neck as well as carmine streaks clashing with ivory on his dress shirt. upon entering the classroom a familiar boy with long raven tufts had been sat with a leg propped against his desk awaiting his partners' arrival. sirius’ eyes had surveyed the room carefully before landing on the bespectacled boy with a sheepish grin on his face as well as the lipstick that was original carved with ease on your lips now smudged around both of your features.

sirius’ face had first crossed with shock, and his mouth dropping open slightly. james looked into his face and noted his rounded eyes, raised brows, slack expression and his brows creased at the now prominent smirk colliding with sirius’ quirked lips, “what?” james asked incredulously at what the gryffindor was smirking about. “mate, i didn’t know you wore lipstick?” he inquired in a ridiculing tone.

oh fuck.

taglist: @miss-starkov @ronbrokemyheart @aricela @inglourious-imagines @bikinibottomspeach @myalo-vasano-psixis @i-love-scott-mccall @kirascottage @five-cups-of-coffee @myloveforluna @abbott27 @hufflepuffsfordraco @slytherclawbitch @ggmniy @90steaology @voguetoday

[thesokovianaccords]

12 + 34 for Steggy for the 2 part drabble game?

(...let's not talk about how long ago you sent me this prompt lol)

12 - Finally home after a hard day / 34 - “It’s 2am. Go back to sleep.”

The Carter siblings were…a lot. If Steve had to pick a phrase to describe them, it would be—well, it would be pure chaos.

The most hyper-competent people he’s ever met. 

But, still. Pure chaos.

Steve didn’t actually regret moving in with the Carters after his old roommate decided to abandon him to live with her boyfriend. Most days. 

But Michael and Peggy—well, Steve had a pretty good command of the English language (despite what they might say) but words failed to describe them. No matter how hard he tried.

He told Sam that they’re maddening, and yet disarmingly charming. Bucky heard a story or two about Michael’s one-man war with the MTA, and Peggy’s many international misadventures—the context of which Steve was honestly afraid to examine too closely. Natasha actually heard one of Peggy’s terrifying non-anecdotes about the time she and a friend were trapped on a mostly-deserted Mediterranean island, and she had to play a high-stakes game of blackjack to secure their freedom (he desperately wanted to follow up but was very afraid she’d actually answer his questions). Tony knew a lot of their stories already because he was there, was an accessory, or heard about their exploits through the grapevine—the dubious benefits the Starks and the Carters running in the same social circles. 

Steve had been called to find Michael after he ran away to a farm in rural Virginia—Peggy had been her usual inscrutable, unflappable self, but Steve was a quick learner (and slightly obsessed with discovering all of Peggy’s tells, a fact he was ruthlessly suppressing). He had been ferried—by Tony and Pepper—across the Atlantic and Indian Oceans to bring Peggy her passport as she fled to the British Embassy in Hong Kong, with Michael calling him every hour on the hour until she had it, and Steve had her, safe in hand. Both of them would go silent for weeks at a time and then pop up again in their shared fifth-floor walk-up with no warning at 4:00am, hungry and loud and full of stories that were high on hijinks and low on details.

Steve was ninety percent sure that the whole Carter family was involved in some form of espionage, but he had just enough self preservation to never, ever ask for details. Even when his journalistic instincts screamed at him to dig deeper, he knew it was a bad idea to know more than the bare minimum.

Not that any of that stopped him from orbiting closer and closer to Peggy, much to her brother’s amusement. Steve couldn’t help himself—her glossy hair (voluminous with secrets, of course) and her lips painted red and her killer sense of humour and her absolute confidence in herself were a potent drug, intoxicating and addictive. 

Maybe it was pathetic, how he knew all her favorite foods and always had a bottle of her whiskey on hand—created specifically for her by a distillery in Scotland she’d saved from some convoluted extortion scheme. How he started studying French when he saw a plane ticket to Morocco on their dining room table—just in case she needed a bailout. How he woke up sweating and tense—from dreams about her laugh and her perfume and that one time she took swinging trapeze classes—in a way that was extremely inappropriate for him to be dreaming about his roommate (whose brother was also his roommate). 

But on the other hand, Steve wasn’t about to rock the boat. He was content to admire from up close and from afar, but always on the outside looking in. Peggy wasn’t complaining, but she also never said anything to signal her own interest—and she had become too important to Steve to consider stepping outside the boundaries they’d established. She and Michael both had. They were family—chaotic and dysfunctional family, but whose wasn’t, at the end of the day?

So, Steve stayed within this equilibrium—enjoying her presence when they were home, worrying after her and her brother when they weren’t. He was used to it, and even when he’d come to expect chaos, the Carters still managed to surprise him once in a while.

It was in the wee hours of the morning when Steve returned home from covering a gruelling all-night Security Council meeting, exhausted and overworked and ready to collapse on the nearest soft surface for the three hours he had before returning to the UN for the next day of the General Assembly meetings. The last thing he was expecting to see when he opened the front door was warm lighting flooding the kitchen, soft brass instrumentals flowing through the apartment, and Peggy in the midst of what could only be described as culinary carnage. 

“Steve, darling! Welcome home!”

His exhaustion bled out of his limbs at the sound of her voice—cheerful, excited to see him, her familiar accent washing over him like a sense of relief. He dropped his shoulder bag by the door, shocked to see her in the flesh after three weeks of increasingly cryptic text messages and memes lighting up his phone at odd hours. He mouthed her name, unable to force the sound from his throat, but it didn’t matter, as she tugged him to the kitchen island, chattering all the way about how she had missed him, she’d brought him a souvenir but he mustn’t ask about its origin, Michael was in the city but she wasn’t sure where, she’d been gifted this divine new chocolate chip cookie recipe that was going to blow his mind.

Steve followed along gamely—he forgot, when she was away, exactly how enticing Hurricane Peggy could be up close. She manoeuvred him onto a stool, dropping a plate in front of him that was stacked precariously high with cookies that, admittedly, looked delicious. He took a tentative bite and sighed with relief at the gooey centre and melted chocolate—her past baking experiments had not been as successful as this one.

“So, there I was, dangling off the bridge over the river—mind, I’d already secured myself with a rope and was waiting for someone to pull me back in, so I was making a shopping list for when I got back in today, and I stopped by the bodega on my way home because I know you with your sweet tooth, we probably wouldn’t have any chocolate chips left, and—“ Peggy trailed off, taking in the way Steve was already half-off the stool, drifting away as she prattled on. “Steve, dear lord. I forgot about the time difference. Here I am, nattering on, and you look like you’re about to collapse. It’s 2am. Go to sleep.”

He straightened, shaking his head. “No, that’s okay, Pegs. I’m listening. I’m not that tired. You were dangling off a bridge.”

She laughed and grabbed the cookie that was falling to pieces in his hand. “Darling, go to bed. You’re clearly knackered.”

He shook his head. Stubborn to a fault. She clasped his newly-empty hand in hers, mindless of the chocolate residue. “My darling, I’ll still be here in the morning, I promise. Go to bed—Peggy’s orders. You have a busy day ahead and I can’t have you at less than your best because of me.”

He eyed her carefully. “You promise?”

His eyes were drooping, his cheeks rosy with exhaustion, but his look of determination and suspicion made Peggy feel, finally, like she was home. There were worse things than to have such a man as her anchor, her port in a storm, calling her back. “Yes, Steve. I promise. You won’t be able to get rid of me. I’ll be skulking around the United Nations for a couple days—we can grab a drink, as long as you don’t ask for any details.”

He tossed her a wry look as he stood, and she couldn’t help but reel him in for a hug. “You know I missed you terribly, right?”

He nuzzled his nose into her hair for a brief moment, roses briefly overtaking his senses. “You were having far too much fun for that.”

She smacked him on his back, playfully. “I never have half as much fun as when I’m with you. I’ll just have to drag you along with me next time—it’ll be the best of both worlds. Now, off to bed with you.”

He squeezed her tightly, then stepped back. “Welcome home, Peggy. I’m glad you’re here.” And with an irreverent salute, he vanished into his bedroom. Peggy turned back to the mess she’d made of the kitchen with a critical eye. The pastry chef behind the recipe had promised Peggy that these cookies were magic, capable of turning a man to mush, but clearly she’d forgotten an ingredient or two.

[johnnysnostril]

makeup sex with nct 127 | part two [18+]

johnny & yuta

i stared at my phone, reading johnny’s last message.

he stopped calling about an hour ago- which meant he was probably busy preparing for his show.

“you ready girl?” my sister said making her way into my room. i nodded as i tossed my phone on my bed and faked a smile.

walking out into the backyard, my friends and family cheered as they seen me. i smiled as i received hugs and kisses from everyone. this is just what i needed- to be around people who made me happy, so i could forget about johnny not being here.

“happy birthday, my love.” my mom said with tears in her eyes. “ma, don’t cry.” i said hugging her. “my little baby is all grown up.” she whispered.

i swallowed back tears as i pulled out of the hug. “enjoy your time tonight, okay? this is your day- and i hope you like your surprise.” she stated.

surprise? a car! i thought.

the music played and everyone dance and sang. i was having the time of my life, sweating out my hair from all the fun i was having. an hour went by before my mom came over to pull me aside.

“we’re gunna cut the cake but first- your surprise.” she smiled.

“mom!” i whined. “you didn’t have to get me anything. i told you i didn’t want any gifts.” i laughed. “just follow me.”

leading me over to the dj booth, i smiled at the guy behind the turn tables. he had on sunglasses and this huge bucket hat- along with a mask that covered his mouth.

maybe that was his thing? i thought.

“okay honey, put this on.” my mom said handing me a blind fold. “this is too much already, mom.” i said taking the black cloth. as the soft fabric was tied over my eyes, i folded my arms across my chest.

“alright everyone! it’s time for the surprise. gather around!” my mom shouted.

if i could roll my eyes right now, i would.

suddenly, i felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist. the grip was firm and strong.

what the hell. whoever this was, smelled really good.

i laughed and placed my hands on top of the mystery person’s.

everyone counted to three at the same time- signaling me to remove my blindfold.

upon removing the fabric, i noticed mark, haechan and taeyong standing in front of me.

my jaw dropped as i covered my mouth.

“happy birthday, baby.” i heard johnny’s voice in my ear.

turning my body, i looked up at him- with tears in my eyes.

the dj. he was the fucking dj.

“you jerk!” i shouted as i slapped his chest.

he laughed, trying to catch my hands. “i’m sorry babe!” he said as he pulled me into a hug.

after my shock subsided, johnny pulled me back inside the house and up to my room. he sat on my bed with me in his lap. “i can’t believe you lied to me.” i said playing with the hem of his shirt. “i’m sorry babe-“ he whispered before puckering his lips, asking for a kiss. i politely pushed his chin away, shaking my head and he laughed. “are you refusing my kisses?” he said in a playful tone. i nodded.

johnny tossed me back on the bed and i giggled, wrapping my legs around him as he fell in between my legs. “you know i don’t like it when i can’t get my kisses.” he groaned. pressing his lips against mine, he kissed me softly as he pushed my hands above my head and laced our fingers together.

“at least let me dick you down- it is your birthday after all.” he mumbled against my lips. my breath hitched at his statement. “but everyone is downstairs.” i laughed as i pulled away. “well then, i suggest you keep it down- little missy.” johnny attached his lips to my neck, sucking and biting. i held back a moan, squeezing my eyes shut.

moving his hands, he pushed my dress up to my hips- exposing my underwear. slithering down my body, he ran his index finger over my clit- making me jump a little. “mm, you’re already wet.” he chuckled as he noticed the wet area. johnny quickly ripped off my underwear, discarding them on the floor. he tossed my legs over his shoulder and gripped my hips before flicking his tongue against my sweet spot. i moaned loudly, gripping onto the sheets. he laughed and lifted his head a bit. “baby, shh.”

i groaned from the sunlight hitting my eyes as i slowly opened them.

“good morning, beautiful.” i heard yuta’s voice say.

i snapped my head to the right, noticing his smiling face- as he laid beside me.

he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“what are you doing here?” i said in a tired tone, sitting up. he breathed a laugh then sat up with me, fixing my morning hair. “i didn’t mean to scare you. your mom let me in.” yuta said in a warm tone.

great, thanks mom.

i was actually annoyed that he was in my bed.

“why would you come here?” i snapped. yuta lifted his brows and slightly parted his lips. “um, i wanted to see you?” he said chuckling lightly. “for what?” i said shooting back.

i climbed out of bed, making my way to my bathroom to brush my teeth.

i was still really mad that he didn’t get to make it to my graduation. i know it wasn’t his fault but still-

as i carried on with my morning routine, yuta leaned against the door frame.

“you’re still mad aren’t you?” he said finally breaking the silence.

i looked at him from the mirror and rolled my eyes as i wiped my mouth with the towel. “of course i’m still mad yuta. this was one of my big days and all i wanted was for you to be there. do you know how many christmas’ and birthdays you’ve missed?” my tone was raising a bit. yuta calmly made his way over to me after shutting the door. “listen, i’m sorry. i had all intentions on making it- i really did. but i literally couldn’t do anything about the plane being delayed, babe.” he cupped my cheeks and looked down at me. “can you please just give me some credit for making it here?”

his expression was soft. i could tell he didn’t want to fight. yuta was too exhausted.

we were silent for a moment as we looked at each other.

“i missed you so much.” he whispered, running his thumb across my bottom lip. “i cant remember how long it’s been since i’ve kissed you.” he admitted.

i couldn’t remember either. he was so busy with touring- i felt like he forgot about me.

suddenly, yuta pressed his lips against mine- slowly backing me into the wall. i dropped my towel and wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him closer. his hands caressed my cheeks as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head.

this felt amazing.

his lips were still so soft, just like i remembered.

yuta slowly pulled away after a moment and rested his forehead against mine with his eyes shut.

“i love you-“ he mumbled. “i can’t explain how long i’ve been waiting for that.”

as we both breathed heavily, i craved more from him.

at this point, i didn’t care about being upset anymore. i was finally feeling like he was seeing me, and i wasn’t invisible.

yuta pulled away, slightly bumping into the counter. opening his eyes, he ran his fingers through his hair. i could tell he was trying to control himself. but, i didn’t want him to.

“shower with me.” i whispered.

as we entered underneath the water, i rested my head on yuta’s chest- hugging him tightly. i could hear his heartbeat ever so lightly. his naked body felt so good against mine. i slightly shivered as he ran his palm up and down my back.

looking up at him, i could tell he wanted the same thing. as i pulled away from him a little bit, i took his hand- pushing his fingers in between my legs. our eyes were locked.

he gently navigated around my clit, rubbing in circles. i licked my lips in pleasure.

moments later, he slipped two fingers inside of me- curving his fingers up. taking a deep breath, i wrapped my arms around his neck. i slowly began to grind against his fingers and he smirked a bit.

“babe-“ he whispered. “i won’t be able to stop.” yuta pumped his fingers in a slow pace. “good, i don’t want you to.” i said, pulling him down to kiss me.

this ignited him.

pushing my back into the shower wall, he lifted my leg with his free hand- propping my foot on the edge of the tub. “fuck me-“ i mumbled into the kiss.

[raibebe]

Sugar and Spice

Genre: smut Words: 2.175  Prompt: sugar baby Jeno x older female reader Warnings: semi-public sex, unprotected sex, dominant reader, slightly subby Jeno

A/N: No, I am still not over Lee Jeno, thank you for checking in. This is dedicated to all the anons who said they liked the last Jeno thing...

The last thing you had thought that would happen at your boring company dinner with too many middle aged men making terrible sexist jokes was your boyfriend walking into the same restaurant with his friends. Jeno’s hair was neatly parted and styled away from his forehead and with a smile on your lips you noticed that he was wearing the dark button up you had gifted him the other week. It looked good on him, hugging his arms and shoulders in all the right places. He didn’t seem like he had noticed you, laughing with his friends as they sat down on a table not far from yours, Jeno’s back to you.

An idea began to form in your head on how this evening could take a nice turn and you excused yourself from your coworkers, claiming that a client had called you which only made the drunk men cheer excitedly. Rolling your eyes, you quickly located the bathrooms of the restaurant to slip inside. The stalls weren’t particularly spacious but they had to do. Pulling out your phone, you quickly called Jeno’s number, waiting for him to pick up. “Yes?” He answered and you couldn’t help but smile. “You look good tonight,” you chose to say in lieu of a greeting, “The shirt fits you well.” “Noona?” You hummed lowly as an answer, checking your appearance in the big mirror. “How do you know?” He sounded so confused, god he was cute. You could vividly imagine him looking around the restaurant with big eyes. “Woman’s bathroom around the corner of your table, last stall,” you cryptically said before ending the call and slipping into said stall. The thought alone of Jeno struggling to come up with an excuse for his friends made excitement bubble up inside you.

It hadn’t even been more than a couple of minutes when you heard to door to the bathroom open, hurried steps echoing against the tiles before someone knocked on the door to your stall that you quickly opened, letting a surprised Jeno slip inside, his cheeks tinted an adorable shade of red. “Hey my puppy,” you fondly said, circling your arms around his neck to pull him close to you, his hands quickly finding your waist. “If someone saw me, I will die of embarrassment,” he whined, making you giggle. “I just couldn’t resist seeing you all dolled up like this.” “What are you doing here?” He asked curiously, shivering when you pressed kisses along his sharp jaw. “Hopefully you,” you breathed into his skin. Jeno’s grip around your waist tightened. “We’re in a restaurant, we can’t.” “No one will notice if you can stay quiet.” “My friends will miss me in a bit,” he argued but titled his neck back so you had more pale skin to run your teeth along.   “We’ll be quick,” you promised, letting your hands run down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. “I- I can meet you at your apartment after our dinner,” Jeno stuttered, his breath catching in his throat when your fingers had ghosted over his sensitive pecs. “But why wait when you can have me now?” You whispered, gently palming him over the fabric of his slacks, causing him to softly moan. “No teasing, I’ll let you fuck me,” you promised. “Ri- Right here?” “Right here puppy,” you chuckled and quickly unbuckled his belt. “Someone could walk in.” “Doesn’t that make it even more exciting?”

The whimper that left Jeno’s lips was enough of an answer for you and you quickly pressed your lips together in a filthy kiss to swallow his moans as you worked his pants open to pull out his already half hard cock. “You’re into this,” you chuckled against his swollen lips while working him to full hardness. “You promised you wouldn’t tease,” Jeno whined, biting down on his plush lower lip to stop himself from moaning. “You’re just too cute, I can’t help myself.”

“I’m not cute,” he pouted. “Sure, puppy,” you grinned, giving his by now fully hard cock a firm squeeze that had him hiss. “How,” he gulped when his voice broke, “How are we gonna do this?” “You got any condoms with you?” “Why would I bring condoms to a dinner with my friends?” Jeno asked, his eyes wide. “Always be prepared, puppy,” you just winked before pressing a last kiss to his lips. “Just don’t cum inside me, I can’t have your cum leaking out of me for the rest of this dinner,” you breathed against his lips, the image making Jeno groan deep in his chest. “What if I can’t control myself?” He asked lowly while his hands were already raking up your skirt. “I know you can. You are my good puppy after all,” you growled, grabbing a fistful of the hair at his nape to force his head back, letting your teeth scrape over his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Turn... Turn around,” Jeno said, his voice shaking.

“Come on, puppy,” you sighed, doing as he had suggested and leaned against the opposite wall, the stone cold against your arms as you arched your back for him. Considerate as always, he quickly rubbed your clit through the flimsy fabric of your lacy underwear before he unceremoniously hooked it to the side to expose your glistening core to him.

“I’m not the only one who’s into this,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t have called you here if I wasn’t,” you chuckled but were cut off when he chose that moment to nudge your entrance with the head of his cock, turning your chuckle into a content purr as he slid home on one smooth thrust, filling you up just right. “Fuck me, puppy,” you whispered and swayed your hips, slowly grinding back against Jeno who cursed lowly before his hands found their home on your hips to grip them tightly. He slowly pulled his hips back to harshly snap them forward again, the sound of your skin slapping together resonating loud in the empty bathroom. Humming contently you let him fuck you with hard but deep strokes, biting your lower lip to keep your voice down.

Jeno himself was panting lowly into your ear, the speed of his thrusts getting faster and faster and his grip on your hips turning bruising. You could tell he was getting close to his orgasm with how close he was pressing his body against yours, wrapping his arms around your middle to press your bodies flush together, changing the angle of his thrusts that had turned almost erratic which made you see stars. You let your head fall back against his shoulder to see his blissed out expression: His eyes blown wide and pink lips parted. “Feels so good,” he mewled, hooking one of your legs over his arm so he could get more leverage. Moans were starting to spill past his lips and he screwed his eyes shut with effort to be quiet.

Just when you were about to reach down to rub your clit so you could join Jeno, you heard the door of the bathroom open, heels of whoever entered clicking on the stone floor. You quickly grabbed Jeno’s biceps, burying your fingernails into the hard flesh to get his attention. “Quiet now, puppy,” you hissed and he immediately froze, his eyes wide in panic. A mischievous grin spread on your lips when you watched his expression change into one of a mixture of anger and concentration when you started to grind back against him. “No one told you to stop though,” you whispered and clenched down around his cock. “She’ll hear us,” he hissed but didn’t stop you from using what little leverage you had to fuck yourself on his cock, the squelching of your sex sounding way too loud in his ears. “Not when you’re quiet. We’re on a time limit here,” you breathed. “Let me kiss you.”

Twisting your neck in an almost painful angle, you let Jeno press your lips together in a messy tangle of tongues before he started thrusting his hips again in fast and short snaps that had your eyes rolling back in your head. Clinging to each other, you muffled your moans and mewls of pleasure against his lips. “I’m close,” you mumbled when you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, quickly swallowing the mewl Jeno let out with another kiss. The sound of the woman’s heel against the tiled floor let Jeno freeze again for a moment and you couldn’t help the little chuckle that left your lips at his startled expression that only relaxed when the door fell back into its lock. “Forgot that she was still here?” You giggled.

“Shut up,” he whined and resumed with his punishing pace, punching all air from your lungs with the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping on skin now resonating loud in the room. “So close,” you mewled, screwing your eyes shut as you felt your orgasm creep up on you again, “Don’t stop, Jeno.” “I’m gonna cum,” he whined, his thrusts loosing any sort of rhythm. “Just a little more,” you moaned, losing yourself in the pleasure that he brought you until it spilled over and your vision went white as your orgasm crashed over you, making you twitch and shiver in Jeno’s strong hold.

When you came back to, pleasure still lowly thrumming beneath your skin, you heard Jeno whimper behind you, his face buried in your neck. “Oh puppy,” you sighed, reaching behind to stroke his slightly damp hair. “-m sorry,” he mumbled, letting his softening cock slip from your core. You instinctively clenched around nothing when you felt his cum seep from your entrance. “Hmmm, baby,” you cooed, turning around to tenderly cup his face before pressing a kiss to his lips. “It’s okay. I know you’re going to make it up to me next time. Right?” “Yes,” Jeno hiccupped, catching your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Let’s get you to look presentable again,” you giggled, running your hands through Jeno’s hair to tame the strands while he quickly tucked his cock away and buttoned his pants back up. “I’m sorry,” he spoke lowly, capturing your lips in a kiss so tender it made your stomach flip. You playfully bit his lower lip before the feeling was becoming too overwhelming. “Friday evening at my place?” You rasped. “I’ll be there,” he promised, kissing you a last time before quickly slipping from the stall and out of the bathroom.

You giggled and shook your head before leaning against the cold wall of the stall. This kid... Jeno was really growing on you but you were sure no one was able to resist his cute smile and bubbly persona once you broke through his shell. Sighing, you quickly cleaned up most of the mess you two had made and put your clothes back in order, only slightly cringing at the thought of ruining your lace panties with his cum. After quickly checking your appearance in the mirror and deeming it presentable enough for your already drunk coworkers, you took a deep breath and exited the bathroom.

Instead of going straight back to the table your colleges still sat at, you went over to the little bar area to wave over one of the waiters. “Would you be so kind and bring the boys over there a bottle of that nice red wine of yours?” You asked kindly, motioning to the bottle that was on display. “And charge it to my card please.” “Of course ma’am,” the server smiled politely. “Thank you,” you smiled back and went back over to your own table, watching intently where Jeno’s friends were obviously mocking him for whatever excuse me had come up with.

Their banter was only interrupted when the waiter you had talked to before went over to their table with the bottle of wine, explaining that a lady had asked him to bring it over. The boys hollered loudly and clapped Jeno on his back as the waiter filled their glasses while you could see Jeno’s whole neck turning a bright red shade. He hadn’t turned around to look at you as to not rise any suspicions. You weren’t sure how much his friends knew about the little arrangement between you but when his blue haired friend looked around the restaurant and caught your eyes, you couldn’t help but lift your own glass of red wine to toast before taking a sip. The boy’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind his bangs for a second before his expression turned smug and he toasted back with his own wine glass.

From: Jen-baby I want that new Balenciaga hoodie I showed you the other day to compensate for the amount of embarrassment you put me through tonight They wouldn’t stop mocking me all night

To: Jen-baby Everything for my baby. It should arrive on your doorstep by tomorrow.

From: Jen-baby No I was joking! Take it back

To: Jen-baby Too late, let me spoil you a little, my puppy.

[holidaywishes]

Back to Sleep

  Requested: 👍

  Summary/Request: Can I request an imagine for Matthew Tkachuk?? Based on “back to sleep” by Chris brown 😍

  Warning: fluffy smut, the tiniest bit of fluff

  Author’s Note: I have a lot of feelings about this request lol. First, I originally thought that this was from the song prompt list but it’s not, which is totally good no sweat but I just had to double check. Second, I’ve never heard this song -- the last song I listened to from Chris Brown was Five Hours with Deorro and that was only because it came on when I was looking for hype music when I was going “clubbing;” remember those days? Yeah, me neither. Anyway, the next feeling is that when I looked up this song, I don’t know what i was expecting but I was expecting a) to find the cover as him with a baby or b) for this song to have the lyrics “fuck you back to sleep” but that’s on me lol. Because of all these feelings, I’m not sure how this imagine will turn out -- I predict it will be relatively short and maybe just completely smut? Yeah, that seems appropriate to me. It’s very, very, short. Shorter than I intended to be honest but it’s all smut so there wasn’t a lot that was going to happen anyway. Enjoy, anon! Thank you everyone for reading the junk that I put out there, it means a lot! Stay golden, loves! <3

  P.S. I think I will have this song stuck in my head for days because of how many times it played on repeat while writing this 😬😬

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

Matthew’s P.O.V

  You thought you’d get back into town earlier but there was a weather warning and the plane couldn’t fly for a couple hours

  “Sorry, babe,” you texted (Y/N) when you realized how late you’d be, “I know I said that we’d hang out tonight but the plane got delayed and we won’t land in Calgary until like 2 am”

  “Maybe I can meet you at your place?” she sent back

  “That would be nice but I’m gonna be really late...”

  “Don’t worry!” you could practically hear her giggle through her screen, “I’ll take a nap now and then head over in an hour. I know where the key is”

  “Okay,” you smiled to yourself, “I’ll see you when I get home”

  “I’ll wait up for you 😉”

  “You don’t have to”

  “I know. I want to. I wanna welcome you home properly”

  “Look forward to it 😜” you put your phone away and dropped your head to the back of your seat. The longer you sat around the airport, waiting for the warning to lift, the more you got increasingly agitated. “Hey do we know anything yet?” you asked Sean and Marky

  “Nope” they both mumbled. It was another two hours before the team even boarded the plane and another 20 minutes after that until the plane actually took off. When you finally got home, it was 3 in the morning and you were hoping that (Y/N) hadn’t waited up for you; walking through the door, you smelled pizza that she must have brought over from her place and warmed up in the oven but you weren’t hungry, you just wanted to get upstairs to sleep.

xx

  You made your way to Matt’s house around midnight, carrying a frozen pizza with you so he had something to eat besides chips or pretzels when he got back. Once the pizza was done, you took a slice for yourself and flipped through Netflix for a while before settling on the Office; if for nothing more than background noise. After a handful of episodes, you looked at the clock and noticed that it was nearly 2am and Matt still wasn’t home, so you started to clean everything up, keeping the pizza out in case he wanted a bite to eat before you made your way upstairs; you couldn’t stop your heavy eyelids from closing and you eventually drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t until you heard shuffling around you that you actually woke up

  “Who’s there?” you whispered, hoping that it was just your boyfriend but fearing the worst

  “Sorry baby,” Matt returned, “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep”

  “I’m awake. I was awake” you lied

  “No you weren’t” he laughed

  “I’m awake now” you giggled before getting onto your knees and making your way down to kiss his neck as he sat at the foot of the bed

  “Go back to sleep, (Y/N)” he whispered

  “No,” you smirked, kissing his ear in the process, “I wanna welcome you home. I haven’t seen you in sooo long”

  “We’ve both got early mornings tomorrow” he smiled

  “I can’t sleep now,” you whined, “you’re here and you look so handsome with your hair all tousled like that” your hands roamed around his waist to undo his belt, letting your lips glide across his skin until he turned his head around, giving you the lustful look that always started a fire in your stomach. He smirked before moving his finger underneath your chin, bringing your lips to his so he could kiss you slowly, your hands still stationed on his waist until the kiss got too intense and he turned around, pushing you back against the mattress; pulling away to grin at your neediness and trace his fingers down your body

  “I love your skin,” he whispered and you giggled, “I love your body”

  “Mmm” you hummed as he began kissing your collarbones, his hand finding its way into your panties as his fingers hesitated over your clit

  “Relax, baby” he hummed back, his free hand pinning your body down by your chest and you took a deep exhale, “let me take over”

  “Matty...” you whispered before seeing him looking up at you, smirking at you and, as if by mind control, you dropped your head back onto the mattress while his fingers quickly pumped and curled inside of you. “Oh god,” you moaned, “oh fuck, Matt, shit” his ministrations were quick and you reached your first orgasm faster than you expected. He hovered back over you, kissing your nose before you pushed off his pants with your feet, laughing when you both forgot that he hadn’t taken his shoes off

  “Oops” he chuckled, quickly sitting up and throwing off his shoes before you pulled him back to you, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss

  “Fuck” you cried out as he thrust into you without warning, the bed beginning to squeak as his speed increased, “slow down, baby, fuck” you were already breathless when you forced him onto his back and began to ride his length, slowing down the pace enough for both of you to feel pleasure

  “Shit,” he growled, “baby you look so good riding me”

  “Mmmm, fuck Matt” you whimpered

  “Fuck”

  “Fuck” you repeated back to him, his hands gripping your hips to quicken your pace and you reached your second climax, riding him until you felt his legs shake; he rolled you onto your back and brushed your hair out of your face

  “You’re beautiful” he smiled

  “I love you” you smiled, pecking his lips before he leaned back down

  “I hate that I woke you up”

  “It’s okay, Matt” you giggled

  “Let me fuck you back to sleep, baby” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck as his hand drifted back to your core

  “I’m already exhausted” you joked

  “Then this won’t take long” he teased, circling your clit before you brought your hand to his member, stroking it quickly until he let out a guttural moan

  “Does that feel good baby?” you moaned

  “Fuck baby” he panted before you lined him up with your entrance, letting him ram his hips into yours. It didn’t take long before he was trembling above you

  “Ready to sleep now baby?”

  “No” he said breathlessly

  “What?” you chuckled

  “I was supposed to fuck you back to sleep, this wasn’t supposed to be the other way around...”

  “You did, babe,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I’m ready to sleep, I’m ready to cuddle”

  “Okay one sec” he said quickly, jumping up to grab a damp cloth before coming back into the room. He cleaned you up and got you a spare set of PJ’s before hopping under the covers and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you” he whispered close to your ear

  “I love you, too” you smiled to yourself

  “Can we do this every time? I like you riding me,” he laughed, “gives me a bit of a rest”

  “How about we trade it up. Sometimes, I’m on top, other times, you’re on top. How about that?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

[scuttle-buttle]

WC: 1973

Rated: E

Tags: technically unprotected smut, fluff, tiny bit of german

✈

“Have you checked the gauges?”

“Yes, Niki,” you huff at his question through your microphone. This was at least the third time he’d asked you to go over everything.

“What about fuel?”

You point to the little meter that showed the tank levels. “Still full.” Your husband turns to face you in the cockpit of the small plane. The look he gives you is one of false annoyance. You know he’s just doing this to be as safe as possible, to minimize risk. “Sorry, sorry,” you offer him a guilty grin. Your husband’s brow cocks before he turns back to the dashboard panel.

His little private jet only held capacity for maybe 8 people total, but today it was just you and your husband. He always said he would teach you how to fly but you never figured that you would be brave enough to follow through with learning. Now here you sit, engine purring under you, a pair of thick headphones over your ears. For the first time Niki was going to let you handle your flight - all of it. Of course, he still had the ability to use the controls on his side of the small cabin, but he made it clear that he would only do so in case of a serious emergency.

“Everything has been checked over and ready for flight,” you confirm.

He tilts his head to offer you a smile. “Gut. When you are ready, Liebling.”

Taking a deep breath, you open up the radio communication line with the air traffic control tower. You recite the technical jargon that Niki had taught you. “This is Lauda 1 requesting clearance for taxi and take off on runway B, north side, over.”

Static comes over the line for a second. “Lauda 1 you are cleared to taxi and take off from runway B, north side, over.”

You release the brakes before pushing the throttle the faintest amount. With one hand on the yoke and the other on the lever you slowly guide the plane towards the runway. It had taken a good six months of Niki being annoyed at you calling it a ‘steering wheel’ before you finally called it by its proper term.

You lined the nose of the plane up with the lines on the runway tarmac. Once you are satisfied with your positioning you pause to let the turbines rev and build up power. With a swallow you lean towards Niki. “You won’t let me fuck this up and kill us both, right?”

“Of course not. But you don’t need to worry about that, you will be fine, Liebe. I know it.” He’s relaxed next to you, as though he’s at home sitting on the couch reading one of his racing magazines.

“If you say so. I love my brother but I’ll be damned if James gets custody of the girls,” you snark with a laugh, all while releasing the brake and pushing the throttle again. Niki’s own snort can be heard over your radio headset.

The plane accelerates under your guidance. You maintain a firm but steady grip on the controls; finally you push the thrust lever all the way. The small aircraft wobbles with friction as it speeds down the track. Suddenly, the front lifts, giving a weightless calm as the nose begins to ascend into the air.

Once you have gotten far enough off the ground you flip the switch to raise the landing gear. Niki has been silent letting you work the last five minutes or so. Over the crackle of your headsets he instructs you “that was very good. Now get us to cruising altitude.”

“Yes, sir,” you acknowledge with a mock salute.

This is by no means the first time you have been in a plane, let alone flying a plane, with your husband. But it is the first time that it is you truly flying. As you travel you admire the view in front of you. It felt like you were seeing the clouds and the sunshine for the first time. The blue nearly overwhelmed you with its vibrancy. You couldn’t help but bite your lip to hold back the way your cheeks threatened to split with how hard you were beaming. Every so often you remember to check back on the gauges and meters to ensure that everything is working properly.

You don’t notice how your husband watches you from the seat beside yours. He admires your confidence at the new skill, completing the tasks with ease. He admires how bright your eyes are, lit by happiness and the light of the sky outside the windows. He admires the fact that even after close to fifteen years of marriage you still humor him and his passions.

When you finally break away from the view to look over at Niki he’s already got his eyes on you. His bottom lip is caught in his teeth. “What?” He raises his brows in question at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Can I not look at my meine schöne Frau?” he teases you. Even after so many years you still feel the heat rise in your cheeks when he calls you beautiful. “You look good flying my plane. You should do it more often.” Both of your hands remain on the yoke; his hand comes to rest on your thigh, giving you a little squeeze. He leaves it there the rest of the flight.

After maybe an hour or two you have circled the jet back towards the airport. Calling in, you get clearance to land on the same runway you had departed from. Carefully you lower the plane’s altitude to prepare for landing. Flipping the switch, you can just hear the grind of the wheels as they lower.

“The trick here is-”

“You want to line the stripes on the runway next to the nose visually, otherwise it’ll be crooked and I’ll go off the tarmac,” you finish for him.

He chuckles. “See, I don’t even know why I’m here. You don’t need me.”

“Of course I need you, I always need you, Niki.”

He lets you focus as you pull back on the throttle and slow your speed, further lowering to the ground. You line up just as he taught you with the painted runway up ahead. Gently you touch down, the plane jolts as it makes contact. You brake the jet to an acceptable speed to taxi. Adrenaline courses through you. I just flew a plane! you cheer to yourself.

Once the vehicle is parked within the hangar you shut off the engine. Quickly you leave the cockpit to stretch your legs in the spacious passenger cabin. Turning to your husband, your jaw is dropped. “Is this what it feels like? Every time you drove the car? Christ, Niki, I feel like I could do anything! The absolute rush!” Niki has come up behind you, so you face him before bringing his lips to meet your own.

The kiss is full of passion and energy. It deepens as you stand there in the middle of the cabin. You push him away and down into a couch-like seat. He grunts in surprise when you forcibly yank his pants from his hips. When they are to his knees you give up in favor of pulling off your own. Niki wastes no time in tugging you back to him, his mismatched lips attaching themselves to the column of your throat. You, in turn, drag your heat along his hardening shaft. When he is ready you push his cock inside your throbbing core with a groan.

Breathily, you ask “why have we never done this before now?”

His mouth moves away from your jaw to meet your gaze. “Fucked on a plane? I didn’t know you wanted to,” he huffs in amusement.

You start to push and pull your hips at a dizzying pace above him. With each pump the ridge of his cock hits you perfectly. Niki tosses his head back in pleasure, a long moan tumbling out as your walls squeeze him. His hands help to guide your hips as you ride him. “They don’t call it joining the Mile High Club for nothing, love.”

“Not sure-” he grunts at a particularly hard snap of your pelvis “-this counts.”

You shove your fingers between his curls, a bit shorter and a few streaks of silver lining near his temples, and pull his head to rest against yours. “Are you complaining?” you breathe out along his lips. Never once does your pace falter. Instead of answering he gives you a bruising kiss.

It isn’t long before his thumb finds your center, rubbing harsh patterns against your aching clit. He knows exactly how to toss you into the abyss; exactly when you are near shattering. Within seconds you are shouting out his name, clenching around his still-pistoning cock. His own cries of bliss come shortly after.

Resting atop him, Niki rubs his fingers along your clothed back. You hum into his throat where your head lays. “You did so well today, Liebling. I’m very proud of you. Pretty soon you’ll be a better pilot than me.”

You smile into him. “Bullshit,” you laugh. “Me compared to the great Niki Lauda? Impossible.” You pinch the softness of his side.

He gives a laugh of his own, his chest rising with the action. “You never know, could surprise us all.”

You roll your head onto his shoulder to be able to look up at him better. “Mmm, but with you I’ve always known.”

Niki drops a sweet kiss to you. His expression is delicate as he peers down at where you sit atop him. He scrunches his nose as he tells you “I think I knew first. I know I did.”

You study his face for a moment. His tone is confident, like there’s no way he could possibly be wrong about when you first got together so many years ago. You know that the moment for you was pretty early, before you officially even went on your first date. Curiosity wins out. “Oh really?” You sit up on his lap. “And when was that, since you’re so sure?”

“I asked if you would rather go with Hunt than come see me at Ferrari. You nearly jumped out of your skin with how hard you cringed at the idea of him.”

You’re shocked by his confession. “Alright but he’s my brother,” you groan and laugh at the same time, “and…” you think back to that day, “wasn’t that maybe five minutes after we’d met?”

“Yes, but I did not know that at the time. I thought, ‘hmm, an attractive woman that doesn’t want to sleep with that arschloch but instead visit me at the track? She’s someone special’. And I wasn’t wrong.” He brushes a thumb on the skin of your cheek.

“You know, you always tell me that you aren’t good at these things. Romance and the like.” You look up at him from under your lashes.

“And?”

“That was such a lie, Niki. You’re always so sweet to me.”

“Only you, Liebe.”

The two of you right yourselves to leave the airport for the day. The sky is clear as you walk to his car parked outside the hangar. Reaching out, you find your husband’s hand and hold it tight. “So, when can we do this again?”

He turns to face you from where he stands next to you. “That eager for more already?”

“It’s addicting, Lauda,” you shoot back playfully. So many times since you met he had described the drive or flying as addicting. To be faster, to be better, to go harder.

Niki stops suddenly, lips pursing. “Just to be clear, are you talking about flying or the sex?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you wink.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze

@loliissmut @fandom-princess-forevermore

[cobaincreates]

eyes on fire

warnings: angst, smut, 18+

count: 9k+

i went ham on this because i personally needed it & yeah. wow look i actually posted something!!! love that for me & you if you enjoy this. feedback wouldn’t hurt love ya :)

listen to this

not my pic— but like imagine him with tHAT hair & fake blood on his face???? cya!

— — —

“woah, woah, wait…you’re telling me you didn’t cry at the thirteenth year?” you asked incredulously, trying not to run the car off the road. you saw the quick shake of the head of the person sitting beside you and tried not to gape. “ryan, we were together for a year and you’re just now telling me that you, not only lied to me, but that you did not cry at the thirteenth year?”

“why is that so shocking? it’s a cheesy movie.” ryan shrugged, lifting his hips in his seat to put his phone back in his pocket.

you rubbed your eyebrow exasperatedly. of course one of the single times you had recommended a movie to him— and he didn’t cry. you couldn’t believe it. “he gets to go back to his mother! how can you not shed a few tears?”

“i don’t know what you want me to say.” he laughed, annoyed.

“you have no heart.” you shook your head and turned your blinker on.

“you already knew that from dating me.” ryan poked you in the side, making your body jerk as you took the turn. “otherwise, you’d still be up my ass.”

“i think you’re mistaken. it was you who was up my ass.” you pointed between the two of you, keeping your eyes on the road.

ryan scrunched his face up and you caught a glance at it, giggling to yourself. it was so easy to mess with each other, even after breaking up. you were glad of that though since ryan was one of your best friends.

college was weird for anybody, especially someone like you who moved all the way across the country to go. california was like a fever dream now that you were back home, on an island. it was only for the weekend since that was about all you could take. it was halloween, although you hadn’t realized until ryan reminded you while on the plane.

now here you were, heading to a halloween party with ryan where he would inevitably meet your friends and people you went to high school with. it wasn’t that you were dreading it, you just had the idea of staying in for the night. especially a night like halloween when you could’ve handed out candy. as if ryan would want to do that in a new place.

“i swear if you throw up on my shoes this year, i’m removing you from my life.” ryan said as he shifted in his seat.

you flashed at another car to go before pressing down on the pedal. “i don’t think i’ll be drinking and driving this time. just don’t puke on my shoes otherwise you’ll be stranded.”

“i knew i shouldn’t have come with you, knowing that you would willingly leave me stranded on a fuckin’ island.”

“don’t test me, ry.” you sang just as you slowed the car along the crowded street. a couple of people dressed up walked in between the car in front of you and yours, heading toward the lively house.

multicolored lights lit up the windows and the outside of the house, the front room bathed in a deep red. you started to feel excitement bubble up in your stomach as you and ryan unfastened your seatbelts. a handful of trick or treaters passed on the walkway, some running around to scare others. you smiled to yourself as you put your car key in your pocket.

ryan’s arm settled around your shoulders as you walked up the driveway, a cool ocean breeze brushing over your face. this was something ryan still continued to do even though you had been broken up for months. it comforted you to know he was still just as protective of you as you were of him. it sort of became an unspoken pact of yours to just keep each other safe at parties or whenever you went out with friends back at school.

“i think we’re a bit underdressed.” ryan’s arm tightened around your neck, pulling you close so he could talk into your ear.

“only a little.” you hummed as you passed multiple people outside who all wore costumes. some zombies, some witches, a clown, even a whoopie cushion. at least you hadn’t come as that.

once inside, ryan’s arm slipped away from you as you both scanned the area. ryan was just curious while you were looking for your friends. the house was big so they’d be anywhere. the voices were much louder than the music, but you could still hear the halloween playlist playing. you stepped out of the way a couple times in the crowded entryway and eventually took ryan’s hand to bring him into the kitchen.

“y/n!” you heard and turned around to find ally, dressed as the infamous annie.

“you look ridiculous,” you laughed, ruffling her red wig and pulling her in for a hug.

“i always commit, don’t i?” she grinned before looking beside you at ryan. “hey! it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

they exchanged a quick hug, ally having seen ryan plenty of times through a phone screen. it was odd seeing them in the same room, right in front of you, but you smiled nonetheless.

“come with me! everyone else is in the front room.” she grabbed ahold of your hand quickly and started to pull you out of the room.

ryan touched your shoulder, making you and ally stop. “i have to pee.” he said, looking from you to ally in question.

“right over there.” ally said, pointing to your left. you could see down the hall that a few people were waiting, leaning against the wall.

moments later you were in your small alcove of friends, checking up on small talk and whatnot. ally was talking in your ear about some gossip in town and you really were listening, but also wondering if ryan would find his way to you or vice versa. your eyes scanned the room curiously, deciphering everyone’s outfits and costumes. you sort of loved halloween for that prospect, getting to be someone else. or something else— you supposed some people just really wanted to be a shark at times.

“she totally snubbed her!” ally said.

“are they talking anymore?” you asked, trying your best to continue the conversation.

“i haven’t heard anything, but the last time i saw them they were totally going at it!” her excitement grew drastically. her hand came down over your wrist. “i think she was saying...”

you were nodding along to ally’s reenactment, her words coming a thousand miles a minute. you completely lost track of what she was saying as you looked across the room at rafe cameron. without even thinking about it, your stomach twisted up and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. maybe there was too many people in the house.

rafe was tilting a bottle against his lips, head leaned back on the wall. he seemed to fit into the empty space beside a large entertainment area, but looked like he didn’t belong at the same time. he was staring right back at you, which in return only made your pulse quicken and your blood run hotter. from what you could tell from his costume, he had fake blood around his mouth that dripped onto a fine pressed white t-shirt. the fabric molded to his chest nicely and you swore you blacked out because the next moment, you saw ally peering at you.

“what?”

a shit-eating grin spread across her face. “you weren’t even listening, were you?”

“i was,” you said abruptly. you were glad of the red lighting as you felt the tips of your ears warm up. “the beginning anyways.”

ally laughed and nudged your side. “i get it, rafe cameron is much more interesting to pay attention to.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

ally gave you a knowing smile, peering past your shoulder. “come on, let’s go find ryan. you know how these people can easily swallow him up.” her hand grabbed yours again, pulling you directly through the crowd and in the same direction of where rafe was.

you kept your head down as you pushed through the mass of bodies, willing yourself not to make eye contact with him. it was a little difficult given that you had to pass right by him in order to get into the next room. topper, his best friend, had joined him now and he seemed to be talking into rafe’s ear about something. rafe was looking at you instead as you went by and you let out a big breath once you were by him.

there was no history between you and rafe cameron. absolutely nothing. maybe you had passed a paper to him in high school or were put into a group project with him, but that was it. you had never spoken to the infamous boy one-on-one. in high school, rafe was untouchable and you knew you weren’t even in range of his inner circle, or outer for that matter. frankly, you hadn’t even thought about him until now, seeing him again. growing up around someone like him and his family, you knew all of the stories. rafe was a complete and total heartbreaker.

ryan had managed to make some friends while only being at the party for a total of 20 minutes. really, you weren’t all that surprised seeing as that ryan could make friends with a horse. it was just in his nature to connect with people.

you found him in the entryway, sporting a drink in his hand and talking to a girl you recognized from gym class senior year. you couldn’t put a name to her face, but you gave a subtle wave and found a place on the other side of ryan. without looking at you, he put his drink out and you took a few sips before giving it back to him. ally had gone on her own path once you found him, saying she needed to find someone.

leaning against the wall, you pressed your hands against the cool surface. you didn’t bother listening in on ryan’s conversation, not wanting to intrude just in case he was trying to do more than talk. instead, you people watched, your eyes flitting across the party and the red room. the entryway was a deep blue, coating everything completely. you almost felt like you were in a movie of some sort.

you landed on rafe again, this time he was engaging in conversation with topper. he was off the wall, his finger against topper’s chest as he spoke. you swallowed and looked away just as he started to turn his head. part of you hoped he hadn’t caught you.

without thought, you pushed off the wall and went into the kitchen to finally get a drink. your mind felt like it was going 90 miles an hour and you needed to do something to busy yourself. you couldn’t just be a wallflower and people watch all night.

stirring up some concoction in the kitchen, it wasn’t rocket science to figure out who stepped into the room and came over to you. your stomach twisted up, which was a prime indicator. you kept your eyes on your cup and continued making your drink. it wasn’t like you to ignore someone’s presence, but you wanted to prove to yourself that you could handle it.

“y/n y/l/n.” a wave of shivers went up your shine. you had never heard him say your name before.

“rafe cameron.” you said in return and picked up your cup, taking a sip and turning to look up at him over the rim.

he gave you a smile. “long time, no see. you look good.”

your drink went down the wrong pipe, causing you to cough. rafe only smiled more. you cleared your throat and lowered your drink to your side.

“you look...messy.” you noticed the fake puncture marks on his neck, just under them was a lipstick print. you then looked at his mouth, red as red could be, and your ears warmed.

“what are you supposed to be?” you didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled up and down your body and you could’ve sworn they darkened. the kitchen had the normal yellow lights on, so there was no way any lighting altered his irises.

“didn’t have time to dress up.” you shrugged a shoulder. taking another sip, you kept eye contact with him.

“not even for halloween?” he teased and reached over you for another beer. you didn’t even flinch, watching his face move closer to yours. you stared right up into his eyes and help a gasp in. why was he getting you so flustered?

“i got in later than i thought.” you said simply, now breathing easier as he moved away and opened the beer.

rafe nodded, never once looking away from you. now you knew why some people saw him as intimidating. he looked like he would pounce on you at any second.

the next moment as people chatted and moved around the kitchen, rafe was gesturing with his head toward the entryway. “who’s the guy?”

you looked in the direction he meant and found ryan, smiling big while talking to the girl in front of him. he was leaned over her now and you knew that as a good sign. “ryan,” you told rafe.

“boyfriend?” he asked, and you held back the smile, wondering just why he wanted to know that.

“ex.” you didn’t miss the way he seemed satisfied with that answer, the smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“interesting.” he said and took another sip. he glanced at ryan while you continued looking at him. his hair was disheveled from its usual slicked back look and you kind of liked it better this way. to put it simply, he looked sexy.

“rafe!” you both looked over at topper who was making his way into the room. he pointed over his shoulder, cup in his other hand. “we’re going down to the beach, come on.”

“yeah, i’ll be right there.” he said and turned back to you, smiling again. topper met your eyes once until you looked up at rafe. “come with me?”

you thought about it, nearly saying yes until you remembered ryan. you didn’t want to leave without telling him, but you did want to see what they were doing on the beach.

“you go,” you nodded toward topper. “i’ll see you around.” with that, you turned and secretly hoped that rafe watched you go.

—

a game of flip cup never hurt anybody. you were well under way in your second round, on the opposite team of ryan and totally kicking ass. ally was beside you, currently downing her drink and proceeding to flip the cup perfectly. it was an innocent game that you had practiced back at school and ryan knew it all too well.

“see you on the floor,” you joked with him and held your cup out to him in cheers. his team was slacking, a current senior at your old high school having trouble flipping the cup.

ryan rolled his eyes, impatience seeping into his features. “i’ll be the one picking you up from the floor, y/l/n.”

you laughed while trying to keep all of the liquid in your mouth. you pushed it down swiftly, setting the plastic cup on the edge of the table and pushing up the bottom with one finger. it landed perfectly.

“fuck yes!” you threw your arms up in victory, high-fiving ally next to you. the game had gathered a group of on-lookers and they cheered for your team. ryan sulked.

a breeze blew over your shoulders, the salty smell filling your senses, as you stood outside. the night went on in full swing, the moon high up and the trick-or-treaters still out, wreaking havoc on the town. a fire in the small metal pit burned steadily, but you weren’t too far away to feel the pulsing heat. after this game, you planned on taking a break.

you had acquired a buzz so far, taking it slow so you could enjoy the party. for the most part you were and honestly, the little glances you caught from rafe were adding to it. he wasn’t trying to be sneaky about it at all and you liked that. it didn’t feel like he was following you around the party, but you did see him wherever you went. you supposed that small conversation in the kitchen had stuck with him, oddly.

standing at the table, you didn’t have to look to know where he was. maybe he thought he was being stealthy, standing near the back door, relaxed, hand in his pocket. all it would take was for you to look slightly to the right, but you held back for the sake of your own sanity. his stares had been driving you crazy. all you wanted to know was what the hell he was thinking. you could guess a couple things with the way he smirked or the way his eyes traveled over you, but you pushed those thoughts deep down. this was rafe cameron.

“my god, ryan you suck!” ally teased beside you now. you looked across the table at ryan who was struggling to flip the cup. ally laughed, holding her gut.

“since when can you not flip a cup?” you asked.

“shut the fuck up!” ryan said, trying to focus. you shook your head at him, grinning stupidly. it took him a couple tries before he finally got it and the turn went to someone else. he looked at you, huffing out a big breath.

“that was sad.” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“that was hilarious!” ally said.

“i need a fuckin’ drink.” he sighed.

“don’t quit now! we have to see you lose first.” ally brushed her hair out of her eyes, her annie wig now off and sitting somewhere in the house. just then you caught a glimpse of it through the window, someone trying it on for size. your eyes quickly swept over rafe, still in the same spot.

“i'm not playing anymore games after this.” ryan stated.

“no, come on! you said you’d be on my team for cornhole.” ally whined, the alcohol surely overtaking her senses. she wasn’t usually whiny.

“fuck cornhole.” ryan said just as your team cheered, having won the game. ryan gave you a nod and walked away, heading inside past rafe.

ally caught your attention before rafe could. “i'm freezing. let’s go sit by the fire for a little.”

you happily followed her, licking your lips and still tasting the beer. you both sat down on the cushioned loveseat, ally quickly throwing her legs over your lap. you took them in, setting your hands atop them. the heat was quick to run up your own legs and warmed you up instantly. burrowing yourself further into your sweatshirt, you let your muscles relax.

“i'm not a lightweight, am i?” ally asked.

you looked over at her from the sky, admiring how the fire illumiated the trees. you laughed lightly, patting her shins. “of course not.”

“you fucking liar.” she grinned and kicked your thigh. “i totally am. it’s fine, at least i always have a good time, right?”

“right.” you agreed. “you don’t make a fool of yourself, not at all.”

“shut up.” she laughed. “oh my god, you weren’t there!” she suddenly remembered. “topper had a party at his place a couple months ago and of course, knowing me i willingly went, not having anything else to do nor was my best friend here to entertain me or look out for me…” she eyed you teasingly.

“get on with it.” you rolled your eyes. deep down, you knew ally wasn’t that upset about you being so far away. sure, you had hoped to go to the same school, but she was the only person here who was pushing you to go further away.

“i think i had, maybe, two white claws—”

“oh god.”

ally laughed loudly, her back arching off the couch. “they’re so good! anyways, two in and i start crying about brie larson.”

“what about her?” your body started to shake with laughter even though you had no idea where this was going.

“have you seen her? have you seen that woman? she’s so goddamn beautiful, i can’t cope.” ally said exasperatedly. “it’s not fair that she doesn’t know who i am.”

“maybe someday.” you patted her knee. she started to roll her eyes, but you were quick to stop her. “you never know! crazy shit happens these days.”

ally didn’t say anything, reaching for an itch on her thigh. you looked back up at the sky above and relished in the warmth. suddenly, you felt ally tense up. you lifted your head and looked at her worriedly. she was looking past you and she lifted her legs to sit up.

“crazy shit, indeed. rafe is coming over here. act normal.”

you opened your mouth, no words coming out. she sat up quickly and tidied herself as rafe stopped beside you. you looked up at him, finding that same dumb smile. his fake blood hadn’t even come off yet— what the hell was it?

“hey, rafe.” ally said, way too high pitched.

“hey. mind if i steal y/n for a little?” he brushed his hair back and pointed at you.

“not at all.” ally said too quickly and stood up. “i was just going to get another drink.”

rafe nodded and let her pass. he moved to take her seat beside you as you looked after her, bulging your eyes. she opened her mouth in a fake excited scream, no sound coming out. you swallowed thickly and looked over at rafe. his elbows were perched on his knees, giving you a nice view of his back, muscles tight under his shirt.

“what’s up?” you half-whispered, getting your voice back.

he smiled at you, slightly turning into a smirk. “i was just wondering if you wanted to play a game of beer pong with me. top’s almost finished with his game.” he gestured to the kitchen inside where you could see the boy in question’s arms shoot up as he cheered.

“what’s the catch?” you asked, looking back over at him. why would rafe cameron ask you, specifically, to play a game of beer pong with him if there wasn’t a catch?

“does there have to be one?” he inquired, lifting a brow.

“with you, yes.” you said confidently, not having a clue where it came from. you had never talked to him this way— or ever, you reminded yourself.

rafe stared at you incredulously then let out a small laugh. he breathed in, glancing at the fire. you watched the side of his face, seeing how the fire flickered over his features and showed off how smooth his clean-shaven cheek looked. you wondered what it felt like.

before you could wonder anything else, he looked back over at you. the smile was partially gone, all teasing now. “if i win…you come down to the beach with me.”

you searched his face, a heavy feeling pooling in the bottom of your stomach. you shivered slightly and sat up to be a bit closer to him. his eyes followed you carefully. “and if i win?” the confidence came easier now.

you didn’t miss the slight lean he made toward you, the fire catching in his eye. “name your terms.”

you didn’t once look away as you thought about something you could get, had you won the little game. it took a lot in you not to let your eyes stray further down his face, no matter how distracting the fake blood was. you had never had such intense eye contact with anyone and if you had been thinking about it, you knew you would surely look away. now, experiencing it, you didn’t feel the nervousness or desire to look away.

“hm,” you hummed, willing yourself not to press your lips together once he let his eyes flicker down to them. “if i win you give me a piggyback ride to the beach.”

it struck you then just how beautiful his smile really was. the way his eyes lit up, crinkled a little. he laughed and nodded. “deal.”

—

“i know i won, very fairly might i add, but i am sorry for completely wrecking you in that game.” rafe said.

“god, it’s like your ego grew ten times bigger.” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest to warm up from the breeze. it picked up much more as you grew closer to the beach. the waves were loud as you anticipated feeling the sand on your now bare feet, your shoes left on the back patio. it was cold once you reached it.

you stopped a ways away from the water, closing your eyes for a moment. you missed this, you missed the wind, the smell, the sand. you could see a flash of memories across your eyelids, days spent at this very beach, sand getting in places it shouldn’t, and building monster sandcastles with your family. sure, california had beaches too, but nothing like the ones at home.

when you opened your eyes, you couldn’t see rafe in your peripheral view. you turned, finding him standing a few feet from you, his hands in his pockets. he smiled softly and gestured with his head. “you want to walk?”

“is that what you brought me down here for? a walk?” you said, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

“well, it’s much too cold to swim, unless you like getting hypothermia.”

“shared body heat prevents that, you know.” you turned back around, watching the water reach the sand and smiling to yourself at your remark. you hugged yourself tighter against the wind and took a seat on the sand, pulling your legs to your chest.

rafe appeared next to you a moment later as he sat. you didn’t look over at him or say anything, not knowing what exactly to say. you had a faint idea of why he wanted to be alone here, it was partially secluded, and dark enough to see the person in front of you. you wondered what he was thinking.

“back in high school i used to think i'd never get off this island. but being back now, i don’t want to leave.” you said, unsure of what it was that made you do so.

“i still haven’t left.” rafe said, laughing to himself. “at this point, it seems like i never will.”

your eyebrows furrowed and you looked over at him. “what do you want to do? with your life?”

he met your eyes, then looked back at the water and shrugged. letting out a breath, he threw a bit of sand in front of him. “no clue. i think i just need to get out and go somewhere for a little while. maybe that will help me figure it out.”

“i'm sure you will.” you said. “sometimes, that’s all it takes, is leaving. hell, if i didn’t leave and go to california, i wouldn’t have realized how much this place is in me. like, i'm meant to be here, you know?”

rafe fumbled with the sand in front of his crossed legs, then brushed it off on his pants. you watched him for a moment then looked the opposite way, biting your lip. your stomach was twisting again.

“how come we didn’t talk in high school?”

you forced yourself to blink a few times, questioning reality and if he actually asked that. you looked at him, confused and accusatory. “you never gave me the time of day.”

“so it’s all on me?” he laughed, giving you an odd look now.

“well, no. actually yes!” you said rather harshly. “you were the king, rafe cameron. i mean, not much has probably changed since i've been gone so you probably still are.”

“what does that mean?” he questioned.

“it means,” you sighed, becoming frustrated. “that everyone flocks to your beck and call. i certainly had no desire to do so back then, no matter how popular you were.”

“popularity doesn’t mean anything.”

“well, it certainly did to you, otherwise maybe we would’ve been friends.” you chided. he looked away from you, quite shocked at your words. you wanted to roll your eyes, of course he hadn’t changed since high school. he still expected everyone to fall on their knees for him.

you both sat in silence for a few minutes. the energy had changed and you wondered if you ruined the night. then again, why would it matter if you did? you were going back to california in a couple days anyways and you probably would forget all about this. but it still bugged you.

“what’s so different now?” you asked, the wind howling.

“what do you mean?” he asked, less annoyed. his features were smoother, now genuine curiosity in his eyes as you looked at him.

you gave him a look, one to say that he should know better. “sure seems like you’re interested.”

“what makes you think that?” he squinted, teasing. you were glad of this change.

“oh, i don’t know…you did a lot of staring.”

“so did you.”

you bit the inside of your lip, trying not to smirk. “why, i have no idea.” you said quietly to yourself, but rafe had heard you loud and clear over the wind.

you sighed to yourself and stood up, brushing the sand from your bottom. rafe looked up at you curiously and almost sadly. you looked back at the house, very much alive.

“i should go check up on ryan.”

—

ryan’s arm hung loosely over your shoulders, your body shaking with his as he laughed. he seemed to be getting on really well with complete strangers. you were happy for him.

if a stranger walked in right now, saw you sitting on the couch, surrounded by laughing friends and people you knew of, they would probably wonder why you looked like you didn’t want to be there. to be frank, you looked completely miserable. you were completely detached from reality, going over and over in your head the conversation you had with rafe on the beach. it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet, and you were now begging the question, when are we leaving?

“did you want to leave soon?” you asked ryan when he looked over at you, smiling happily. you bit the inside of your lip, scolding yourself for even asking the question when he looked so elated.

“i'm alright.” he shrugged. “are you not having fun?”

the conversation still went on without him, it now feeling as if it was just the two of you. you shook your head quickly and put on a subtle smile. “no, no, i'm okay. just checking with you.”

“okay,” he nodded and squeezed you against him.

you let the smile slowly disappear once he engaged back with everyone else. you looked down at your lap, playing with your fingers. maybe you should find ally, you were sure she was doing something fun and time-consuming. that’s what you needed, was something to do to pass the time until ryan wanted to leave.

placing a hand on his knee to push you up, you told him you were going to find ally. he gave you a nod, taking a sip from his cup. you excused yourself past some people and started to look around for ally in each room. you didn’t spot her inside after a few minutes of looking so you wandered outside, maybe she had fallen asleep near the firepit. when you didn’t see her, you figured she was down at the beach. you could hear some distance screams of joy and laughter from that direction and could immediately imagine ally running around crazily.

giving up on your search for now, you took a seat at the fire again. you leaned close to it, watching the flames move. picking up the poker beside the sofa, you poked and prodded at the charring wood, sending little embers floating up. you watched as they disappeared, looking as if they would join the stars in the sky.

you weren’t sure how much time passed as you lost yourself in staring into the fire and feeling its radiating warmth on your cheeks. before you knew it, rafe sat down next to you.

you snorted. “you again? it’s like you’re obsessed with me now.”

“i came to get warm, i don’t know what you’re talking about.” rafe said, holding his palms out to soak it in.

“sure,” you hummed with a nod.

“you have a nice smile.”

you stared back at rafe, the smile in question dropping. speculation brewed in your mind.

“you’re staring again.” he said, the corner of his lips curving upward.

“what do you want from me, rafe?” you asked.

his smile dissipated as well before reappearing, trying to lessen the tension growing. “do i have—?”

“just be honest with me.” you interrupted. you were growing impatient and you could feel yourself starting to close up. no matter how much you enjoyed that lustful feeling for him all night, you wanted answers. “tell me what you want.”

never had you seen rafe cameron at a loss for words. it only boosted your confidence and you held the teasing giggle down. you never broke eye contact as he opened his mouth, searching for words. you raised your eyebrows at him, waiting.

“do you want to fuck me? is that it?” you prompted.

rafe swallowed very noticeably, the fire catching on his adam’s apple. “you don’t seem the type to be so straight forward.” he said as you put the fire poker down and turned to him, leaning over on your arm.

“you barely know me, remember?” your confidence was coming back as you placed your hand on rafe’s mid-thigh. he looked down at it then back up at you in surprise, his mouth ajar. you didn’t try to hide looking at it now as your heart raced.

“i've been wanting your mouth all night, rafe cameron.” you licked your own lips hungrily, your pulse picking up. you moved your hand to his face, feeling the smoothness you so craved to feel earlier in the same spot. you ran your thumb over his lips, gauging his reaction.

“fuck.” as if he hadn’t been wrapped around your finger before, he certainly was now. his hand appeared on your thigh, moving up to your waist to pull you closer.

your lips met suddenly, catching rafe off guard as his hand went to your face, holding it steady against his own. you instantly tasted the corn syrup of the fake blood coating his lips. you didn’t particularly enjoy the taste, but you liked the taste of him. he groaned at the contact of your tongue, opening his mouth for you to tangle with his. his jaw was strong in your hand, his skin soft. his thumb brushed your cheek roughly, trying to pull you closer. you smiled against him and pulled back in competition.

“y/n?” you pulled away abruptly from rafe, looking over your shoulder at ryan. you tried to steady your breathing as he awkwardly looked from you to rafe. “uh, ally is inside and she kinda hurt herself.”

of course, you thought. you licked your lips, your heartbeat pulsing under the surface of the sensitive skin. you felt rafe’s hands slip away as you stood up and started to follow ryan inside. you didn’t look back in fear of running back to jump his bones.

“who was that?” ryan whispered to you, not yet through the back door. “sorry i interrupted such a good moment.” he laughed.

“shut up,” you elbowed him and walked inside.

ally was sat in the kitchen, bleeding from her leg. you quickly aided her, inquiring what happened and what she did to be such a klutz. apparently, she thought it would be a good idea to live up to her dancer dreams and get up on the counter. obviously, it didn’t end well.

“totally worth it.” she slurred. you shook your head with a smile as you cleaned her up on the bathroom floor.

you wiped the blood off her skin, throwing the toilet paper in the waste bin next to you. rummaging for band aids as she drunkenly yapped on about her endeavor, you pulled the plastic wrappers off one by one and applied them to the long cut on her leg.

“i think you’re down for the count tonight,” you told her, smoothing the band aid down.

“okay, mom.” she dramatized, making a snide face at you with her eyelids closed.

“you can’t even keep your eyes open, dude. you’re done.” you laughed and helped her up. “good thing you live here.”

pulling her arm around your shoulders, you left the bathroom and brought her upstairs. her bedroom door was closed, along with all of the rooms, and thankfully no one was inside. you pulled her shoes off and didn’t bother with her dress.

“i want to go back downstairs.” she whined.

you rolled your eyes and pulled the covers over her. “the sun will come out tomorrow, annie. sweet dreams.” you kissed her forehead, noticing already how she started to drift off.

making your way downstairs, you watched as a group was heading out for the night. they closed the door behind them, the people in the entryway saying goodbye like a chorus. turning off the last step, you ran right into a very solid body. hands grabbed ahold of your waist to steady you and you looked up, seeing ryan.

“hey,” he said. “is she okay?”

“yeah. i put her to bed.” you nodded up the stairs and took a step back from him.

“i'm ready to go whenever you are.” he said.

your stomach dropped. you instantly thought about rafe, wanting nothing more than to find him and kiss him again. just as you thought this, he appeared in the entryway behind ryan. you glanced at him then back at ryan. “i'll meet you at the car?” you said and pulled out the key to give him. he nodded without a word and walked around you to the door.

“hey—” you started to say, meeting rafe halfway until he maneuvered you up against the wall, his lips quick to get to yours. you moaned softly into his mouth, reaching around him to pull him against you. he reciprocated this action, pushing his hips flush against yours. you broke away from him, breathing harshly.

“i have to go,” you said quietly, looking directly at rafe’s lips, feeling your eyelids weighted with lust.

rafe didn’t look pleased about that, rather annoyed really. his hand rested just at the side of your neck, his other under your top to grip your waist. “can’t you stay for a little while longer?”

you shook your head, smiling softly. “guess you should’ve made your move sooner.”

rafe grunted and pulled you back to him, his tongue slipping into your mouth. you welcomed it, running your hand over his chest, feeling how fast his heart was beating too. that alone was nearly enough to pull you in and make ryan wait, but you pushed on the firm chest, breaking apart from him once more.

“i really do have to go, rafe.”

—

picking up the jar, you read over the label. organic honey. now that you thought about it, you didn’t have any back at school. one jar wouldn’t hurt.

“i’ll take this please.” you said, setting it down on the table. the man on the other side nodded and took the few bills you held out to him. you thanked him for it, picking up the jar and your change and moving to the next stand.

ever since you could remember, you had gone to the farmer’s market every year. it was something you liked to do, something that involved the community you grew up in. there were so many selections and stands and things for you to look at that you could spend hours there. if you weren’t with ryan, you just might have been there until closing time.

ryan was across the way, checking out some older books that the library was giving away. you stopped beside him, peering into the crate he was looking in. eventually you moved on to the next stand, neither of you finding anything worth picking.

“so, what are we up to tonight?” ryan asked on the way back to the house, your jar of honey in his lap.

you felt your ears grow warmer, opening your mouth. “i was thinking of going over to a friend’s house.”

“ally’s? that’ll be fun.” he looked over at you, smiling slightly.

you glanced at him, opening and closing your mouth a few times. “no. uh, rafe’s. just me.”

“oh,” ryan drawled out, nodding slowly.

“i'm sorry. if you really don’t want me to go since you’ll be alone and have nothing to do, i can stay in and we can figure something out. you know what, let’s just do that?” you decided, waving it off.

“y/n, breathe.” ryan laughed. “i'm fine staying alone. you go to rafe’s.”

“are you sure? i can stay in, we can go eat at the wreck. you haven’t tried it yet!”

“we’re not leaving until tomorrow night. we can just get food then. it’s not a big deal. don’t stay in on my account, please. go to rafe’s.” he encouraged.

you couldn’t tell if he was really okay with it or if he felt differently. you had been thinking about it all day, replaying the kisses from last night and the way it felt to have rafe’s hands on you. your heart beat in other places now as you thought about it again. you shifted in your seat as you pulled onto your road. you thanked ryan as you got out of the car and went into the house.

—

dinner passed quickly. you pushed yourself to eat slowly, to actually spend time with your family and have them get to know ryan. a part of you still felt bad about leaving him alone there, no matter how many times he kicked your foot under the table.

now you were staring at yourself in the mirror, killing time doing nothing. you hadn’t done anything different about your appearance, you just showered and sprayed a bit of perfume. and you brushed your teeth. god, what was wrong with you? where was the confidence from last night? maybe it went out the window at the very prospect of driving to rafe’s house and going to see him. you had never done that before, you’d never been there, you’d never seen what it was like. plus, what if he wasn’t home? what were you going to do then? you didn’t have his number, although ally could easily get it for you.

no. no. you needed to stop. you had to do this before you left for california and regretted not going to rafe’s house. taking in a deep breath, you straightened yourself up and huffed. you said goodbye to ryan in the spare bedroom across the hall and he gave you a thumbs up, resulting in you rolling your eyes.

it didn’t take that long of a drive to pull up to the cameron’s estate. it was huge, you thought. you stared at the white exterior and felt not at all intimidated. turning off the car and willing yourself to get out, you walked up to the front door in determination and knocked. you practiced breathing to calm your nerves as you waited. it took a few minutes until the door opened and you breathed in sharply.

expecting someone completely different, you were met with a small girl no more than 14. you couldn’t recall if rafe had two sisters, you just knew of the one.

“can i help you?” she raised her eyebrows under the black rimmed glasses.

“hi.” you paused for too long and breathed. “uh, is rafe here?”

“he’s out. and you are?”

you lifted your own brows at her territorial posture, arms crossed. “i'm y/n. a friend of rafe’s. um, do you know when he’ll be back by any chance?”

her shoulders loosened as she grabbed onto the door handle. “sometime soon, i think. you’re welcome to wait.” she stepped aside, letting you in. you gave her a thankful smile, wanting to tell her that she was calming your nerves considerably.

“thank you. what’s your name?”

“wheezie. i'm rafe’s younger sister.” she closed the door solidly, pulling a phone out of her back pocket.

“it’s nice to meet you. i appreciate you letting me wait for him.” you rubbed your hands on your thighs, trying to get rid of the sweat.

she nodded with her eyes locked on the screen. “yeah, no problem. i actually have to leave, so…” she said and grabbed a coat from the chair behind the door. she opened it again and went to leave, but poked her head back in. “don’t steal anything.”

opening your mouth to protest, the door closed with a satisfied thud, echoing through the empty house. you glanced around, not knowing where to put yourself. you took a few steps and poked your head around the doorway, finding a huge kitchen with a few lights left on. you turned back around and looked up the stairs, figuring that was your best bet. just before you stepped onto them, you took your shoes off.

rafe’s room was pretty obvious what with the posters of random semi-naked women. you rolled your eyes at the typical male and wandered further in. his walls were a dark blue, black bedding messy on the mattress. some clothes were thrown on the floor, a desk with a monitor set up on it and some old dishes. you itched to clean it, but that would’ve been weird.

just as you were looking at the little knick-knacks on his dresser, you heard a door shut. you placed one of his rings down and waited expectantly in the center of his room, still not knowing where to put yourself. his footsteps were fast on the stairs, almost as if he were skipping two at a time. your stomach twisted when he appeared in his doorway.

“how’d you get in here?” he asked first, closing the door slowly behind him and switching on the overhead light. you took in his appearance, enjoying the backwards hat paired with a sweatshirt and sweatpants. you snapped out of it, realizing he was still waiting for an answer.

“uh, wheezie, was it? she let me in. and then she left.” you stated, twiddling your fingers against your thighs.

rafe nodded and moved away from the door, taking his hat and sweatshirt off. turning back to you, he brushed a hand through his hair then set them on his hips. “what are you doing here?”

“i think you know.” you refrained from rolling your eyes, letting out a laugh to lessen your nerves and to mask how much you were hoping not to be turned down.

rafe pressed his lips together, looking behind you for a second and taking a couple steps forward. you looked up at him, feeling the soft puffs of his breath on your face. “tell me what you want. be honest with me.”

you laughed at your own words from last night and looked at him under your lashes. you took a brave step forward, feeling his body heat. “i want you to kiss me like last night.”

rafe looked down at your lips, moving his face closer. you watched him, anticipating it and closing your eyes. you didn’t feel anything other than his hands lightly touching your waist. you opened your eyes to look up at him, to see what he was doing and why he was making you wait when you just told him what you wanted. he smiled lightly and looked over your face.

“and then what?”

you moaned and pulled him forward by his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it in satisfaction. his mouth was warm and inviting against yours and you tried to think of what he smelled like, like salt and clean laundry. he tasted much better now that you could only taste him and not that god awful corn syrup.

you pulled away for a moment, sticking your tongue out to lick at his lips teasingly. his fingertips poked into your sides, pulling you closer and back against his mouth. you smiled against him and let go of his shirt to pull it off. instead of returning to your lips, rafe put his against the side of your throat, lightly nipping at the skin. you pulled your jacket and shirt off, rafe helping you swiftly. he continued his ministrations on your neck, holding you upright while you let your head fall back.

a gasp escaped your lips as rafe grabbed your hand from his stomach and placed it over his bulge. you hadn’t realized how prominent he was in the past few moments. you looked over his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, guiding your hand over him.

“do you feel that?” he huffed.

your legs practically turned to mush as you felt him, growing stiff in his sweats. you hummed, nodding against his head. without asking you or prompting you, you slid your hand from under his into his pants. the warmth radiated like the fire from last night, your own pooling between your legs. rafe let out another breath as you wrapped your hand around him, exploring.

“that feels good.” he whispered and tugged your body closer, a hand cupping your backside. you reached to press a kiss against his jaw, his head moving to give you more access. you made a quick trail and pressed a final kiss to the base of his neck, right over his clavicle.

as much as you didn’t want to, you pulled away, your own need growing by the second. you pushed his pants down with his boxers, trying to hold yourself together from not jumping on him then and there. he watched your face closely as he stepped out of his pants. swallowing, you pushed your own bottoms down and just as you were reaching for your underwear, rafe pushed you onto his unmade bed.

starting at your mouth, rafe kissed you fully and hungrily, sparing nothing. you wanted to hold him there, especially when he rutted his hips against yours, eliciting a high moan. you quivered at the feeling of him so close and you would’ve reached for your underwear then if he hadn’t left your lips and slowly started to make his way down.

“keep making those noises, y/n.” his breath blew over your chest and you obliged as his lips pressed against one of your breasts.

“rafe, please.” you touched his head and lifted your legs around him.

he lifted from your stomach with a smile. “what?”

“hurry up.” you begged, out of breath. he chuckled, kissing you lightly on the lips and moving back to what he was doing. you groaned but lifted onto our elbows to watch. he pressed a few more kisses to your stomach and just as he was going to the next spot, you raised your hips, teasing him. he laughed, his breathing tickling your sensitive skin.

his hands took ahold of your hips and held them down on the bed, his fingers warm and strong. you swallowed thickly, your eyelids nearly closing as a kiss was pressed directly over where your excitement had pooled. you let out a whine, low from your throat, and met rafe’s dark eyes.

“you’re so wet.” he said, letting go of one hip to replace where his mouth just was. you lifted your hips again, letting your head fall back at the pleasure that shot through you. rafe pressed his fingers firmly, moving slowly in circles. “is this how you were last night?”

“yes, yes.” you sighed, dropping onto your back. “fuck, rafe, please just take them off. please.”

he pushed against your clit abruptly, practically pushing the breath out of your chest. he obliged though, you felt his fingers slip between the material and your hips before he tugged them down. you opened your eyes as the bed shifted. rafe held himself over you, reaching into the nightstand and pulling out a condom. you leaned up to pull your bra off as he opened the small package and put it on.

“how do you want me?” you asked, still out of breath, reaching for him.

rafe smiled, his hands coming down on either side of your head to hold himself up. “just like this.”

his hair tickled your forehead as he lined himself up and took your mouth against him. you broke the kiss, moaning as he pushed in slowly.

“fuck.” you gasped, holding onto his hip.

“are you okay?” he asked after letting out a low grunt.

“yes,” you nodded, reaching up to kiss him. “i need you to move.”

rafe did as requested and moved slowly, starting a rhythm. his hand closed around a breast, your legs opening wider for him as his hips met yours continuously. you tried your best to keep your lips against his, reveling in the warmth and taste, but you found yourself pulling away and getting lost in what he was doing to you. you started to focus on his breathing, his low grunts, his moans that sent shivers up the back of your thighs. you relished in it.

“i'm glad we didn’t do this last night.” you laughed to yourself, out of breath.

“fuck,” he said. “i was pissed when you left, i ended up coming here just to jack off.”

you laughed again, reaching a hand up to his hair to tug at. you pulled his mouth to yours momentarily until he broke away and moved to your chest. “rafe, harder.” you pleaded, tugging on his hip.

he moaned against your chest, the vibrations going all the way to where he was pushing into you. you let out your own noise, louder than any before, as he picked up the pace and tried to hit you deeper. it wasn’t quite working so you lifted your knee up higher, digging your heel into his backside.

rafe softly bit down on your nipple, massaging the other one. it lost the warmth a second later as rafe let go and grabbed ahold of your leg, the smacking of your skin becoming louder. letting go of his hair, you held his other hip, digging your fingernails in.

“rafe,” you panted. rafe’s hips were going at an alarming rate, but you had never felt so good. he knew exactly what he was doing. “rafe, i'm close.”

rafe let go of your leg and moved his hand down your stomach to find your clit. his thumb brushed it, causing you to cry out. his breath was coming out in pants now too, with each stroke. he looked down at you, your expression of pure bliss as your eyes screwed shut and contorted. you bit your lip, something you didn’t realize drove him crazy. he moved his thumb in fast circles with the pace of his hips and soon enough, you were squeezing  his hips and crying out in high pitched tones. the sound alone brought rafe closer.

“fuck, fuck.” you felt him twitch as he grabbed onto your hip, his steady thrusts now stuttering.

you were still riding out your own high, but you reached up with a shaky hand and touched his cheek. he opened his eyes then at the new contact, his mouth ajar, lips swollen.

“rafe, cum. i need you to cum.” you pleaded, licking into his lips with a kiss. he groaned, hips stuttering again then stilling completely as he emptied into the condom. you moaned at the sound, wishing that he was emptying into you. you wished you could feel how warm he was when he coated your walls. god, just the thought had you ready to go again.

rafe moaned as he slid out of you and flipped over onto his back. you licked your lips, still tasting him as you caught your own breath. your skin was sticky and sweaty, but you liked it knowing who it was from. looking over at him now, he was spent and tired, his chest moving with gulps of breath.

“well, i know you better now.” he said, making you laugh.

“right back at ya, rafe cameron.”

[yourmidnightlover]

being there

TW: fluff, mutual pining ig, talk about a friend with an abusive household, child dying, schizophrenia, gn!reader (i'm pretty sure, again)

Summary- reader is always being comforted by spencer, and wants to return the favor.

WC-2,198

masterlist

————————————————————————

spencer is the most supportive, kind hearted man you know. hands down. no question about it.

one of the reasons you know this is because of every time we go on a case. he's always making sure that others aren't affected by the results of the case.

you remember one specific case about children getting abducted, who were actually from abusive households.

now, you don't come from an abusive household, but your best friend from high school did. you would go to school and have to give him food because his parents were too obsessed with spending their money on other ways instead of feeding their child.

so, you were obviously a bit upset from this case.

and spencer made sure you were feeling better about everything.

he gently rocked you in his arms as you had a panic attack when they killed the missing child in front of your eyes.

he even came to your place later that night to ensure that you was okay. he ended up reading your favorite book to you as you fell asleep in his arms on the couch.

that night you secretly promised him that if he ever needed a shoulder to cry on or a set of ears to listen to him that you would always be there.

so when the unsub had schizophrenia, you could see the effects it had on his mood and behavior.

he even blew up on hotch, talking about how the profile makes it seem like the unsub is killing because they have schizophrenia.

on the plane, he sat alone in the corner and read his book, well, more like stared at his book. he was on the same page for over 4 minutes.

you got up and walked over to sit beside him. you gently placed a hand on his upper arm to alert him of your presence, to which he just glared up at you. you sat beside him as he shut his book carefully as if the words would fall right off the page if he shut it too hard.

"y/n. what is it?" he huffed as he looked at you with eyes full of remorse and frustration.

"i just want to make sure you're okay. you can come to me about it if you need to, spence. i promise i'm here for you," you finished, placing your hand gently over his. he snapped his hand back with a look of disgust.

"why do you think i need to go to you about it? i'm perfectly fine, y/n. so please just leave," he finished angrily.

you nodded my head in understanding as you began to stand and walk away, noticing everyone's eyes on you and what just went down. you sat on the couch and curled into a ball.

you wouldn't give up on him just yet.

once everyone all got off the jet, you made your way to your desks to drop off the files for the case we would need. you noticed spencer dropping at his desk, which happened to be right across from yours.

"spence?" you questioned hesitantly, not wanting to anger him even more.

"what do you want?" he asked with a 'tude.

"i just want to make sure you're okay. i know the case was difficult for yo-"

"just stop!" he snapped at me, finally meeting my eyes. "i'm okay! i'm not gonna break just because of one case! just leave me alone, y/n..." he finished, picking up his bag and leaving the bau.

"y/l/n, it's okay. we all knew he'd be like this after that case. it's not your fault," morgan consoled.

"i know that. i just want to make sure he knows that he's not alone," you said with a frown. "he helped me through the last case and i just wanted to let him know i would do the same for him if he needed it. i thought that him helping me actually meant something, but i guess i was wrong," you shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

little did you know that spencer couldn't bear seeing you so worn down from a case. he hated that you had to see that child in front of you, and would've done anything to help you feel better about it.

truth be told, he loved you.

he's loved you for as long as he could remember.

he also could never tell you because he thought the feelings weren't reciprocated.

and boyyyy was he wrong.

he loved the way you felt everything so raw and real. he loved the way you actually listened to him and his rants. he loved the way you loved him reading to you. he loved everything about you, and he realized it too late.

he was stuck in what morgan would call 'the friendzone'

"angel.... do you have feelings for pretty boy?" morgan teased, ruffling the hair on the top of your head.

"what? pshhh..." you trailed off, not wanting to reveal too much.

"you do! pretty girl's got a crush on pretty boyyyy!!!" morgan sang loudly, leading to you slapping his forearm.

"don't be so loud you ass!"

"so you admit it!" he relished. "it's about time, honestly. i don't know how long you guys have been secretly pining for each other," morgan finished.

"wait, slow down... he has feelings for me too?" you questioned.

" it's a wonder you're such a good profiler, y/l/n. of course he has feelings for you. he's had feelings for you for as long as i can remember. he's always talking about you and how 'beautiful you and your mind are,'" morgan finished with a teasing tone, nudging you in your shoulder gently.

"wow..." you trailed off. "i have to go home real quick," you said before running outside to your car.

you weren't going home.

you were going to his.

you drove quite fast, still in shock from the revelation morgan had admitted to you.

now you needed to see him in person. you had to make sure he was okay. you had to make sure he knew how you felt... though that could wait until he felt better.

all those nights of watching movies with one another, playing chess matches, listening to him ranting or reading to you, they were all some of your most cherished moments with him.

you couldn't wait to make even more with him.

running up the stairs of his apartment complex instead of taking the elevator, you managed to face plant on the steps. of course. you had always been clumsy. you grabbed your cheek and continued on your journey to his place.

when you got there, you knocked on the door harshly. no response. you pulled your key out and unlocked his door, entering slowly with your hand on your gun.

you looked through his living room, kitchen, bathroom, his room.... he wasn't there.

you pulled your phone out and dialed his number. he answered after the third ring.

"spencer! hi..." you said relieved. you didn't realize you were so worried about him until you heard his voice.

"hey,... where are you?" he questioned as if he was worried about you himself.

"actually, i'm at your place," you revealed. "i wanted to make sure you were okay. but you weren't here and i got worried," you admitted.

"oh," he said solemnly. "i'm at your place. meet me here. i'll be waiting," he said swiftly before hanging up the phone.

luckily for you, you only lived a few blocks from him, which also made for many, many movie nights with each other.

you began your descent to your car, being extra careful on the steps.

when you arrived at your place, spencer was sitting there with his head in his hands, sitting on the couch.

you peeled your coat off your shoulders and hung it up, placing your keys and gun on the table.

spencer looked up from the couch, his eyes getting wider as he realized you were here, with him.

"hey, spence," you smiled kindly, making your way to sit beside him on the couch.

as soon as you sat down beside him, his arms wrapped around your body tightly, bringing you even closer to him. you became mesmerized by his scent, the smell of coffee and books and... spencer hitting your nostrils and ultimately your heart.

"i'm so, so sorry, y/n," he admitted, already shaking from the shame he felt for being so rude to you. "you only wanted to help me. you were just being your usual, amazing self and i was pushing you away. i shouldn't have been so ru-"

"spence, it's okay," you said, gently tracing circles on his back. "you were upset from the case and i was pushing myself on you. don't worry about it," you consoled.

"no, it's not okay. regardless of how i was feeling i shouldn't have snapped at you like that," he admitted.

"then i forgive you for doing so, spence," you finally pulled back and looked at him.

tears were streaming down his face, so you brought your hand up to wipe them off of his cheekbones.

he took in your appearance as well, noticing the red mark on your face. he furrowed his brows at the sight as he began tracing the mark on your face softly.

"what happened?" he questioned concerned.

"i fell when i was running up the stairs to your place... no surprise there," you smiled softly, still looking into his beautiful, hazel eyes.

"oh..." he trailed off.

"so tell me what you were thinking about the case," you said, pulling back from his embrace and placing your hands in your lap.

"schizophrenia is a terrible disease, and we all know that. it's just the way the profile made it seem... it was like schizophrenia leads to someone killing. like everyone with schizophrenia was dangerous. my mom isn't dangerous, y/n. she's kind, and generous, and intelligent. she's not a monster like that profile made her seem," he finished the rant, tears still flowing from his face.

"we know she's not a monster, spence. who we were profiling couldn't control what he did because of his schizophrenia. he's not your mother. we weren't profiling your mother, and you know that, sweetie," you finished.

"i know that. i do... i just can't help it," he sniffled.

"honey, i know," you ran your hand through his hair and pulled him back into a hug. "i'm so sorry. i know you want to help her but you don't know how. but you should also know how amazing you are. your big, beautiful brain has more knowledge stored in there than the rest of the team combined," you giggled, the sound soothing spencer's ears. "just don't forget how much you've already accomplished," you finished, whispering the last sentence into his ear softly, sending goosebumps down his spine.

he pulled back one again and looked you in the eyes.

"y/n..." he trailed off.

"spencer..."

"i love you," you both said slowly, anticipating his reaction.

spencer grabbed your face and connected your lips softly. the gentleness of the kiss turned into one of passion. your hands flew to the back of his head, running through his curls firmly.

you tugged on his curls, a groan leaving him as you slowly entered you tongue in his mouth. he felt you smirk into the kiss at the entrance, one of his hands trailed down to your waist as the other remained on your jaw.

you pulled back slowly, keeping your eyes on the man you love, his eyes still closed.

he couldn't believe you actually loved him. you.

"i love you, y/n. more than you'll ever know..." he smiled as he pressed your foreheads together.

"so i take it you feel a bit better now?" you giggled.

he brought his hand up to move a stray strand of hair.

"mmm... i don't know. we might need to try that again. just to be sure," he suggested, placing another peck on your lips before you judged his shoulder back gently.

"yea yea, dr. reid. i'm sure that's why you want to kiss me again," you laughed.

"you caught me. i just wanted to kiss you again," he chuckled as you ran your hands through his hair.

"wanna spend the night? i've missed our cuddle sessions. OH! and we can watch doctor who!!" you exclaimed excitedly.

"i would love to," he accepted, trailing his hand up and down your side with a wide smile on his face.

you both made your way to your room and turned the tv on. you let spencer lay on your chest, his arms wrapped around your body snug as your arms were around his shoulders and in his hair, playing with it.

"y/n?" spencer asked as he moved his chin up to rest on your chest so he could look at you.

"mhmm, spence?" you answered.

"thank you for being there for me."

[raendown]

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: SamBucky Word count: 2070 Rated: T+ Summary: Steve had only just been thinking about how much he missed his best friend when his phone started ringing. Great minds think alike! Except apparently Bucky had meant to call someone else entirely and Steve was not at all prepared for the discovery of this baffling - but adorable - secret.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

From Where You Are

He may have staunchly denied it every time Tony or Natasha or anyone else teased him for it but Steve knew damn well that he had a - very slight! - penchant for dramatics. Dramatics like slamming an entire plane down in to the icy ocean rather than just turning the damn thing around and flying in circles until Peggy or Howard came up with the latest madcap rescue plan. Yeah. He was a self aware guy. Which meant he knew exactly how much teasing he would get if he so much as dared to open his mouth and complain about life on the run. 

Because as well as Steve knew himself, his friends knew him better. He might be lucky to get a whole three words in to his sentence before any of the people he currently had available to listen would guess exactly what he was really complaining about. He missed Bucky. So sue him! He’d already spent seventy years thinking his best friend was dead and then another two knowing he was out there but not exactly all there. Now finally he knew exactly where Bucky was. He knew that Bucky knew exactly who he was. They could be best friends again. 

Through video calls only. 

Steve clenched his jaw against the urge to close both eyes and whine at the unfairness of it all. Leaving Bucky in Wakanda had been the right choice for everyone but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Could the world maybe stop being so unfair for just five damn minutes? Give a guy a chance to reunite properly with the one thing that had centered the first couple decades of his life? Maybe get a hug or two in while Bucky was only one-armed and half defenseless against a few rounds of proper manly affection? It didn’t sound like too much to ask. Yet here he was sitting up just past midnight trying to calculate time zones to figure out if maybe he could get a quick call in now that Sam and Natasha were falling asleep. If he snuck out on to the balcony he might be able to avoid waking them and therefore avoid the inevitable teasing over his ‘very obvious pining’.

So lost in his own head was he that Steve nearly threw his phone against the wall when it began signing in his hand. It took a slow blink or two for his thoughts to clear enough that he understood no, he had not called Bucky out of rote habit, Bucky was calling him. Score one for that mental best friend bond he’d heard the other two joking about the other day. Steve was smiling as he accepted the call and held it up at an angle he hoped would get his face properly. 

“Hey, Buc- oh my god, are you okay?” 

Small on the screen and folding in to himself like he was trying to be just as small in person, Bucky’s eyes were wild where they stared somewhat just over top of whatever device he’d used to call from. He took several ragged breaths in and let them all out a little too heavily before he could speak. 

“No.”

“I’m here, pal, what’s up?”

“Can you- where’s Sam?”

Steve felt his eyebrows lift up together. “Uh, Sam? Is in the next room. Why?”

A good question, he felt, since in the eight or so months since they had all last been together in Wakanda, Bucky had never once so much as breathed Sam’s name during these scattered video calls. Steve had seen them have maybe two conversations in the palace and both of those had been stilted as hell. Two men dancing around the fact that they’d both tried to kill each other on several occasions. Now here was Bucky jerking his eyes over to look directly at the camera and Steve had never seen him look so haunted before. Which, really, was saying something.

“I want to talk to Sam,” he said, voice quiet, aching with something Steve hadn’t heard before. They had talked about Bucky having nightmares. He’d just never seen one, not even the aftermath. Bucky had been a keep-it-close-to-the-chest guy long before what happened with HYDRA.

“Uh, okay. Sure. He might be asleep but I’ll just- yeah.”

Feeling more than a little confused, he did just that. Stood and marched to the door with a single minded purpose that could only come with being given a mission. Bucky wanted to talk to Sam and he might not understand why but he was going to make that happen even if he had to wake the man up. 

Thankfully, he did not have to wake the man up, although if he’d waited even a single full minute longer that might have been the case. Sam hadn’t even taken the time to undress or properly get in to what passed as his bed for tonight. He was still sitting half slumped against the wall on a little nest of blankets, carefully positioned in exactly the opposite corner from Natasha because one simply did not sleep next to a Russian super spy knowing that the slightest disturbance would send her in to full mission mode in less than five seconds. Besides, Sam had laughed when he pointed that out, I’m a serial sleep cuddler and I don’t think that’s a great idea here. Who knows how many knives she’s got under her pillow? 

“Sam?” Fond amusement rippled through the layers of worry as Steve watched his friend’s head loll towards him, indolent and exhausted. “Hey, uh, Bucky’s on a call. He wants...to talk to you?” That got a reaction. His eyes cracked open to take in the phone Steve was holding out and his chin lifted faintly in greeting.

“Hey man,” he ground out, voice coarse with near-sleep. “‘Nother nightmare?”

“Can you tell me a story?” Bucky asked. 

Steve very nearly dropped the phone. He almost dropped it again when Sam, without any external reaction whatsoever, immediately launched in with, “So you know that guy Dwayne I was telling you about? From homeroom? God, lemme tell you about how stupid this guy is. We’re at prom, right? And there’s this honey he’s had his eyes on for like three months only she went to prom with Harry Murdock- yeah, you know, the quarterback. Fuckin’ quarterbacks, man.”

It was kind of like watching something his own weird dreams might come up with. A sequence of events that made very little sense once you’d woken up and tried to piece it all back together. Sam’s eyes gradually slid closed again but his mouth just kept going like this was all totally normal, like he often spent his nights sitting up and telling Bucky random stories about the other kids he’d gone to highschool with. And on the opposite end of the call Bucky’s face grew less haunted with every word until the panic had drained out of him entirely and his own eyes were sliding down. He must have been using a tablet or laptop because the camera stayed perfectly centered on him even when his head at last fell gently down against his chest. 

“-and I mean, yeah, I get what he was going for with the ribbons but fuck, it really just made the whole thing worse. Best night of my entire highschool career gone right down the drain because Harry Murdock was too ashamed to tell his parents he wanted to take me to prom and Lisa Furlow was too good of a friend to tell anyone she was just a beard. Obviously the teachers were mad about the horse being there but- ah. He fall asleep?” It took a second for Steve to realize his friend was asking him a question. 

“Yeah. He did.”

“S’good. Good. ‘M gonna too. Night, Steve.” And then he was out too. Sam’s head lolled again, face going slack, and Steve was left standing there with a phone in his hand and several new knots in his chest, all of them shaped like confusion. 

Well. That. Had happened. Lifting his hand, Steve watched the live image of his best friend sleeping peacefully, a direct contrast to the shaken man who had reached out for help. Reached out to someone who wasn’t Steve. He’d be lying if he tried to say some part of that didn’t sting but he was a big enough person to recognize that helping Bucky was so much more important than stroking his own ego even if he did still feel like the ground was shaky between them after everything that had happened. Watching the man now, he certainly couldn’t deny that whatever the hell just happened seemed to have helped. Bucky hadn’t looked so at peace since he’d volunteered to go back in to cryo while the Wakandans figured out a way to help him. 

Movement from the opposite corner of the room drew Steve’s eye and when he glanced over he found Natasha sitting primly with both eyebrows raised in question. Not having much of an explanation, he could only give her a helpless one-shoulder shrug. They held each others’ gazes in matching confusion for several beats until Steve turned to look back at where Sam lay, asleep and content, slumped against the wall. He was definitely going to wake up to an aching back. 

And a whole lot of questions. 

Unfortunately for Steve’s overwhelming curiosity, he was still self-aware enough to know he didn’t have the heart to wake Sam, not knowing that it was ultimately his own fault the other man was so tired. If he hadn’t shown up on Sam’s doorstep that day they wouldn’t both be here, on the run from their own country, unable to call home to the people they cared about, worn to the bone from running and fighting and hiding themselves away in whatever dingy hole they found to crash in for a night or two. No, Steve would not be the one to disturb any rest his friend managed to find. 

“You gonna hang up some time this century?” Natasha’s voice murmured through the shadows. 

“Oh, yeah, I probably should.”

She watched him do so with what was probably an all too obvious reluctance. Then she grinned. “We’re giving him the third degree tomorrow, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“So many questions. I need to know absolutely everything that led to Sam Wilson telling the Winter Soldier bedtime stories. Everything.”

“That was weird, right?” Steve ran a hand through his hair, absently noting a tremble in the fingers. “We should probably get some sleep too. I mean, you try. Don’t think I’ll be able to get any.”

Natasha unfolded herself from the floor with the corners of her mouth curling up in a little smirk he couldn’t bring himself to look away from. “No, I think I’ll be fine. Let’s go get some coffee. We’ll coordinate our plan of attack for when this guy gets back to the land of the living.” She jerked one thumb at Sam’s form and Steve finally had to peel his eyes away just to hold in the laughter that wanted to spill out. 

“Alright. Yeah. Coffee. And a plan of attack. Sounds good to me.” 

“What was it they called you? The star spangled man with a plan?”

Steve groaned and covered his eyes with the hand not still holding his phone. “Please tell me there’s no surviving footage of me prancing around on stage in tights.”

“Why would I need footage when I get front row seats every time you suit up?” Natasha sauntered away from him, probably - definitely - aware exactly what shade of red she’d just left on his face. Front row seats indeed. He certainly didn’t mind his own front row seat whenever he had the chance and the times Natasha had to join them out here on the run from their own government gave him plenty of chances. 

One last look at his phone made him smile before Steve slipped it in to his pocket and gently clapped both hands together, rubbing his palms back and forth. Coffee did sound good. Coffee with Natasha while they figured out exactly how much hell to give Sam over how he was apparently reading bedtime stories for a man he hadn’t said two words about in all the time since they’d left Wakanda. This was going to be fun.