#i didn’t even register that wednesday already passed

[purrfectlycontent]

IT’S HERE

[capturethechaos]

Jake Kiszka x Reader

Words - 3.8k

Warnings - 18+ONLY, explicit sexual content, NSFW, fingering

a/n - this came to me because of this ask from @tripthelightfandomtastic's wild Wednesday last week, so thank you to that anon for your thoughts, and thank you Max for giving me a go ahead to write this ♡

You could feel the tight grasp of winter trying its hardest to hold on, the cool breeze you had dreaded all season slowly growing warmer as the days passed. Spring would soon arrive, and the neighborhood had already begun to show their gratitude for the season's change. From across the street, you could hear the subtle beat of a drum, followed closely by the low thrum of a bass, and you made your way to your window. 

You peeked through the paned glass, your eyes landing on the partially opened garage door on the opposite side of the street. You waited, knowing what came next. No matter how many times you had heard it, the crisp tone of the guitar cutting through the bass and drums sent an all too familiar shiver running up your spine. 

It was a conscious decision to leave the bathroom window open as you stepped into the shower, listening as the somewhat incoherent jamming of the boys across the street became quieter. The bass and drums faded, leaving just the guitar to begin an actual song. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your face as they started to play Mary Jane’s Last Dance.

In the time it took you to shower, you heard them play a couple more songs, and a rather colorful conversation, which you were sure was between the twins.

You didn’t take long to get dry and detangle your hair, and as you stepped into the kitchen of your home, freshly showered and dressed in a comfortable sundress, you found that there was already a plate of the cookies you had baked the night before sitting next to a bowl of lemons. 

It had been a while since you had last made homemade lemonade, but your mother seemed to deem the opening of the Kiszka’s garage a fitting occasion. You took your time to make sure it was perfect, leaving a small pitcher for your parents before picking up your own and turning to walk out of the house. 

You made it all the way to the door before realizing that you had forgotten the plate of cookies. With a groan, you spun on your heels, walking back to the kitchen to grab the plate before finally leaving your house. It took no longer than a minute to walk across the street, and you were thankful that the boys were simply talking to each other as you walked up their driveway. 

Your feet were planted a couple feet from the garage door, and you leaned down just enough to look beneath the barrier. “Knock knock.” 

The conversation between the boys ceased, and you watched one of them turn around. You straightened up as a hand wrapped around the bottom of the door, slowly beginning to roll it up. “You know, you could have just opened the door, or stepped under it.” You were greeted with the cherry red finish of the gibson, and soon after, the warm smile of Jake Kiszka. 

Your smile mirrored his as you lifted your hands to display what you had brought. “My hands were a little full.”

“Oh fuck yeah.” Sam popped up beside you before you had even registered his previous position. 

You could smell the weed clinging to the cotton of his worn out tee shirt, and with a chuckle, you moved the plate of cookies toward him so that he could take it from you. He eagerly pulled the plate from your hands, swinging around so fast that the neck of his bass nearly hit you and Jake. 

You watched as Josh and Danny stepped toward Sam, helping themselves to a cookie as you looked back at Jake. “I also brought lemonade.”

His smile only seemed to grow as he stared back at you, completely ignoring his brothers. “Of course you did.”

“Please, please, please tell me it’s your homemade lemonade.” Josh’s voice pulled both yours and Jake's attention to him, and you eagerly nodded.

In your peripheral, you could see Jake pull his guitar from over his shoulder. “I’ll go get cups.”

“So… I loved hearing you guys play Mary Jane’s Last Dance, you sounded great.” Your compliment left the remaining three boys with giddy smiles.

Josh finished the bite of cookie that he had in his mouth before responding. “Thanks, Y/n. It was actually Jake’s idea.”

“What was my idea?” 

The four of you turned to look as Jake walked back into the garage with five cups cradled in one of his arms. You rolled your eyes at him, walking over to take a couple of the cups to avoid them falling and breaking, handing them to Danny and Sam before turning back to Jake. He had given Josh one of the remaining three, leaving just his own in one hand, and the other outstretched for you to take. 

Josh turned away from you and his twin to grab the pitcher of lemonade and pour himself a glass. “Playing Mary Jane’s Last Dance.” 

Jake’s eyes darted from his twin to you, and you simply smiled back at him. “I was just telling the others how great you all sounded.”

“Though I was wondering.” Jake lifted an eyebrow at your comment, watching as your face turned to one of curiosity. “Was your dad in here playing with you guys, or have you finally convinced Josh to learn to play the harmonica?” 

All four boys seemed to find your question amusing, chuckling as Josh sat on the old couch they kept out in the garage, and the rest of you got lemonade for yourselves. Josh seemed very proud as he leaned toward the small table to pick up the harmonica and play it for a brief moment. “It was, in fact, me.”

“So.” You walked over to the couch, dropping into the spot beside Josh and turning to him. “What made you suddenly want to learn how to play it?”

Before he could answer, Jake lowered himself into the space next to you and answered for him. “He felt left out. Danny learned, then Sam showed interest, so Josh decided had to learn.”

You turned to Josh, catching the less than impressed expression he was aiming at his twin for ratting him out. “Well I think you’re doing great, Josh.”

After a brief break to snack and drink, the boys slowly got back to practicing, switching rather seamlessly between playing songs and simply jamming together as you sat quietly and watched. 

The practice seemed to come to a close when Josh checked the time on his phone and let out a defeated sigh. “Well, I’ve got to get ready for work, but I’m going to take one of these for the road.” He made his way over to the plate of cookies, pulling on from the pile before hesitating and taking another. “Thank you for the cookies, and the lemonade. Will we be seeing you at the gig tomorrow?”

You watched as he made his way towards the door back into the house, turning to you as he swung open the door, and you simply nodded. “Of course, I wouldn't miss it.”

Josh’s grin widened, and he gave you a quick nod before disappearing through the door, leaving you with Jake, Sam and Danny. You listened as Danny played a bit on his drum kit before placing his sticks down, standing from the stool and stretching. “I should probably go too, I’m working the night shift, and I know my mom will be on my ass if I don’t eat something before I leave.”

Jake lifted his head from his lap, having picked up his acoustic and began to strum to himself, to say a quick goodbye before disappearing back into his own head. Sam and Danny had a brief talk, saying their own goodbyes before Danny came over to you and leaned down, pulling you into a brief hug. “Thanks again for the snacks, Y/n.”

You gave him a quick squeeze, a smile on each of your faces as he straightened himself up. “No problem, Danny. Have a good shift at work.” 

Sam was still quietly plucking away on his bass when he made a comment about needing to smoke before his date, the nerves clearly getting to him as he stared blankly at the floor. 

You stood from the couch, making your way over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to roll you a joint? Maybe a smoke and a walk would be a good way to get out of this head of yours.”

He looked up from the floor with a crooked smile, giving you a little nod. “Please.” 

Sam eagerly placed his bass on its stand, grabbing his supplies for you and dragging you over to the couch. You couldn’t help but giggle at his nervous energy, watching as you rolled him a couple joints and dropped them in a plastic bag for him. “There, now go for a walk and clear your head. You’ll be great tonight, just don’t say anything too stupid.”

He rolled his eyes at you, taking the bag from between your fingers and nudging your shoulder with his own. “Thanks.”

He stood up from the couch, putting his supplies back in their little box and hiding them away once again before slipping under the garage door and pulling it shut behind him, knowing Jake would probably forget to do it, even after you eventually left. 

You sat in silence for a few minutes, simply watching as Jake played the same chord over and over, trying desperately to pluck the inspiration out of thin air. You knew he was stuck, so in an effort to pull him from his trance, you slid from the couch, shuffling across the worn out rug until you were planted at his feet, looking up at him.

His hair was falling in his face, clearly frustrating him even more as he tried to blow the strands away from his eyes. You slowly lifted your hand, brushing the soft chestnut strands behind his ear. The movement seemed to work sufficiently to pull his attention away from his guitar, his warm eyes lifting to lock with your own as your hand brushed along his jawline. 

His expression quickly turned from one of frustration, to one of admiration as he stared down at you, and he carefully moved to lift the guitar from his lap. He placed it on the couch and offered a hand to help you off of the floor. His hands pulled you closer until you had no choice but to crawl onto his lap. 

He waited until he was sure you were settled on his thighs to place one of his hands on the side of your neck, his fingertips gently tangling in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck as his thumb traced over the curve of your jaw. 

“You know. You don’t always have to bring baked goods over as an excuse to come see me.” His words were playful, yet quiet as his fingers tightened slightly, pulling your face closer and closer to his. 

“I know.” Your lips were so close, and he tilted his head to brush his nose against your own. “But I know that they’ll appease the others, and it makes it seem a little less strange for me to simply show up during your band practice.”

He hummed, the warm breath from his lips fanning across yours as his lips turned up into a smile. “I don’t think any of them would complain about having you around, snacks or not. Though I still prefer having you all to myself.” 

Jake pressed his lips against yours, finally slicing through the tension the two of you had settled in. “Especially when you come over in a cute little dress, making me think about all the places I could bend you over in this little garage.”

You giggled, wriggling a bit in his grasp to roll hips against his. “Is that so? And what did you come up with?” 

He chuckled. “My personal favorite, over my amp.”

You leaned away from him, turning to look at the new amp his parents had gifted him for his birthday, before turning back to him with a raised brow. Your hands found his, slowly pulling them away from your body as you slid off of his lap. 

A giggle bubbled out of you at the sound of his disapproving groan, but you watched the look on his face as you slowly backed away from him until your ass came in contact with a solid object. Your hand quickly found the edge of the box, running along until it rested beside your hip. “This amp?”

All you could do was watch as he slowly stood from the chair, stalking over to you as his eyes travelled the length of your body. The hand not already on the amp was quickly planted on your opposite side, aiding you as you lifted yourself onto the box. 

He reached you not long after your ass was firmly planted on his amp, his hands coming to rest on your knees and pulling them apart enough for him to stand between them. His eyes traced the features of your face, committing each small detail to memory as his  hands inches slowly up your thighs. “You drive me insane, did you know that?”

You tried your hardest to hold back the grin on your lips as you nodded your head, feeling the way his fingertips dug into the plush skin of your thighs. 

His lips turned up in a wicked smirk as he leaned forward, ghosting his lips over your collarbone, his hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps as his mouth swept along the skin of your throat. “You come over here, dressed all cute.” His tongue touched you first, his lips following close behind as he pressed a wet kiss to the spot he knew made your knees weak. “Making my whole family think you’re this innocent girl next door. Bringing homemade cookies and lemonade.” You could feel the teasing of his teeth against your skin as a low growl rumbled from his throat. “Rolling joints for my little brother.”

His fingertips danced along the skin of your thighs, slipping beneath your dress and continuing until they found the delicate lace of your panties. “But you must know.”

You were putty in his hands, leaning into his touch as his thumb played along the hem of your panties. “What do I know, Jake?”

“You know that no matter what you do-” His thumb was quickly replaced by his index and middle finger, tracing along the hem until they were ghosting over your clit, the only thing keeping him from you being the black lace. “No matter what you wear, or what you say.” Slowly, the lace was pulled to the side, his calloused fingers brushing over the spot where you so desperately needed his touch. “That the second we’re alone together, I will do anything and everything in my power to make you feel good.”

The hand not ghosting over the arousal pooling between your thighs lifted to your face, his palm resting on your cheek with just enough pressure to hold your head steady as he locked his gaze with your own. “You know that, don’t you, doll?”

Your meager nod seemed to be a less than adequate answer as Jake clicked his tongue in disapproval, the hand he had on your face moved just enough for him to swipe his thumb along your bottom lip as he watched you with a wicked grin. “Words, doll. I know you can use them. Let me hear your pretty voice.”

“Yes, Jake. Yes I kno-” The words got caught in your throat as he slid a finger into you, his hand quickly covering your mouth as you choked out a moan. 

He looked far to entertained, slowly pumping his middle finger into you a few times before adding his ring finger. The grin on his lips only widened as he watched your eyes flutter closed, each moan and whimper falling from your lips directly into the palm of his hand. “God I wish I could hear you baby, but I know you can’t be quiet, and I have family members in the house.”

You lifted a hand to the one he had pressed against your lips, pulling it down until it rested against your throat. “You know, you should really- fuck” 

The sound of your voice, faint as it was, prompted Jake to brush his thumb over your clit, watching with a satisfied look as you tripped over your words. “I should really, what, gorgeous? Spit it out.”

You huffed, pouting at him for a moment before finally speaking. “You should get your own place, that way we can do this as much as we want without worrying about one of your siblings, or god forbid… your parents, hearing us.”

“You know.” He leaned in, brushing his lips across your own as he slowed the rhythm of his fingers. “I think you’re right.”

A groan rumbled out of you at his slowed pace, but as you slumped forward, and your head came in contact with his shoulder, your mind was filled with a slew of sinful mental images. You felt the way Jake straightened himself a bit to hold the weight you were leaning against him, and you turned your head just enough for your lips to reach the collar of his tee shirt. 

“Just think.” You pressed a kiss to his warm skin, feeling the small blooming of goosebumps beneath your touch. “Of all the places you could fuck me in an apartment, compared to this little garage.”

His fingers slowly increased their pace, and you could feel the hum of approval as it buzzed through him. “Clearly you’re thinking about it, you’re so wet, doll.”

It was a conscious effort on your part to keep quiet as you teetered on the edge of an orgasm, keeping your head tucked in the curve of his neck. “I’m so close, Jake.”

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers, baby.” He kept his rhythm steady, coaxing you further. His head drooped forward just enough to press his lips to your ear as you held onto his shirt for dear life.  “Cum for me, baby, please.”

His fingers slowed as your orgasm rolled through you. Your brain was locked in a daze, freefalling into the pleasure he was so desperate to provide you. It wasn’t until your breathing had steadied, and you were able to lift your head from his shoulder, that he carefully pulled his fingers from inside of you. 

It was an all too smug expression that he had painted across his features as he lifted his hand to the space between you, as if to display the lude image of his fingers dripping in your arousal before providing an even more sinful display. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, a pleased hum sounding from him as he cleansed his fingers with his tongue.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him as close as you could as he released his fingers from his mouth. He was hard beneath the worn denim of his jeans, pressed against the warmth of your thighs as he simply watched the way you studied his features. One of your hands lifted to his face, tracing over the little details, from the chickenpox scar on his cheek, to the curve of his lips as they turned up into a small smile beneath your gentle touch.

“You know, I’m not the only one that could look for an apartment, doll.” 

He was waiting for you to meet his gaze, but you simply kept examining every millimeter of his face as he spoke. You watched the way his lip dipped beneath your thumb as he spoke, and smiled when he punctuated his sentence with a small kiss to the pad of it, praying to himself that your fingerprint left a permanent mark on his skin. “I know, I’ve been looking for a place. I just know that my parents are going to wonder why I want to stay here.”

“Why’s that, baby?”

“Because my sister left when she was eighteen… I’m twenty-one, and I’m still here.” Your movements had come to a halt, leaving one hand on his chest, and the other on his cheek. 

Jake covered the hand on his chest with his own, using his other to rub small circles over the bare skin of your thigh. “Hey, look at me, Y/n.” Your eyes lifted from his lips to his eyes, feeling the comfort of his hickory irises wash through you. “There’s my beautiful girl. You know no one else gets a say in whether or not you stay, right?”

You nodded, and he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I sure am glad that you’re still here.”

You simply hummed a response, chasing the feeling of his lips against your own. “Why would I leave? I’m a little busy here, falling in love with the local rockstar.”

You wished you could have recorded the sound of his laugh to save for a rainy day, if not just to feel the way it brought a flourish of butterflies within you. He pressed another kiss to your lips as his hands travelled to your thighs, wrapping around the plush skin. “Oh yeah?”

Your weight was lifted from the amp, and your hands quickly found their way over his shoulders as he pulled you from your seated position. His focus turned to keeping the two of you up as he made his way to the couch, and you took advantage of the shift, lowering your face to press a kiss beneath his ear. “Yeah. Speaking of which, we should probably tell everyone we’re dating, it has been a few months.”

Jake chuckled again as he lowered the two of you onto the couch. He leaned against the cushions behind him as you made yourself comfortable on his lap, feeling the way your soaked panties rubbed against his still covered erection. “I agree… but for now I’d just really like to fuck you.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips as a giggle passed through them. “Alright, what are you waiting for then, Jacob?”

His eyebrows lifted, and a smirk formed on his lips as he moved to stretch his arms across the back of the couch. “Jacob, huh.”

You wore a similar smirk to him as you slowly pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and nodded your head. He chuckled, lifting himself off of the couch a bit and catching you off guard as he repositioned the two of you so that you were laying across the cushions with him hovering above you. “Alright, you’re in for it now, doll.”

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[ptersparkers]

scenes from a diner (two)

summary: a small diner off of a freeway exit becomes a sacred meeting place for you and aaron hotchner. 

notes: hi, all! here’s part two - thank you to those who took time the leave very sweet comments :’) means a lot to me! x

warnings: typical criminal minds violence and typos, probably.

link to part one until i create a masterlist for this

***

It’s Thursday night when you find yourself back in the diner. 

It’s colder than the night before and you’re snuggled in a sweater, leggings, and a pair of sneakers. You always make a habit of bringing an extra set of clothes when you’re on campus to teach, and you’re grateful that you put the extra bag in your car the night before because you were running late earlier this morning. 

The mystery man didn’t show up to the diner the night after you first saw him. It was silly of you to think the stranger would in the first place–he very well could be a transient, in D.C. for some political conference or whatever events were happening in the Capitol. But it didn’t stop you from thinking about his dark hair and his brown eyes. You’re an absolute sucker for brown eyes. 

It surely didn’t stop you from thinking about him when you got in your car and when you were alone. You were painfully aware that he sat close by the entrance and you could make out his figure. Broad shoulders, constantly slouching over his work, still handsome from behind. It bothered you to no end. 

It didn’t help that Patty was making faces at you whenever she’d come by to refill your coffee. Patty always knew how to get your attention and she looked between the both of you, mouthing ‘he’s good looking’ from time to time, but you shook her away under the guise of needing to work. You’d watch her stifle a laugh from the corner of your eye and oddly enough, proving to her that you were working made you focus on your studies instead of thinking about the stranger.

This man haunts your daydreams and you don’t even know his name. You think about him when you walk in between classes and when you’re supposed to be grading papers. You think about him when you’re alone in your apartment and you wonder if he can cook. You wonder what this taste in music is, his favorite TV show, and what he does for a living. But that’s all you can do: wonder. 

Perhaps you read too many novels. 

Eventually, the clock on your phone read one in the morning and you were already tired, and you needed to be on campus for your research project the same morning. If there was anything you detested, it was your schedule. Every other day was spent in the classroom–you taught two classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays–with underclassmen. Mondays and Wednesdays were reserved for research days. Friday’s supposed to be your day off, but you use it to grade work so you don’t have to do it on the weekend. 

You suspect that you’re the top contender for favorite professor because you grade all of their work as fast as they submit it. 

You packed your bag and said goodbye to Rudy and Patty, and passed the stranger on the way out. You looked at him, he looked at you, and you bit your lip before you could register what you were doing. The man watched you leave the diner without so much as a goodbye.

Betty (Elizabeth, but she prefers to be called Betty), your best friend since you moved to D.C., has heard plenty about your non-existent tryst with the stranger. You called her as soon as you got home and immediately began backtracking your interaction with him, from spilling your coffee to watching you leave. She’s a night owl like yourself. But unlike you, she has no trouble going to bed well after the sun sets and waking up before the daylight shines through her window. 

She works as a bartender between campus and your apartment. You’re not sure how going out with your then-best friends led to a blossoming friendship with Betty, who was typically the bartender whenever you went out, but after a few free drinks and great conversations, Betty was already somebody who you’d be hanging out with if you weren’t studying. 

It’s why she’s so invested in your love life. You remind her that nothing’s going to come out of it because you left and didn’t get his name or number. Betty jokingly chides you for being so shy, and you know she means well, but you can’t help but compare yourself to her outgoing personality. The amount of people she attracts astounds you because you can’t seem to find people who look at you the way they look at Betty.

You’re on the phone with her when you walk into the diner. You sit in the same spot two nights prior and you rationalize that it’s because it has a charging port, but you know it’s really because you hope this mystery man comes back and recognizes you from earlier in the week. You know you’re being delusional, but a part of you can’t seem to turn it off. 

“Maybe this mystery man will show up tonight,” she muses. “If he does, you better ask for his number.”

“I’m not bold enough,” you chide. 

“Okay, ask for his name,” she suggests. “The least you can do is ask for his name so you know what name to scream, if you know what I mean.”

“Elizabeth,” you scold. She laughs when you say her full name and backs away from the topic. 

“Okay, okay. I won’t tease you anymore. Maybe I should come down there and see who you’ve been thirsting over for myself.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen,” you say. Rudy spots you from behind the kitchen and waves, making a move to wash his hands and greet you. “Besides, he’s probably not gonna come back in tonight. Nothing for you to see.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Betty dismisses. “I’m living vicariously through you. A handsome and mysterious man who’s infatuated with my best friend? Count me in.” 

You roll your eyes and you know better than to stop Betty from wanting the best for you. It’s been like this for a few years now. She knows about your past and makes it a point to be there for your shining moments–graduation, banquet dinners, all of it. She’s a year older than you and sometimes you think she might be the sister you never had but always wanted. 

“I gotta go. Just walked in,” you say. 

“Who’re you talking to?” Rudy asks when he approaches you.

“Is that Rudy?” Betty asks. “Hi Rudy!” 

You give the phone to Rudy. “It’s Betty. She says hi.”

“Heya, Pumpkin! My wife and I tried the bourbon you sent us. So good,” Rudy tells her. “Thanks for spoiling us.”

“Thanks for spoiling me,” Betty emphasizes. You can hear her through the phone and roll your eyes in amusement. Betty’s been coming to the diner with you for ages, visiting you on late night shifts and warding all the creeps who enter the diner. Rudy’s grown to like her almost as much as he likes you. 

“Y/N’s telling me to hurry it up,” Rudy teases.

“Am not!” you exclaim, swatting his shoulder. “Jesus, you both are so dramatic.” 

“Love you,” Betty muses from the phone as you hang up. Rudy looks at you fondly and beckons you over to the register. 

“Just messing with you,” he says. “How’s the teaching gig? Patty told me you’re killing it.” 

“Patty’s probably exaggerating,” you retort. You accept the coffee from Rudy and he offers you a slice of pie, but you decline, having eaten a small dinner before coming here. “But teaching’s great. I still don’t know if it’s what I want to do with my career, but my advisor says it’s good practice for when I defend my thesis.”

“Atta girl.” Rudy smiles at you and it sends warmth to your cheeks. 

You love Rudy almost like you loved your father. You’ve been careful not to project these feelings onto him, but it’s hard when he knows who you are and where you came from. It’s hard when he takes care of you when you’re in the diner alone, looking after you as you hunch over the copious amounts of notes sprawled in front of you. You’ve been over to his house plenty of times for holiday celebrations when everyone on campus is off; he invites you over so that you don’t have to spend it alone. Mary, his wife, is almost like a second mother to you too. 

It’s hard to not feel like an outsider when you’re at his family events because you know you aren’t really part of his family despite him saying otherwise. You’ve met his children and grandkids, offered to babysit during your free time, and got to know his family like they were your own. You knew you were welcomed by his family, yet you still felt like you had no place to call them yours. 

The doorbell ringing brings you out of your thoughts. 

You feel a presence behind you and Rudy emerges from the back when he hears the familiar chime. You instinctively step out of the way for the person behind you to place their order, but then you’re caught off guard. 

It’s him. The stranger. Tall, handsome, and dashing as ever. 

This time, he’s wearing a navy blue suit and a white dress shirt underneath. His tie looks pristine and his fingers flex on the strap of his work bag, and you force yourself to look away before he catches you staring at his hands. 

“What can I get for ya?” Rudy asks the stranger. 

But the stranger is preoccupied looking back at you. You’re still standing by the register with your book bag over your shoulder when he makes eye contact and you swear your knees buckle. He’s looking at you like he knows who you are, like he remembers you from two nights ago. 

Rudy (having heard from Patty all about how handsome this man is and how he seemed to strike an interest in you), looks at him once over and backs off for a moment. You notice, and you don’t know whether you love or hate him for it. Neither of you speak out of shock to see one another again, but you don’t know that Patty told him you’d be here if he was looking for you. 

“You,” you breathe. He lifts an eyebrow and you shake your head, trying to say something that’ll make this less awkward. “I-I mean I recognize you. From the other night.”

Nope. That made it more awkward. 

But the man laughs. “I recognize you too. Sorry about your jacket, by the way. I hope the coffee stains came out.”

“Easy peasy,” you reply. “Can’t even tell that there was a stain in the first place.”

The man smiles. “I’m glad. Can I buy you a cup of coffee as an apology?

You motion at the mug in your hand and the man looks almost embarrassed. He huffs out a laugh and nods his head, almost as if he’s trying to find the words to say.

“I can buy you something else, if you’d like?” he offers. 

Before you can refuse, Rudy places a mug on the counter in front of the stranger. He looks at it quizzically, but Rudy just smiles at him and walks away. You watch the man put a ten dollar bill in the tip jar and you nearly faint. 

“That’s quite generous,” you remark. “I think you’re Rudy’s favorite customer.”

“I could say the same about you,” the stranger notes. “I don’t think you paid for your coffee the last time you were here.”

You laugh. “I used to work here a few years ago. He says it’s the best he can do for putting up with strange customers in the dead of night. That, and he doesn’t think he’d ever run out of money to buy coffee.” You lean in closer to him. “But between us two, I think he feels bad about my workload.”

The stranger takes a sip and savors the taste of the strong roast. It’s not the best, he will admit, but it tastes familiar and he needs familiarity. 

“I think I’m gonna have to work my charm on Rudy,” says the stranger. “I’d never say no to free coffee.”

“Keep tipping like that and you might,” you tease.

You’re quite proud of yourself for that comment. 

An awkward lull hangs in the air as you both sip your coffee and you’re unsure of what to do next. Logically, you know you have to start grading assignments before you get too tired to do it, but you want nothing more than to stare this man in the eyes until he tells you to stop. 

So you do the next best thing you can think of before you can regret it. 

“Would you like to join me?” you find yourself asking. “I’m gonna be working for a while and judging by your bag, I assume you are too.” 

You watch the corners of his mouth lift into a small smile. 

“I’d love to.” 

His voice is like honey. 

The man follows you to the booth and from the corner of your eye, you can see Patty whistle at you from behind the counter. You give her a look and it only prompts her to wink at you. You’re grateful the man in front of you has his back turned or else you think you’d explode on the spot.

“I’m Aaron, by the way,” the man introduces.

Aaron. 

You don’t know what you expected his name to be, but Aaron wasn’t one of them. 

It fits him beautifully. 

You introduce yourself and pull out your laptop and a stack of papers to put beside it. It's his turn to look at you with wonder and you catch him when he takes off his jacket. You almost drop your jaw when you realize he’s rolling up his sleeves and that you can see his toned, muscled arms through his dress shirt. He loosens his tie and clears his throat as if it’s choking him, and you nearly faint. 

“So, Y/N, what do you do on days I don’t see you at this diner?” 

You force yourself back to reality. 

“I’m a PhD candidate,” you explain. Aaron grins like he knows something you don’t. “I’m also a part time professor at George Washington University. I teach an introductory class about criminology and it’s what my entire dissertation is about.”

Aaron stares at the stack of papers and it looks like it might reach Heaven. He’s a bit concerned. 

“That’s your dissertation?” he sputters in disbelief. 

“Oh God, no,” you laugh. “These are midterm papers I’ve been grading. They turned it in last week and I’m plowing through it before they start to wonder if I’ve been keeping their grades hostage.” 

You watch as he dramatically puts his hand to his heart and he sighs out of relief. It makes you laugh, which makes Aaron smile. 

“I was about to call you an overachiever,” he says. “Still, I’m impressed.” 

“I do my best,” you reply. “I don’t really know if teaching is going to be a career goal of mine, but it’s a requirement for my program.”

“What are you studying?” Aaron asks. 

This brings a smile out of you and you start talking before you could register that your brain was traveling at a million miles an hour. 

“I’m studying sociology but my area is specialized in criminology and the biological and environmental factors that contribute to behavior,” you say in one breath. Aaron looks at you with interest. “I want to learn if the discussion about nature versus nurture has any validity, and if it does, I want to know why it might make a person do what they do. I’m still trying to get the basic research done and I’m mapping out my paper, so it’s still in the early stages.” 

Aaron looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. 

“Aaron?” you ask after a moment of silence. “A-Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

His mouth breaks into a grin and he shakes his head. It’s almost like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

He sets aside the coffee mug and pulls out manila folders with the FBI’s insignia. Your eyes grow wide when you see it and you halt your movements. 

“I didn’t realize I’m sitting with a fed,” you chide. “I should probably get rid of all the drugs in my bag.”

Aaron hears the tone in your voice and he laughs. God, you could listen to him laugh all night. 

“I work with the Behavior Analysis Unit,” Aaron explains. 

“Fancy words. I’m assuming you have a fancy job.”

“I’m the unit chief.”

Your eyes grow wide. “Wow. Fancy title too.” 

“Your area of study is actually something we take into heavy consideration,” Aaron explains. “We try to use that to our advantage to catch killers.”

“You’re a profiler,” you say in amazement. “This surely is a huge coincidence.”

“A welcomed one,” Aaron replies. “I can see how passionate you are about your work.”

Your heart drops when your mind wanders to the sole reason why you’ve chosen this topic of all topics, but you don’t let Aaron see that. 

“It’s been eye opening to research all that I have,” you say. “I think it’s incredibly fascinating and there’s nothing else I’d rather be studying. I didn’t even know the Behavioral Analysis Unit was a thing.”

“We tend to keep a low profile unless we need to host press conferences,” Aaron says. “Local law enforcement around the country invite us to help solve their cases. We work more efficiently like that.” 

“You are so cool,” you blurt out. You almost want to take it back, but Aaron smiles at you. 

“The workload is intense, but it’s fulfilling.”

He shifts in his seat and he’s about to open the folder but chooses not to. His hands grip the mug as he brings it to his lips and from the corner of your eye, you can see Rudy give you a thumbs up. 

That can't be good.

“Are you from around here?” Aaron asks. He laughs once and shakes his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask an invasive question.”

“I’m from a small town in Southern California,” you reply instantly. “Went to school in New York before moving to D.C. You?”

“From Seattle, originally. Hated the constant rain and wanted a fresh start, so I moved to D.C. for this position. I also went to GWU.” 

“No way!” you exclaim. “You’ve gotta let me shmooze at alumni events. There’s nothing I love more than networking while powerful people are drunk out of their minds.”

Something about Aaron’s laugh brings joy and comfort to your ears. Maybe it’s because you like that he laughs at your jokes.

“Can’t say I’ve had the time to attend many of those parties, but you’ll be the first person I call. The last thing I want to do is be stuck there, alone.”

“It feels like I’ve been in D.C. for most of my life,” you admit, looking out the window. You see the windows painted in rain, and you wonder how you hadn’t noticed it began raining sooner. “It’s been the only place that feels like home.”

“Do you still go home to visit your family often?” Aaron asks. 

Your eyes bring themselves back to him and he watches as your shoulders deflate. 

“Uh, no,” you stutter. “My parents passed away when I was young and as luck would have it, neither of them had particularly big families.” 

Aaron doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

You wave him off. “Nothing to be sorry about. Rudy practically adopted me into his family. He takes being Italian very seriously and doesn’t take no for an answer.” 

“I have a friend like that,” Aaron muses. “He’s into hosting parties and mingling with friends and family.” 

“God, they could be the same person,” you say. “Rudy’s been taking care of me since I started working here and his family’s been a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“Found family is everything,” Aaron contributes. “I couldn’t imagine being at work without my team.”

“I still think it’s hilarious that we managed to meet. I mean, what are the odds that I’m studying what you do for a living?”

“Don’t ask me,” Aaron replied. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

He’s looking at you with a smile that makes you feel like you’re melting. Neither of you want this conversation to end, but you both know you have work that needs to be done. Aaron opens his folders and makes it a point to hide crime scenes photos from you (both out of legal reasons and so he doesn’t disturb you) while you pull out a pen and begin to read your first paper. 

An hour goes by when Patty approaches your table and refills your cups. She lingers for a while and makes small talk with Aaron. He welcomes the distraction after realizing he finished his first two cases fairly quickly and rewards himself with a pleasant conversation. Patty not-so-subtly brags about how intelligent she thinks you are and how you’re going to become the best forensic psychologist in your field. You don’t have the heart to correct her (and tell her you don’t know what you’re doing with your life).

“She’s friendly,” Aaron comments.

“Patty’s a real chit chatter,” you say. “A real chismosa. But she means well.”

“Are you close with her too?”

You nod. “She’s been very kind to me and helped me navigate my way around the city when I first moved.” 

“I can see why you like working here,” Aaron says. “Between the free coffee and pleasant company.” 

“I won’t complain about the free coffee.” 

Another hour and a half goes by when Aaron hears you yawn. He doesn’t want you to leave yet, and neither do you, but your eyes are getting tired and Aaron knows he needs to get back home before his son wakes up. You both pack up your belongings and Rudy tells you to drive safely, asking if you wanted to take any leftover apple pie home. You decline politely and he hands it to Aaron, who already knows better than to argue with him.

Aaron walks you to your car, which you don’t expect him to do, but it feels nice. You anticipate his action fueling your daydreams for weeks. 

“It was really nice to see you again,” Aaron says. The rain has stopped. You can see the wet pavement below and the smell of trees after a downpour. It’s welcoming and this moment nearly feels like a fairytale.

“Me too, Aaron,” you say, another yawn ripping right through you. 

Embarrassed, you cover your mouth and try not to fumble your keys while Aaron laughs. He thinks it’s adorable. You unlock your car and Aaron, ever the gentleman, opens the front door for you. 

“When can I see you again?”

You look up at him from your seat. You bit your lip, trying to focus on his question and not the sound of your heart beating inside of your chest. You’re surprised by his question because the entire time he’s been sitting in front of you, you try to rationalize why he took the liberty to sit with you instead of decline. It feels almost unreal that someone as handsome as Aaron would ask to see you again.

“I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon,” you offer. You’ve nearly gathered the courage to ask him for his phone number when you see him smile.

“Afternoon it is.” He pauses. “We can work together again. I think I’m more efficient when you’re around.” 

You close the door and open your window when you see Aaron looking at you. You try not to smile at his words.

“Is three okay?” you ask. 

“Three’s perfect.”

You feel like a teenage girl all over again and you fall asleep dreaming of Aaron.

[propheciesanddreams]

a little writing for you

They never tell you how unsettling it is to be a stranger to your own brother. Here’s someone you feel that you’re supposed to have some connection with. You remember them, with baby fat still clinging to their cheeks, and you remember their favourite toys, and the song that made them smile every time they heard it. Then you look at them as an adult and you know nothing about them. What’s their favourite colour? What type of music do they listen to? Do they hate me? 

That last question, that's the one that haunts Sirius the most. Glancing back up at the stranger in front of him, he swallows down his fear and tries not to see his mother in his brother's eyes and in his cheekbones and most of all in his frown. The one that is full of resentment and judgement, and he tries with all his might not to fall back into that space. Sirius tries not to feel five again, or ten, or twelve, or worst of all, sixteen. He tries not to remember when Regulus' sweet chubby-cheeked smile became the grimace they only associated with Maman. 

"Hello, Sirius." Regulus speaks first, curt but respectable all the same. 

"Hey." Sirius responds, his voice a bit unsure and then, "it's been a long time." What a foolish thing to say. 

"Ten years." Regulus says it as though he still remembers that day, an odd thing that. 

They stand in silence for only a moment before the toddler at Sirius' feet grows impatient and whines. 

Regulus doesn't ask, no, he's been taught to be polite and to be polite you don't bring up uncomfortable topics such as this. Sirius was once taught that, he's long since forgotten. 

"Teddy." He gestures to the toddler now pulling at his arm and muttering something about getting ice cream which Sirius swears was never brought up but knows instantly he will be talked into. 

"He's…" Sirius pauses on how to explain best who Teddy is to him, "my stepson I suppose you could say." 

Confusion crosses Regulus' brow but again he does not ask out of politeness. Sirius doesn't get a chance to explain because at that moment they're reunited with Teddy's dad, who comes up besides Sirius, throwing an arm around his waist and prattling on before he registers the stranger… the family… the person before them. The weight and warmth of his side is welcome against Sirius, dulling the shock, as Remus leans on him. He didn't bring his walking stick and now he's feeling weak. Were Sirius in a better mood, he'd chastise him for it. 

"They didn't have it, but the owner was so kind he said they'd order it for me by Wednesday and then gave me some recommendations for a few other books I might enjoy and– oh. Hi." 

"Hello, Lupin." Regulus replies, again he's terse but not unkind. 

"Right, well, we had better be off. You know, little ones." Sirius gestures to Teddy now seconds away from a proper tantrum even though he knows full well that Regulus does not and would have no reason to know the nature of toddlers. 

"It was good to see you." Sirius adds, Remus nods his agreement to the statement. 

"And to see you." Regulus replies, politely. 

Sirius doesn't know why he does it. They've exchanged the proper pleasantries. They've said what was needed and expected of them. It has been ten long fucking years. A lot of time in therapy and far too many cigarettes smoked over the balcony after midnight. Too much has passed for him to look back. So he isn't sure what makes him turn around then but he does. 

"Come to dinner. We're having–well it's just a small thing but we're already expecting guests tonight and–it would be lovely to have you. To… catch up." It falls flat, they're both aware of it, the words hanging between them. Regulus will politely decline and that will be that. They won't see each other for another ten years and then they'll do the whole dance again. 

So the next words out of Regulus' mouth shock Sirius to his core. 

"I'd be happy to." 

[voxxgrimly]

The Impression That I Get (Ch. 2)

CHAPTER 2

Somewhere Out There

Tuesday, November 29th, 2005 (9:00 PM)

Departing New York city with the phone number of one Charlotte ‘Lola’ Lee rendered Henry McCoy dumbstruck. He, therefore, devoted the majority of the journey to pure solitude; without the accompaniment of the radio– preferring instead his own recollections of those sparse minutes spent in the cafe. She had been– oh, to Hell with it! He had already considered so many (too many) descriptive nouns in his articulate vocabulary attempting to mentally compartmentalize Miss Lola Lee.

There was nothing for it; she was much too exceptional for mortal words to comprehend.

In the back of his mind he realized the folly of his own thoughts; a fellow who had, in his opinion, lied to her from the onset. The ‘Hank’ she had met was a man that, at least physically, no longer existed. Well no, even that was giving his image inducer too little credit. The man that Lola had encountered had never existed. Not at the age that the hard-light illusion portrayed. Not so… human.

One big, blue ‘paw’ traced the fur of his jaw.

Henry set his lips in a thin line, bolstering his resolve to never make use of the number in his cell phone contacts. It wouldn’t be– ‘gentlemanly’ wasn’t the word. Legitimate? Perhaps. Hypothetically it was even downright fraudulent. Stars and garters–! Imagine if they were to marry–

He ceased his thoughts right there.

----------

Wednesday, November 30th, 2005 (2:00 AM)

The mansion was quiet as the grave when Hank finally arrived in Westchester County; the majority of the room lights off and the ambience of the moon prancing prettily– stylistically skating the frozen fountain waters of the stately front drive. It was through the silence he directed his SUV to near the side entrance in what had been designated visitor parking and turned the ignition. The headlights dimmed, then darkened.

He was flagging before he’d even reached the interstate exit and now, eyes drooped and his shoulders veritably hackneyed by the day’s experiences, the weary politician slouched his spine and slunk from his vehicle with all the visible enthusiasm of a permanently exhausted pigeon.

There were no encounters worth noting on the trek to his rooms; though he did register in his ‘gray matter’ the scurried puttering of tiny claws on marble near the ground floor elevator. An escaped pet– poor thing. He’d make inquiries in the morning (or whenever he deigned to rise) and help find the critter for whichever needy student would no doubt be running veritable circles with distress looking for the piteous animal. His senses would prove invaluable for the search, after all. That was of course providing Logan didn’t take on the ‘hunt’ himself at sunrise. Feral senses were a horrible test of one’s temptations; the promise of a chase likely too good for the Wolverine to pass up.

Hank felt his own hackles bristle with exhilaration at the consideration and thanked his lucky stars that he was too tired to do anything outside of his imaginations.

Wednesday, November 30th, 2005 (7:00 AM)

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

The atrocious battering of his door hauled Hank out from under the safety of several layers of warm blankets– hair stuck up and fur askew. A colossal hand veritably trampled his bedside table in search of his glasses.

“Bluebell, y’ in there?”

The stench of cigars wafted in from the crack under the door and the politician wisely (tiredly) wrinkled his nose. “Unoccupied, Logan. Out of body experience.” Hank groaned. There was no sense in staying silent and praying the man would disappear; Logan asking after him was merely a formality. Of course the other feral knew where he was! He’d probably traced his scent up from the entrance hall– still present from when he had arrived last night.

From the other side of the door came a snort and a fresh puff of smoke. “Cute, Hank.”

Dig made, Logan remained and Henry decided he wanted something other than to say good morning.

Why wasn’t he surprised?

“What is it that you require, oh dear compatriot of mine?” The mutant rolled his tongue over his fangs to keep from snapping them– fingers pinching the bridge of his broad nose. “And could you cease smoking in the school? I’m well aware that Charles has chided you for it in the past, Logan! Stars, but you can be a– a–!” Nothing good would come from finishing that sentence.

He set his lips firm.

Logan seemed nonplussed. He could nearly imagine the shorter man shrugging. “Some kid lost ‘is pet… uh… lizard thing. Found ‘im in the one ‘f the bathrooms.” Logan’s rumbled guffaw drifted through. He’d steamrolled right over the other mutant’s previous comments.

Even in his partly addled state, something about that assertion stuck out to Hank as peculiar. Forget about past debates when he had such more advisable prospects to confound the poor Wolverine with. And, well, he deserved it for turning up so early! He did–! It was nearly soul crushing– devastating, even! Did the man never sleep?

“Who was in the facilities– the student or the lizard?” Lips quirked in a half smirk, Henry tugged on a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts just shy of shabby. To Hell with it– the morning was far too premature to worry about his appearance to that extent. Then Hank opened the door, leaning himself on the frame.

Finally–! Logan looked unimpressed; lips set in a mighty scowl past that ash-spitting cigar and his brawny, crossed arms. “Listen ‘ere, Blue–!” The Wolverine was revving himself up for a truly masterful rant.

Henry would have just loved to stick around for it, but he wiggled his cell phone in the man’s face– a piece of technology that had just dinged with the notification of a new text message. “As scintillating as this conversation has been, my boy, I’m afraid I must depart! Er– work! Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow! That I shall say good night till it be morrow!”

He could hear Logan chime up– growling something about it ‘already being morning, Hank!’ as he shut the door in his face.

There was no assurance of attention worthwhile re: Hank’s appearance. He had absolutely neglected the thought of his fellow mutant in favour of the subject matter apparent on his phone screen. It was enough to make his hands tremble and his palms perspire.

‘Hi, Hank! Are you going to be in the city today to finish your Christmas shopping?’

Scant few lines, but enough to take the breath from his lungs.

Charlotte Lee– Lola Lee– had messaged him asking for his company. How did he dare to refuse?

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

Read More: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48750490/chapters/122975914

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

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This story is an AU of The Last Stand combined with SOME comic elements and a LITTLE bit of Alternate Movie Timeline shenanigans. I pull stuff as I see fit and have fun! Enjoy!

I'll be posting a chapter per day / every other day until I catch up with my AO3! I'll also be posting my other Hank McCoy story titled Coffee, Tea or Me.

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

STORY SUMMARY

Secretary Hank McCoy has traditionally spent the holidays alone. This year he’d been invited by Charles to the mansion for a celebration he wasn’t morally able to turn down.

During a trip to New York for presents, Hank stumbles across a human woman he just can’t seem to walk away from. It’s serendipity at its finest during a time of year when romance seems magical.

Lola, a Journalism major with innocent dreams of making the world a better place, finds herself attracted to a muscular, charismatic middle-aged man she runs into (quite literally) in her favourite cafe. He likes wearing fine suits. She's just trying to make it to the end of her final year.

There’s more than meets the eye, however, to the gentleman that’s caught HER eye. He isn’t what he seems and he’s hiding a very BLUE secret from her.

[popcornforone]

He Knows…

Marcus Pike Fan Fiction

I’m stressed at the moment & my mental health isn’t in the best place right now. The only things that make me happy or motivated are talking to friends, watching films or writing. Nothing else seems to help at all. So someone suggested I wrote down what was going on in my head, & it turned into this.

If this is too much for you all I’m sorry I really am but I just let go & it really helped. I am always here if you want to talk or not you know that right. It is okay not to be okay peoples.

Synopsis: You have a moment & the world is just on top you but your partner Marcus Pike knows exactly what to say & sometimes that’s nothing at all.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: this is extremely personal & talks about anxiety, stress, mental health issues, depression & feeling alone. Some anger & panic attacks. Please remember people that everyone is going through there own issues & struggles sonic this is too much & hits to close to home I’m sorry. It’s just sad & heartbreaking & sweet.

All feed back is welcome peoples. Thanks for the read & thanks for putting up with my mood in the last week. I almost didn’t publish it but I thought if this helps one person say or not say something then I’ve done my job.

Marcus knows, he really does. He’s not told you that he knows but he knows. He’s seen the signs, he knows what you go through, he knows it’s going to happen. He wants to help but he knows to not ask, you have to ask him. He knows you won’t over react if he does but he wants you to tell him so you can get it out of your system yourself. He’s carrying on as normal waiting for you to finally speak. He knows he has to be there when you do.

It’s another four days that pass. He comes home to your shared apartment in Washington & sees the contents of your bag scattered across the hall. He can’t smell the dinner that you’ve usually made a start on as he arrives, which he often helps with. He knows where to find you & he knows where to go. He takes off his shoes & socks & expensive dry clean only jacket & walks towards the bathroom. He can already hear the gasps from your mouth & the water hitting the floor. He pushes the door open carefully. He knows.

You sit on the wet room floor, in all your clothes, the hot water running hitting you & the tiles. You’re rocking back & forth going “it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay” in a hushed tone. Silent tears merging with the mist & water which is cascading. Your inner monologue desperate to scream to the world but it’s soft whimpers that escape your mouth. You don’t even notice the door open, let alone it being Marcus. It’s only when that large arm covers you to protect you like an eagle that you register what’s happened. He’s in the shower sitting down with you on the floor fully clothed, stroking your arm, holding your other hand going “shhhhhh let it all out, we’ve got this, you’ve got this, in your own time if at all”. He knows.

You are a firm advocate of it’s okay not to be okay. You’re always a little to honest with everyone about your emotional feelings, but sometimes you lock it away completely, & it builds up inside you until you can’t ignore it. You’d thought it was just because it was your time of the month, or it being allergy season, or 1 too many deadlines at work which didn’t actually need to be looked at for a little while. & yet today on this random Wednesday as you sat in the traffic on your drive home which was longer than usual & the supermarket didn’t have what you wanted for dinner, it just made you snap. You got home & didn’t even get the few bits of shopping out the boot of your car. You’re amazed you even shut the door to your apartment. You were going to have a shower before a work out, a work out to get rid of the stress, but even your brain couldn’t focus to do your release exercise. So you felt the warming mist of the shower & then fell apart in your bathroom, sitting underneath the warm water for the last 15minutes.

You lock eyes with Marcus. His job is so much more stressful & important than yours (he works for the government after all) but he feels your pain. He’s the one who’s had to cope with you for the last few weeks as your mental health has slowly deteriorated. You tell him everything in a ramble, it’s not coherent & you rub your face into his wet blue shirt as you cry from time to time. He just listens. He doesn’t come up with answers, he just listens. He caresses you keeping you under his arms, safe & secure with him. Your apartment you share is all you need & his warm smile. He knows you need this.

“Sorry baby”you say when you’re finished. “That was all a bit too deep, I just feel like I’m letting myself down all the time, that I’ll lose my job, that you’ll see through me & leave me &…” his lips touch yours like a feather to sooth you. He slowly as you spoke that sentence, lifted your chin so your eyes were engaged but he couldn’t resist. It’s probably not what you need at all but he wants your anxiety to be replace by loving butterfly’s in your stomach, filled with excitement. He knows this precious moment may help.

“Anxiety is such a pain, isn’t it baby” he says as you break from the tenderest kiss to ever occur in the world• “there’s nothing I can say to help you though, you’ve heard it all before, we all deal with it in different ways”he gives you a comforting squeeze as he can see you trying to control your breathing “I mean mines not the best method but it works for me. Touching my chest, patting myself down with 3 soft taps, & I feel like it’s moving & going else where. I’m at peace once that’s happened, & I do that everytime I have to speak at work &…” Marcus pauses unsure if to admit to something which would show so much weakness. But you’re vulnerable & he knows you probably need to hear this. Barring his souls only shows strength not weakness.

“Every time we go out as a couple I do it, I’m anxious someone else is going to catch your eye, someone more fitting, someone more handsome & that I will be heartbroken once again” he sighs “I’m anxious every morning, that I’m not enough for you & that one day like all the rest of the the women in the world, you will discover that” it’s your turn to put Marcus at ease. You rest your forehead against his & you both close your eyes inhaling the other in, water still flowing across the two of you. “Why would I ever even consider looking at anyone else baby, I love you, I love you so much, you know that right?” & it’s your turn to instigate the kiss. You hands cup around his face, the beard he’s trying to grow feel corse against your palms & his tash tickles a little, but you want to touch as much of his face as you can. He’s warm, he’s comfort, he’s a loving embrace at the end of any day. You know that & so does he.

Marcus has finally found someone he can trust in you. He never wanted love again after what happened but he knew he had to be in your life the second he’d met you. Someone so honest & true & loyal. Someone who just got him & didnt care about the past. Marcus to you is just Marcus, the man you met at the bus stop, who looked like his world was ending but was soldiering on. The man with all the confidence in the world reduced to a shell due to other peoples actions. You simply asking him if he was okay, started a chain reaction that has lead to your moment right here. He suffers as well & has his moments but he knows not to bottle it up any more.

“I think we need to get out the shower my love” he whispers his hand still trailing across yours as he reaches to turn the cascades of water off finally. You both shiver as he helps you to your feet. You pull Marcus close & you never want to let go. He may be drenched from head to toe looking rouged & sexy, but it’s his hand trailing from your scalp, down your head, neck & spine. Flat & calm while the other arm is wrapped round your waist. He is your comfort person & he is here as your safety. He’s the person you’d want to call at 3am just to say nothing to you, who’d happily walk around a garden centre explaining the difference between one sort of decking & another. He is just that person. He gives you exactly what you need for the right situation, & right now you just need comforting silence or words. He knows.

You both strip out of your sodden outfits & dry off. No tease, no oral, no sex, no love making, you’re just comfortable with each other as you both go into the bedroom & slide on your jammies. Yours are navy covered in the stars of the night sky, his are grey & blue & plain, but you always admire how it just scraps across his skin as he puts the tshirt on. It makes you wonder what his skin feels like despite it being something you touch so regularly. He takes your hand as you towel dry your hair, kissing each knuckle tell you the words “it’s okay not to be okay baby remember”. His hushed tones & lips smoothly forming love on your hands makes you tremble but in a good way. It’s not sexual is just soothing & secure. A million storys & secrets told to each other with a simple glimpse, as your eyes meet. He knows you’re almost there.

You both head to the kitchen to cook, after you send him outside to get the groceries from the car. He’s standing there peeling carrots, when he notices your hand start to shake stirring the sauce. Your bottom lip quivering starting to frown, eyes filling up as you gasp for air. He takes your hand from the spoon & brings you 5 steps back. His touch is an instant calm & you gasp at the air trying to control everything, which you know you can’t anymore. His embrace from behind is warm & firm & as he holds you against him he lowers his head & whispers “it’s okay my love, let it go” he knows you need to release.

You cry & moan & scream. This anguished noise of emotion goes on for a good couple of minutes. Marcus doesn’t let go, he want to feel all the negativity leave your body & after a while he feels your shoulders relax. “Breathe with me baby” in for 4 & out for 5 you both do in unison. You’re almost calm. & then you feel his hand trials down your tshirt which is also holding yours. He placed his on top of yours & motions the three small pats he does for anxiety. Small soft but they do what they needed to. The feel of touch & the idea that you are doing this together, so you can move on with your life yourself, it actually helps. He knows what he’s doing.

You eventually open your eyes, the world feeling clearer you mind less stressed, just a feeling of relief & calmness covering you. He’s still stroking across your hand, calming you like he would rock anyone or thing to help them through this. You go to speak & he shhhs you “I know baby, I know it’s okay, I’m here”. You bring his lips down to yours for a cherished kiss, one that perks you up. He can feel through your lips your more like you. The warmth is starting to radiate through you, making you the kind generous thoughtful person once again, that he met that day. Your own cloud is lifting making you see the sunshine.

When you break you look into his eyes, both of your sets are stinging a little from the intensity of all of this, but it was needed. You already feel so much more like you, just by this release you’ve just had. His smile smoulders & you see the glint in his eyes that shine brighter than the night sky. “Hey Marcus,how are you?” You smile & ask “better, I’m better my love” you stand there with him holding onto you smiling, for a few seconds more before you let go. You are back to being a bit more like you. The anxiety will hit again for you both, you both know it but all the while you’re honest with each other & can help with each others issues, that’s all that matters. Your relationship & love will concur everything. You know that & so does he. He knows…

[bmodiwrites]

A Faded Pair of Levi 505's

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: So, a long time ago @harringtonisms challenged me to a soulmate troupe that I really enjoyed. I wrote up this little drabble here but I thought it'd be cool to flesh it out & change things up. This is what I ended up putting together. I'm thinking it's the first of three in a series. Here's hoping you guys enjoy. Word Count: ~6.5k Warnings: There's a brief mention of child ab*se & violence, but it's super minor. I tried to keep it light hearted without taking away some of the needed drama. Summary:

The world is a black and white place until a person meets their soulmate. The mark on their right wrist helps to narrow down the search and for Steve it's a burden. The words are vulgar, yes, but an unkept promise, too. Eddie's heard the ones on his wrist so much that he's given up the search - they're meaningless when the whole world speaks them. Things change one afternoon when Eddie is hot under the collar and looking for a fight. Tapping Steve Harrington on the shoulder makes the world the brightest, most beautiful thing Eddie's ever seen. Read to find out what happens when Steve & Eddie do their best to deny their feelings and push their soul bond away. Will Steve make it when the symptoms of soul sickness set in?

Or, a sorry attempt at a soulmate fic!

Read it on A03 here!

Steve never expected to meet his soulmate on a Wednesday afternoon. He was treading the line between a migraine and overstimulation when the tone in the room changed. Not wanting to get himself involved, Steve kept his head down and continued to eat. He didn’t even look up when Robin nudged him with her shoulder. The food in front of him was much more important than anything causing so much commotion. His mind was already thinking about the couple of chapters he needed to read to prepare himself for his next class. If he ate fast enough, he’d have just enough time to get them done.

Those thoughts were quickly wiped away at the feeling of a strong hand on his shoulder. Steve gasped at the contact, turning quickly in his seat to swat away the fingers digging into his skin. Looking up at just the right moment, Steve’s entire world shifted.

Never one to think much about soulmates, Steve didn’t worry about the fact that his color vision hadn’t set in. For a brief moment, Steve thought Nancy might’ve been the one. The distinct lack of color, both when they first met and well into their relationship, cured Steve of that crush once and for all. Having someone call him and his love bull shit didn’t help much, either. Still, his mind hadn’t strayed to the concept of having an other half for quite some time – there were more important things than the tacky “holy shit!” that covered his right wrist. Steve even wore a band around it more often than not to make sure no one saw the expletive. Of course, shit like that came when a person least expected it and Steve, he was the furthest from being ready or able to deal with the sudden realization of his soulmate.

Grimacing, because he truly didn’t like the way the whole situation was playing out, Steve said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re a freak, Munson.” He couldn’t hear how loud he said the words or the tone they came out in, but the look on Eddie’s face registered. In fact, everything about the other boy’s face became crystal clear as the world shifted from black and white to red and blue all over. Losing a sense was already overwhelming – Steve struggled to deal with the distinct lack of noise in his life on a minute to minute basis. The shock of gaining one shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, yet Steve found himself rocked to the core, nonetheless. The heat of being disturbed dissipated as Eddie stared at him, as the color of Robin’s hair became something lighter than Steve ever imagined.

Another second of silence passed while Steve tried to tighten his resolve. He was seconds away from saying something a bit more meaningful when Eddie said something too fast for Steve to lip read and walked away.

Quick as a flash, Steve turned to Robin and signed “what did he say?”

Robin took a second to think before smirking, a look of enjoyment in her eyes. Raising her hands, Robin signed back “he called you an asshole.” She looked so satisfied by her ability to sign something crude that Steve didn’t correct any of her other hand signs. He got the gist of it, anyway.

[paganminiskirt]

TALES FROM THE WIP WEDNESDAY CRYPT - NO LODGING FOR THE MAD EDITION

So, guess who finally got some revision done?Hopefully, I’ll be out of this Fucking Lobby Scene soon; I do mean to finish this someday.

Been tagged by @shallow-gravy and @adelaidedrubman these past few weeks; tagging @henbased @florbelles @vasiktomis @deputy-morgan-malone @strafethesesinners @broken-balance-baby @detectivelokis @derelictheretic

“The name, sir?” He didn’t go out of his way to include the honorific, but the man snickers anyways.

“How about Jack Moulton.” He says it like the punchline of a joke. “Don’t think I’ve used that one before.”

Mindlessly Joseph hums an agreement, fiddling with the register. The name on the card is “Adrian Solossa” - what even is that, Spanish? Faith would know, god I miss her - but he could always say he thought it belonged to one of his buddies, if the cops ever come knocking on behalf of whoever’s pocket it was plucked from.

“William Peyton still owns this motel, yes.”

Of course, this is a friend of his boss, the living wax statue. “He does”

The man - Jack draws back from the desk, finally, swiping up the keys. “Tell him Hoyt is here in the morning. Hoyt, not Jack. Let him come by and say howzit.”

He’s got no goddamn clue what the last part of that sentence was, but he catches his real name, the archaic, viking-ish Hoyt. He’s handled people who used fake names before, husbands two-timing their wives and lot lizards from miles up the road, two distinct types of whore. Hoyt’s a bit old to be a gigolo, his friends a bit underdressed; a pimp from out of town and his security, maybe. It would explain why it seems he’s supposed to feel honored.

Jack or Hoyt or whatever he is pushes himself up off the table, the motion a greater mercy than anything Joseph’s seen since coming out here.

“Go unlock the door on 235 and turn the heat on.” He tosses the key to the sunburn, who catches them seamlessly, somehow still sharp. “Bring the floppy haired yokel with you, he can carry the bags.”

He kicks the glass door open unceremoniously, hovering a bit in the threshold to cock his head in Joseph’s direction.

“Do that quickly for me, eh?” One ugly blue eye winks, pleased with himself from the looks of it. “Long night.”

The door falls shut behind him, a draft brushing Joseph’s cheeks as he watches him disappear into the dark.

As quickly as he can, Joseph wriggles his arms into his hoodie and slinks out from behind the desk, some exhaustion seeping back in now that the shock has worn off. Helping his weird friend settle in must mean something to his boss, he decides, and Joseph is doing him a favor working with a scalded hand as is - once this is over, he’ll stay outside to smoke a cigarette. He’ll spend what’s left of the shift doing what he likes.

He’s already halfway to the door by the time the sunburn hauls himself out of his chair with a grunts. A shockwave of chilled, breathable air washes over him as he drags it open, and he sucks it in greedily, even as his body tenses.

This stretch of land always has a languidness to it, but at night the desert drops all pretensions of life and slips into dreamless sleep. In the half-year since he drifted out here, the road has seen no cops, no buses and no cars worth more than 5K. He buys his food from the same place where his coworker puts gas in her car, steals appliances from the Hotel’s stock when his own break down. Every so often, a coyote will go behind the dumpster to gnaw bones or have pups, but they never settle here, no more than the clientele. Joseph is attendant to a dusty, transient purgatory, locked down where the guys he came to Texas with have long since passed through.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if something happens to him.

[0nlinejournal]

06/21/2023 1:53am

I’ve been wanting to write but I haven’t really had the opportunity to. It’s already (technically) Wednesday. I had another… episode.. on Sunday. Again, I don’t know what happened, but it at least didn’t progress to me being taken to the hospital and not being able to understand people speaking to me.

It felt just like last time. I was getting progressively hot, and felt faint. The difference being that this time I was in an air conditioned building, not building a wooden shed outside. Maybe it is important to note that I had just arrived at work, and there was the same transition from hot to cold. Because the last episode happened when I went inside to take a break from the construction of the shed.

Anyway, I tried to help out a costumer, but she was asking for recommendations and my vision was starting to black out. I waited until she stopped speaking to me, and then asked my coworker if he could please take over. I immediately sat down. I didn’t even go to the back, I just sat down a step away from the register. Eventually my friend helped me to the back and put a water in front of me, but then the cramping kicked in.

I recognized that feeling from last time as well. Just pure pain. Pain that indicated (beware! TMI) that I was either going to vomit, shit, or vomit while shitting. We have two single use bathrooms and both were in use. I thought I was going to die, I definitely think I was quietly whimpering at this point.

Having to wait for a bathroom that I know I’m about to collapse in it’s not a great feeling. But that pause I was forced to take made me recognize a new physical symptom. Everything was so muffled. It felt like I had two pillows on my ears. Mind you, I’m still progressively getting hotter this entire time.

By the time I make it into the bathroom I am sweating profusely. It’s not a cold sweat either, I was so hot. I was drenched in sweat. I barely used the restroom at all before choosing to lay on the floor to get my body in contact with a cold surface. Also, at this point my hands had completely locked up. My friend had texted me but I couldn’t respond due to only being able to lay on the floor. I had to wait for my hands to work again to be able to text her so that she didn’t think I fully passed out.

To cut it short, it didn’t progress to the intensity of the first time (which I checked, and was back in January). I had my friend drive me home, and I slept the rest of the day. I have been furiously googling what could possibly be the cause of these episodes, but nothing seems to fit exactly. Either way, they are a frightening experience.

2:22am

[winchest09]

Lights Out - Preview/Teaser

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: Y/N was different from the rest; living in a quaint lakehouse, on the edge of one of the most rich and prosperous towns in America. She was surrounded with the elite, the wealthy and people who never took responsibility for their actions. Money gave them everything, while in turn, it had taken something from her. In result, she kept her distance, never wanting to get involved with high society, until one fateful night changed her life…forever.

Rating: 18+ Warnings:  Angst, flangst, smangst, smuff, smut, fluff, darker themes. All chapters will be tagged accordingly. For this teaser - here be smuttage. Teasing, Dom themes, sub themes. 

Tumblr Status: Begins posting Friday 21st January. Will post each Friday after that. 

Patreon Status: Five weeks ahead. Part 6 dropping Friday 21st.

A/N: Hey guys! Thought I’d drop a little bit of something new on this lovely Wednesday. I had promised a sneak peak of my new series and well...here it is. An exclusive look at what’s to come. 

The teaser is below the cut! 

“You want this?” His deep, rugged voice elicited a shudder from her. She felt goosebumps raise on her arms, her body already tingling with the anticipation of what was to come. 

“Yes,” Y/N whispered out into the darkness, her eyes scanning the shadows even though it proved fruitless. 

“Yes what?” Came the deep reply, the authoritative yet cautious tone that wrapped around his delicious words causing her to bite down on her red painted lip. 

“Yes, sir.” It came easy, the way she submitted to him, the way she allowed herself to break free from her own regulated chains. 

She had clearly pleased him, and could hear the way his chest was heaving, but her mind was only focusing on the sound of his footsteps as they came ever closer towards her. This sensation was new, exhilarating, dangerous. There was no seeing what the other was about to do which meant that each movement was a delectable surprise that only had her begging for more. Seconds turned into minutes, or so it felt, before the man who she had yielded too came to a halt in front of her.

The scent of his aftershave engulfed her; warm, spicy, earthy. It was a narcotic that she wanted to get addicted to, that she desired to lose herself in completely, and without wasting a beat, she tentatively reached out into the unknown. That was when she felt it, the hard, long cock that throbbed beneath her touch through its confines. She didn’t register how her jaw had relaxed, her mouth parting with shock; her focus was getting into the fly of his pants and feeling the weight of him, flesh against flesh. 

Yet, Y/N let out a small breath as she felt him pull him away. “Ah ah,” he scolded while she heard him begging to circle her, “only good girls get rewards.” 

She whimpered at that, and within seconds, his breath was hot against her cheek, the sound of his slightly raspy hum of approval reverberating through her and flowing straight to her core. Fingertips were ghosting the skin of her neck, the featherlight touch only adding fuel to her ever burning desire. She followed them in her mind as they descended down her spine, a warm palm slowly spreading across her lower back before it moved under the resting silk to caress the side of her breast. A whimper left her at the feeling, her lace panties getting wetter with every passing second. 

She never expected this, especially not here, but she felt like a hummingbird that was minutes away from starving, only to taste the sweet notes of nectar on her tongue. She was too far in to retreat now. Not that she wanted to. The way his hand was caressing her body, his stubble grazing the curved junction of her shoulder; it was hypnotic. How could she be so entranced by a man she could not see? 

—————————————— PROLOGUE DROPPING FRIDAY 21ST JANUARY!  ——————————————

Hope you liked it guys! Can’t wait to share this with you all. <3 

TAG LIST IS OPEN 

Just let me know if you wish to come into the darkness <3

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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. 

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job Post 224: Scenes from a Party, p7

If one were to drift away from the party proper, if one were to step down the hallway which led past the restrooms and to the private lounges, one might pass a doorway left half ajar. One might peek in and see a tall, blonde woman talking with a young, bald man. That’s exactly what Angie Wade, recent hire in the accounting department at what was once Far Horizons Medical Associates, barely registered as she dragged her new employer by the hand past the door. “Hmm I figured,” she could be heard to say as she closed the door, ostensibly to give them more privacy, “that one’s taken…”

….

Dr. J had barely looked her way that whole evening, she thought with consternation. Can’t he see how big I am? Cynthia Carlisle seethed to herself, wincing again at the pain in her feet in these goddamn heels which somehow seemed too small already, I’m the biggest one here, and he hasn’t even noticed!! She was frustrated. She was upset. Even though she usually didn’t drink, she’d had a glass of wine. And then another. She hovered at the edge of the crowd in her new blue dress, squinting. Maybe I should have worn my glasses. Astigmatism. But then she saw him, that guy, AJ, eyeing her, trying not to be noticed. Drifting closer. Saying hi.

He’s one of the construction boys. Used to date that stuck-up new-girl Angie from accounting. I’ve seen him working on some of the vents. He looked at my legs. Cici bit her lower lip, considering. I heard him on Wednesday saying something about needing to be in the building after hours, bragging about having a key. Wheels started turning in Cynthia’s mind. He could be....he could be useful...

He offered to get her another drink. ‘No let’s go find a back room.’ Haha had she actually said that? She’d never been this bold. She didn’t know what to do next but found herself alone with him, in a dimly-lit private lounge, leaning back against a wall among soft chairs and a couple cushioned booths. Someone had just closed the door on them, sealing them in. As if not knowing her own strength, she’d inadvertently tossed a small cocktail table out of the way, making his eyes go wide, making him laugh nervously. She thought she maybe needed to act more coy. He talks a lot.

He told her about the keycard because she had asked.. That little construction foreman, he’d said, a red-head with cute freckles but a stick up her butt, technically his boss, had entrusted him with a keycard to get inside so he could work on the HVAC this weekend. He was obviously very important, smarter and more capable than the other guys, he explained. Did she know that he used to own his own construction company? That’s probably why the redhead had picked him t-

Anyway, that’s when Cici decided she wasn’t going home tonight.

Before she knew it, he was kissing her. It shocked her, a bit. One of the taller guys here, AJ was maybe just about her height...but in her new, white, six-inch leather heels: I’m so much taller than him, she thought with a flush, he’s up on his tiptoes. She could kick off her shoes, or lean down a bit more, make it easier on him but...no. It thrilled her, that he had to strain to reach her kiss. It made her feel tall, powerful, wanted. Let him struggle.

Cici’s heart was racing. It had been - what was it? Three years? - since she’d kissed a boy. And that had been her “boyfriend”, the nephew of the lady who worked with her aunt, the guy who moved away. He was, now that she thinks back on it, a lot like a mole, just as awkward and passive as she had been, back then. More into his anime and his model spaceships than he was into her. Who could have blamed him? Back then, she was short, overweight, meekly shy. But here she was, eight inches taller, with all these new curves, making out with a tall, handsome construction worker. With tattoos. And it felt good. Her heart was beating even faster, now.

As was AJ’s. He’d been with lots of girls before, girls of all types. Recently, he’d been strangely attracted to, uh, dominant women. Angie had fit that bill perfectly, he thought. She was a confident spitfire, a tiger in the sack, had learned how to push these newly submissive buttons of his. But this Cindi girl was something else entirely. Physically, she was like another species, like that brunette friend of Angie’s, Melissa. Look at her: tall, blonde, thick. Strong. It lit fires inside him in places he didn’t know existed, thinking of what she could do to him. What’s wrong with me?? he thought, as he began dissolving into their kiss, Why would he want her to-?

Cyhtnia’s lips were big, they were full, and she could tell that as she became more heated they were almost smothering him, and she was getting excited. Just go with the flow Cici,  she thought to herself, relax. He kinda likes how aggressive I’m being. Her tongue had just tentatively ventured into his mouth, at first, but now - after several minutes of kissing - it inhabited, controlled, dominated. Doing whatever it wanted. As she moved it around his she could feel him squirming and it…excited her. This was a new feeling, controlling someone else like this. It made her kiss him a little harder, devouring his face with her lips, push her tongue in deeper. I could make him choke on it, she thought in a lustful whim, acutely feeling her own strength, how it outmatched his, kill him with my tongue. Or I could suck the breath from his lungs. He was weak, meager compared to her and she felt it exciting her deep in her bones. She was, though, still able to control herself and when she finally pulled back to look in his eyes he seemed dazed, light headed.

Wow, I must be an amazing kisser, she thought, watching him struggle, gasping, if the goal is to make someone breathless. Seeing the effect she was having on him, she watched with libidinous interest as his eyes started to refocus. She began to consider what else she could do to this man, AJ, the handsome ex-boyfriend of Melissa’s arrogant friend.

Cynthia placed her hands on AJ’s shoulders, feeling them for strength. They were not broad, but leanly muscled.

“Am I pretty?” she asked, curiously, looking him in the eyes, blinking slowly.

The question surprised him, and though he was eager to answer he struggled to find the right words. “Y-you’re...you’re...omigod so…so big…”

Weird, but it was praise, and it flustered her. Big, yes, haha I know. Though that’s not what I asked. “But…am I pretty?”

His breath rattled in his lungs. He answered. “Y-you’re like a goddess…”

‘Goddess’? Cici thought, half-startled, Haha no one has ever, ever called me that before. Why did he say that? Because her breasts had grown? Because she was now obviously tall? Obviously strong? Because guys these days found that attractive? It was all thrilling, of course, not something she was used to, being the object of adoration of a boy, their haha goddess. But, still...it was not what she asked, she considered, as she squeezed his shoulders a bit, making him wince. She wanted to know...

“AM…I…PRETTY?!?” she asked, surprising herself with the volume of her voice, it’s commanding timbre as she pushed him down by the shoulders, onto his knees.

Oh my god haha.

She had felt some resistance, a little, from him. But she’d pushed right through it, making his legs buckle, his spine bend. He’d complained, a moment, confused - “C-c-Cynthia..?” he asked, as he crumbled - but she’d ignored him, pressing him to the floor.

She must outweigh him by thirty pounds, maybe more.

“Look up at me,” she said, plainly, a new authoritarian tone to her voice making it sound haha like a command. His gaze, in his muddled wonder, had dropped to her feet, looked at her shoes, ankles. But now - told by her to do so - he looked up, up past her breasts in her tight, light blue dress to her face which peered down, with bland interest, at him. It was like he was an oddity, a curiosity.

Suddenly Cynthia lifted her right leg, put her high-heeled foot up onto his left shoulder. AJ was shocked, again, by both the sudden motion and the new weight.  “Feel my leg,” she told him. Without hesitation and with both hands he grabbed into and felt her ankle, her shapely calf, how solid with muscle it was, how smooth the skin. She began to grind her foot into his shoulder. She’d never done anything like this before, but somehow she knew exactly what to say next. “Kiss it. Kiss my leg.”

His brows knit for a second, but he did not hesitate. Twisting, craning his neck, he laid his lips on the lower swell of her meaty calf. It was huge. Once, twice he kissed it. A third time.

He looked up at her, still peering down at him.

“Now,” she commanded, “kiss my shoe.”

Oh my god, thought AJ, realizing what he was doing, I'll do it. I’ll do anything this girl says.

He did. Awkwardly twisting his neck even more, he kissed the white leather of the pump on his shoulder. She raised her foot, and -  leaning back against the wall for suopoirt - made him kiss the underside of her shoe, its sole, dirty as it was from its evening on the floor.

As he kissed, not drawing back, Cici cocked her head and, still curious, began pressing her foot into his face, and then down onto him. She stood up straight, away back up from the wall Slowly, he was getting pushed down and back, and finally he fell onto the ground, gracelessly toppling onto his side. Her foot remained on his face, but no longer at his mouth. She had the sole of her high-heeled shoe on his temple, on his skull. She watched as he did nothing to right himself, to pull away, or escape. Rather, he lay there, and had groaned.

He likes this.

Watching him on the ground, flailing, writhing, he reminded her of a little bug, a worm. "Bugs get stepped on…" she found herself saying, and it felt right, natural, to extend her leg further, place her foot more firmly on his head and press down. She could crush his skull, she knew, right here. Her six-inch heel, its sharp point, could puncture his neck. Still, he was doing nothing to fight her. He was, she realized, submitting to her, letting her do whatever she wanted to him. She could kill him, in a moment.

Why haha was she thinking this way? Why did she feel this way? This was thrilling, having a man, a full-grown man, at her mercy. Slowly she pressed down more upon him, making him endure the pain and humiliation of being overwhelmed by a woman’s foot. He’d begun to grunt, more rhythmically now, and it was just then that she noticed that his hand had reached down between his legs.

Omigod what is he doing?? she silently gasped, Is he touching his...thingy???

She - poor, chubby, cloddish, socially awkward Cynthia Carlisle - had a man groveling under her sole. Jerking off to the humiliation. Worshipping his goddess. Her ego - a poor, forgotten thing just two months ago but now newly hatched - was swelling by the second.

She kicked off her heel.

“I want to feel how small your head feels under the ball of my foot,” she said, down to the little man writhing below her, pressing her now bare foot roughly into his cheekbone, “feel how easy it would be to break it.”

She had thought, at times, that it was nice to be part of a group, a pack, a hive. But she knew how the other girls looked at her, talked about her behind her back.  Maybe she didn’t need them. “When we’re done, you’re going to take me to the office,” she told him, watching him brainlessly pleasure himself under her foot, “That’s where we’ll start to have some real fun…”

It’s going to get impossible to ignore me anymore, Dr. J…

====================================================================

Thanks to CaptainAmbiguous for his help and encouragement on this one.

Check out my Patreon for more GITJ

[thetoadghoul]

Volunteering: (Ohtani x Reader) <333 (Part - 2)

part 1!

plot: Wednesday’s game arrives which Ohtani invited you to, some bonding time before the first pitch <3 slowwwburn, long cause idk details are fun lol

Wednesday quickly arrived, made much faster by the crazy amount of work you were required to do for your ‘actual’ job. The last three days had been spent with you running around the LA area, as well as cyberspace, to serve your role as interpreter. It was hell, for more reasons than one. The biggest of all being that even though you were not in Japan at the moment, you were still required to wear a proper suit. That meant a tight navy skirt, stockings, and some blasted heels. Sexist men, long meetings, and endless paperwork aside, you enjoyed your job for the most part - but this aspect really wore on you. However, the pain in your feet wouldn't damper your excitement for tonight’s game. Today you were not actually volunteering at the Angels stadium.

The day before yesterday, when you were actually volunteering, a bashful Ohtani had tapped you on the back while you were picking up baseballs from the batting cages. When you turned around the giant man was holding out a lanyard with an attached document, marked ‘VIP Guest of Player’. It took all you had not to let your hands shake with nerves as you reached out and grabbed it gingerly.

“Uh, see you on Wednesday.” The man looked to the side awkwardly, running a hand through his hair.

“...Yeah.” You responded with a small smile, feeling stupid, but it was all you could think of.

“Well, uh, I better go...” He motioned behind his back with a lazy thumb, staring to jog backward.

You nodded quickly, rushing to go back to picking up balls before you said something super lame, or weird.

It wasn’t till you were on the way home did you take a look at the back of the stadium pass. It read ‘Guest of Shohei Ohtani’. So he had put in the request for you, that was just like him, so kind. It would be an understatement to say you weren’t excited for tomorrow.

-----

Currently, your heart was still racing, but for another reason other than a certain super cute and insanely talented baseball player. It was because it was almost three-thirty in the afternoon and you were running around your company-provided apartment, trying to get ready as fast as you could. Ippei let you know you should get there around four-thirty, by then the team would have been done warming up and starting to enjoy a pregame meal while the away team got the field to themselves. From that point onwards, pretty much everyone was free to relax in the clubhouse till just before the first pitch.

With little time to consider, not even enough time to take a shower after having just got off work, you went with an oversized red T-shirt, baggy jeans, and some cool Jordan’s. This was your go-to, and it was comfortable. You don’t have many clothes anyway, living out of a suitcase.

Right as you were about to run out of the door you remembered to grab your standard Angels cap, it had been provided to you as part of your volunteer uniform a while back, slipping it on over your tight work bun. You would let your hair down later.

All right, everything was in order, Uber scheduled, lanyard secured.

It took about half an hour to arrive at the stadium, and once it came into view, you instructed the driver to let you out in front of the ballpark entrance. It had been a long time since you got to go through the gates as a member of the audience, it actually gave you a wave of nostalgia seeing everyone in their gear, so hyped up for the game, tailing gating outside for what was probably hours.

Once you were through, you started walking through the concession stands and various other stalls, dodging around the fans that were already inside watching the warm-ups, as well as hanging out drinking and eating. There were pictures of Ohtani everywhere, people taking turns snapping pictures of each other in front of the various cutouts of him. The air was buzzing with energy, and it seemed like all for that guy. Honestly, you had worked for a couple different teams over the years, but you had never seen hype like this. It was surreal, seeing a legend in the making.

You smiled, gripping the lanyard around your neck, making your way through the stadium. Shohei was super nice to do this for you, really, you should show him your support. Maybe a quick peek in the team store would do? Plus, you deserved to spend some money on yourself. After all, this was the first time you had really been ‘out’ in the almost three months you had been in California. Your free time was either working, volunteering, video games, or sleep.

You took a couple moments in the Angel's merch shop, quietly perusing the aisles, keeping an eye out for any Ohtani-themed items. Unfortunately, there weren’t really that many, probably sold out by the fans. What was there, was way too small for you.

“Y/n, you here to watch the game?” A young voice sounded.

When you turned to see who addressed you, a familiar girl was standing there grinning.

“Hey Jordan! I didn’t know you were working tonight.” You grinned back.

Jordan worked at the store as a stock manager, she was close in age to you so the two of you often hung out. You had invited her over a couple times, both bonding over your love for crappy reality TV, beer, and of course, baseball.

“Yeah it was last minute, a girl was feeling sick and there wasn’t anyone else cept’ me.” She sighed.

“Bummer, text me if you need help?” You offered, to which she waved you off.

“Nah, you enjoy being here and NOT working.” She chuckled, walking over to organize a messy shelf.

“So, you looking for something in particular?” The girl glanced over her shoulder.

“Uh yeah, you recommend any cool Ohtani stuff? Or is there any at all... seems wiped clean in here.” You said while looking around.

“Ohtani? You here to cheer him on too then. Wanna catch his eye.” She teased.

“Don’t say it like I’m just here for my like, prince charming.” You snapped back playfully, but, maybe a little too fast.

“Aren’t you?” She pressed with an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m leaving.” You pouted, fake walking away.

“I’m just kidding, actually, stay here for a second I might have something you’ll like.” Jordan yelled as she jogged off to the back room behind the counters.

You did as you were told and when she came back there was a large white Angels jersey in her hands.

“Ta-da!” She grinned, twisting it around to show the player’s name on the back.

“Oh, it’s in Kanji? That’s cool, I didn’t know these existed?” You questioned, running your finger over the ‘tani’ character of Ohtani.

“It’s the last one on the floor, had to grab it off the mannequin. Hope it’s not too big? It’s XL?” She questioned, passing it to you to hold.

“Nah it’s perfect, can’t you tell.” You joked holding the jersey next to you, while you showed off your oversized clothes.

“Figured it'd be fine, wanna get rung up? I’ll give you that ‘good good’ employee discount. But, don’t tell anyone.” She smiled, heading to the register, to which you nodded and jogged after her.

After you finished your purchase and waved bye to Jordan, it was time to head to the clubhouse. It was around five, so you were later than you planned but Shohei usually practiced batting in the cages a little while longer while everyone headed in. Slipping the plastic shopping bag into your purse, and ripping the tags off your new jersey, you slipped it on over your T-shirt, smoothing out the material as best you could. It felt great to finally have some real merch from the team, and part of you sort of wondered what Ohtani would think when he saw you. Hopefully, it wasn’t too much to just show up in his gear after he pretty much randomly invited you, let alone in the stadium-specific one, as you just learned from your colleague.

After you got to an employee-only doorway, you pushed on it hoping it was actually open. Ippei had also let you know via text that it would be unlocked for you. Another kindness of Shohei, not just inviting you, but making sure you had access to all the catering and AC inside the resisted area of the building. You slipped in and locked the door behind you, not wanting to encourage some intoxicated fans to follow. The hallway was empty and cool as you started making your way to the clubhouse.

You were admittedly a bit nervous by the time you got to the doors, feeling a bit awkward about strutting in as anyone other than a volunteer for the first time. Carefully you pushed open the door, making sure not to hit anybody. The room was full of chatter, some players eating, some playing cards, others watching TV on the room's monitors. You looked around for Ohtani, but he wasn’t there yet apparently. No matter, you strolled in and went for the snack area. Truthfully you hadn’t eaten since that morning, and that was just a toasted bagel. Turning your back to the rest of the room, you began filling up your plate with cocktail shrimp and grapes.

“Nice jersey.” Ippei said, coming up next to you, grabbing small sandwiches for his plate.

“Is that sarcastic?” You questioned with a smile, finishing your plate.

“Nah, I’m sure he likes it.” Ippei jerked his head to the left.

He? You leaned back to see around the man, meeting Shohei’s surprised face almost immediately. Had he been standing there the whole time? He had obviously been staring at your back, at his name, bashfully looking up to your face when you moved, blinking a couple times to clear his eyes.

“I uh, got it ten minutes ago.” You grinned awkwardly, pointing your thumb proudly at the jersey, hoping he wouldn’t think you were a weirdo.

The large player didn’t say anything, blinking more slowly this time before opting to just nod gently, with a quick “thanks for your support”, hurriedly leaning forward to start filling his plate with all kinds of foods.

—-

Once everyone had their food the three of you found a place to sit while you ate, it was at the back of the room away from the noise, and where the two usually sat before a game anyways. A small conversation started while the three of you ate calmly.

“Why... do you only have grapes, and shrimp?” Ohtani questioned suddenly, looking at your plate baffled. You looked down at it as well, pausing for a moment trying to find out what was so weird about that.

“Uh, well, it’s because... these things are... super expensive in Tokyo. It’s like a rich person food to me.” You smiled, eating a couple shrimps happily.

“Wow. That’s so sad.” Ippei chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

Shohei on the other hand burst out laughing at your response, making you laugh a bit too at your pitiful confession.

“Seriously, I feel like a mega-rich, and very posh, Ginza lady right now - eating nothing but shrimp and fruit. So fancy right? ” You exclaimed, popping a grape in your mouth.

The Japanese player laughed even harder, tears building up as he wiped his eyes.

“Those people wouldn’t touch that stuff with a three-meter stick.” Ippei stated, letting out a small laugh.

“Just let me have my moment.” You pouted through a smile, shoving more shrimp in your mouth.

The other man calmed down finally and was now sitting there smiling while he ate.

“So, fancy y/n, are you okay to sit in the dugout tonight. Not too unrefined for you?” Ippei questioned with a smirk.

“That’s, allowed?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, if you want to. Can’t stay there the whole time, but.” The man responded nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s the best place to hear, ‘the surprise’.” Shohei added, food in the process of being shoved in his mouth.

“Well, doesn’t seem like there’s any other option.” You smiled at the player, who nodded in acknowledgment.

“He’s batting first tonight, you won’t have to wait long.” Ippei spoke, starting on the next sandwich.

“Hope me being in there won’t be bad luck.” You joked.

“You believe in that?” Ippei smirked.

“My family ingrained it into me, wasn’t allowed to watch a single super bowl game in the living room till I literally moved out.” You frowned, stabbing a grape.

“Harsh.” The man smirked with a small laugh under his breath.

“You will be good luck, for sure.” Shohei leaned forward in a hunch to take another bite of food, smiling sincerely at you as he looked up from his food.

“Then, I will see to it that will become a very good omen. Please believe in me.” You responded in the highest form of keigo you knew, bowing rigidly from your seat for comedic effect. Since you never studied that level of grammar, it was really freaking bad, causing the two men to laugh again.

“You’re funny.” Ippei chuckled.

“Yeah, and your Japanese is so good though?” Shohei exclaimed, eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

“Nah it’s pretty bad, I fell off the study wagon a long time ago.” You laughed awkwardly, waving a hand in front of your face.

“You’d be there forever if you stayed on.” Ippei chuckled again, while Shohei nodded in sullen agreement.

“Writing would be nice though, having to look up every other kanji at the doctor's office, or like city hall makes me literally sweat, like, a lot. Buckets. But when I look around, I'm the only one.” You giggled.

“You’re so honest.” Shohei chuckled, wiping his mouth with a napkin, still leaning forward in his chair, you grinned back at him. Your eyes locked for a while, you had never noticed, but his eyelashes were sort of long.

At that moment Ippei had to take a call, letting the two of you know he’d be back in a bit, walking off. The two of you looked away and finished eating in silence.

When you looked up from your empty plate, the large player was now staring at you with a soft expression. The warmth in his eyes made you blush, he didn’t even break his gaze once he was caught like he usually did. You responded back to him simply with a shy smile, before being the one to avert your own eyes to the floor again.

Thankfully at that moment, a group of Angels came over, slapping the Japanese man on the back, starting up a conversion. They were going over strategies for the game and overall just getting hyped up. You didn’t have much to input, so you just kind of sat there enjoying the excited chatter. Shohei smiled merrily the whole time, inserting little jokes, completely affected by their excitement. The way he carried himself really reminded you that the essence of baseball was really just about having fun with your teammates and giving it your all. He looked simply happy to be there, and it made you smile too, just watching him goof off. It was charming to see his duality of being a just big kid with endless laugher, versus the super-serious, and seasoned player he was on the mound.

You were really trying hard not to but, you were rapidly developing feelings for Shohei. The last three months of volunteering here, you of course thought he was really cute and kind, classic boyfriend material. A simple crush, like many of the girls working around him, surely had as well. However the possibility of you two actually dating had always been a foreign concept, one which stopped you from even considering it, at all, you just didn’t know if you even could. With you both traveling for work, how would there be time? Plus, what about the media? His family? Yours? All those things seemed unscalable walls, that is, until this moment, when you could feel his gentle eyes on you once again.

Maybe, there was something? Or maybe, he was just a super nice guy, and you were treated no different than anyone else.

When you snapped out of your thoughts, Shohei was starting to stand up, grabbing everyone’s empties plates. He reached his hand towards you, asking for the one in your hand with a tiny nod of his head, to which you thanked him, stood up, and handed it over.

Well.

Either way, you were so screwed.

-------

Hope you enjoyed! <3

[robertreich]

The Bigot Party

Republicans are outraged – outraged! -- at the surge of migrants at the southern border. The House minority leader, Kevin McCarthy, declares it a “crisis … created by the presidential policies of this new administration.” The Arizona congressman Andy Biggs claims “we go through some periods where we have these surges, but right now is probably the most dramatic that I’ve seen at the border in my lifetime.”

Donald Trump demands the Biden administration “immediately complete the wall, which can be done in a matter of weeks — they should never have stopped it. They are causing death and human tragedy.”

“Our country is being destroyed!” he adds.

In fact, there’s no surge of migrants at the border.

U.S. Customs and Border Protection apprehended 28 percent more migrants from January to February this year than in previous months. But this was largely seasonal. Two years ago, apprehensions increased 31 percent during the same period. Three years ago, it was about 25 percent from February to March. Migrants start coming when winter ends and the weather gets a bit warmer, then stop coming in the hotter summer months when the desert is deadly.

To be sure, there is a humanitarian crisis of children detained in overcrowded border facilities. And an even worse humanitarian tragedy in the violence and political oppression in Central America, worsened by U.S. policies over the years, that’s driving migration in the first place.

But the “surge” has been fabricated by Republicans in order to stoke fear -- and, not incidentally, to justify changes in laws they say are necessary to prevent non-citizens from voting.

Republicans continue to allege – without proof – that the 2020 election was rife with fraudulent ballots, many from undocumented immigrants. Over the past six weeks they’ve introduced 250 bills in 43 states designed to make it harder for people to vote – especially the young, the poor, Black people, and Hispanic-Americans, all of whom are likely to vote for Democrats – by eliminating mail-in ballots, reducing times for voting, decreasing the number of drop-off boxes, demanding proof of citizenship, even making it a crime to give water to people waiting in line to vote.

To stop this, Democrats are trying to enact a sweeping voting rights bill called the For the People Act, which protects voting, ends partisan gerrymandering, and keeps dark money out of elections. It already passed the House but Republicans in the Senate are fighting it with more lies.

On Wednesday, the Texas Republican senator Ted Cruz falsely claimed the new bill would register millions of undocumented immigrants to vote and accused Democrats of wanting the most violent criminals to cast ballots too.

The core message of the Republican party now consists of lies about a “crisis” of violent immigrants crossing the border, lies that they’re voting illegally, and blatantly anti-democratic restrictions on voting to counter these trumped-up crises.

The party that once championed lower taxes, smaller government, states’ rights and a strong national defense now has more in common with anti-democratic regimes and racist-nationalist political movements around the world than with America’s avowed ideals of democracy, rule of law, and human rights.

Donald Trump isn’t single-handedly responsible for this, but he demonstrated to the GOP the political potency of bigotry and the GOP has taken him up on it.

This transformation in one of America’s two eminent political parties has shocking implications, not just for the future of American democracy but for the future of democracy everywhere.  

“I predict to you, your children or grandchildren are going to be doing their doctoral thesis on the issue of who succeeded: autocracy or democracy?” Joe Biden opined at his news conference on Thursday.

In his maiden speech at the State Department on March 4, Antony Blinken conceded that the erosion of democracy around the world is “also happening here in the United States.”

The secretary of state didn’t explicitly talk about the Republican Party, but there was no mistaking his subject.

“When democracies are weak … they become more vulnerable to extremist movements from the inside and to interference from the outside,” he warned.

People around the world witnessing the fragility of American democracy “want to see whether our democracy is resilient, whether we can rise to the challenge here at home. That will be the foundation for our legitimacy in defending democracy around the world for years to come.”

That resilience and legitimacy will depend in large part on whether Republicans or Democrats prevail on voting rights.

Not since the years leading up to the Civil War has the clash between the nation’s two major parties so clearly defined the core challenge facing American democracy.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Collision Course

Summary: You and Spencer were just bound to collide. Only fate could plan a first meeting that unique.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: fluff, minor car crash (no serious injuries), swearing, sexual harassment (specifically cat-calling from a stranger), mentions of eating a lot of food, implied allusion to sex (not specifically stated)

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: this is my one-shot entry for @ellesgreenaway ‘s 1k follower celebration! congratulations! <3 i’ve had this fic in my drive for a while but i never got around to finishing it until now

Masterlist

The metro was down for scheduled repairs today. JJ offered to bring Spencer in but he politely declined. He figured he should drive his car at least every once and a while so it doesn’t just collect rust in his parking spot.

Leaving his apartment 15 minutes earlier than he normally would to account for his rather slow driving, Spencer cautiously reversed out of his space.

He sighed in relief that he had not hit the neighboring cars. Spencer began to pull out of the parking garage. Unfortunately, he was so relieved from his little victory that he forgot to check both ways when he drove out of the parking garage.

Spencer slammed on the brakes but it was too late. He hit a young woman jogging and knocked her to the ground. Luckily, his average speed was that of a snail so he hoped her injuries were not too bad.

Spencer put the car in park and got out, “Oh god, oh god, oh god. Are you okay, miss?”

“I think so,” you were on the ground, assessing your body for any damage.

“Can you stand?” Spencer extended his hand to help you up.

You carefully stood, wincing a little when you put pressure on your left ankle.

“Is there anyone I can call? Do you want me to drive you to the ER?” Spencer frantically asked.

Your eyes widened, “No!” you stated a little too loudly, “Um I mean no thank you. I should finish my run anyways. I have a 5k for Alzheimer’s research coming up and I need to run or else I don’t raise any money,” you politely waved and took off again, much slower this time.

Spencer cringed as he watched you limp slightly every time you stepped on your left ankle, knowing it was his fault you were in pain. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

“Hey JJ, have you left yet? I need a ride, I’ll explain in the car.”

-

“Pretty Boy, how was your drive in?” Derek asked as soon as Spencer stepped off the elevator with JJ.

“I got about 20 feet and then hit someone with my car and had to call JJ so not great,” he admitted.

“Boy Wonder, you did WHAT? Are they okay?” Penelope gasped.

“She insisted she was fine but then she was limping away. I offered her a ride but she didn’t seem too keen on getting in a car with me,” Spencer explained.

“I wonder why,” Emily chuckled.

-

So there Spencer was. In the park in his only pair of short athletic shorts and a hoodie.

He had asked Penelope to sign him up for the 5k as a way to sort of make it up to the woman he hit. Plus, obviously it was for a good cause that was near and dear to his heart because of his mother.

Spencer had to take a lot of water breaks, periodically stopping to walk for a bit.

In the distance, he saw you on a bench and he suddenly felt the energy again to continue running to you. As he approached, he saw you tightening an ankle brace around your left foot and to make matters worse, you had a wrist brace as well.

Spencer considered just leaving you alone but he felt the need to apologize.

“H-Hello,” he awkwardly sputtered.

“Oh, hi,” you replied.

“I am so so sorry. Please let me pay your medical bills and any other expenses that I caused,” Spencer apologized.

“Unless you meant to hit me then it’s fine,” you stood from the bench.

“I definitely didn’t and I wasn’t on my phone or anything like that. I just barely ever drive but the metro was down today,” Spencer explained.

“You don’t have to pay my medical bills. I’m friends with a nurse so she did this for free. However, I would allow you to sponsor me for the 5k,” you answered.

“Absolutely,” Spencer nodded, “And funny story, you inspired me to register as well. I got everyone in my office to sponsor me.”

“That’s so great! The money is certainly going to a good cause.”

Spencer saw you smile for the first time since he met you.

“I’ve never been much of an athlete though. I barely passed my fitness test for work,” Spencer admitted.

“What kind of job has a fitness test?” you asked.

“I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI,” Spencer stated.

“Oh shit, you’re a federal agent? Maybe I will sue you and make bank,” you grinned.

Spencer’s face reddened.

“It was just a joke. You can laugh, then that means the incident is in the past and no hard feelings,” you smiled, “I’m Y/N.”

“Spencer.”

“Well, Spencer, if you ever need a running buddy, I’m more than happy to come along seeing as we both are training for the same thing. But I do have to warn you, this brace is kind of a bitch so I’m a little slower than normal.”

“I can assure you that you will probably still be faster than me with the brace on so maybe it was a good thing for me that I hit you with my car so you won’t be miles ahead,” Spencer grinned.

You laughed wholeheartedly, “See, Spencer! I’m laughing about it so no hard feelings, all is forgiven.”

“I’m just finishing up for the day but I was planning on being here again on Wednesday at the same time if you want to meet at this bench,” you offered.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Spencer nodded.

“See you around, Spencer. Hopefully not in your car though,” you winked and waved.

-

“Oh god, you’ve fallen in love with the chick you almost killed,” Derek groaned.

“Not love...well, yet anyways. She’s so pretty and easy to talk to and isn’t mean to me after everything that has happened and her laugh is like honey,” Spencer smiled softly, recalling the sound in his mind.

“Okay, lover boy,” Penelope giggled, “Did you get her number?”

“No but we’re meeting for a run tomorrow. We actually met at the park when I was training,” Spencer said.

“So she’s seen you in those short shorts and agreed to another meeting? Maybe you do have a chance, kid, cause you really put it all out there,” Derek smirked.

“Speaking of, I actually need to get more of them,” Spencer sipped his coffee.

“Just go all the way and get spandex. Leave nothing to the imagination,” Derek chuckled as Spencer rolled his eyes.

-

“Jesus, I’m going to have to hit your right leg this time if I’m going to have any chance of keeping up with you,” Spencer huffed as he bent over his knees to catch his breath.

“Well good news is that was four miles so you definitely will be able to run a 5k because it’s only 3.1 miles,” you encouraged him.

“Technically, it’s 3.10686 miles but I see your point,” Spencer heaved.

“I know a really good smoothie place nearby. Come on, it’s on me,” you grabbed his hand.

Luckily, Spencer’s face was already red from exercising so you weren’t able to see the blush that formed on his cheeks.

“No, it’s definitely on me. I know you said we’re fine but I am forever going to be indebted to you because of the incident.”

“Spencer, really just forget about it,” you assured him.

“I can’t, I have an eidetic memory,” he grinned.

“Ah, I see. Fine, you buy me one smoothie but then we’re even,” you conceded.

You were walking down the street to the cafe when you heard a whistle come from one of the cars driving by.

“Damn, your ass is looking sexy in those leggings,” a man hollered from his passing truck.

You flipped him off and tried to pull your shirt down as much as possible, crossing your arms tightly around your front.

Spencer unzipped his hoodie and extended it towards you, “Sorry, it’s a little sweaty but if you want to wear it, you can.”

You smiled softly and accepted the sweatshirt, feeling more comfortable now.

“I’ve got his license plate number memorized and I intend to file a police report. Unfortunately, reports like these usually don’t go very far but I’ll keep pushing it through. I’ll also call the company that was printed on the side of the truck and ask to speak to his supervisor,” Spencer spoke softly after a few minutes.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you leaned your head on his shoulder and sighed.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m just doing what’s right. He had no right to make comments about your body,” Spencer said, wrapping a gentle arm around your upper waist.

-

“Welcome to Y/N’s carbo-loading extravaganza!” you opened the door of your apartment to let Spencer in.

“I brought dessert as requested,” Spencer held up a chocolate cake.

“I like how you think, Spencer. Dinner’s all ready,” you smiled.

“Spaghetti, meatballs, and crispy buttery garlic bread,” you pulled the bread out of the oven.

“Looks absolutely delicious,” he complimented.

“Eating carbohydrates before a race boosts the glycogen storage in your muscles allowing you to work out longer,” Spencer informed you.

“Interesting, I never knew the science behind it but I’m never going to complain about eating tons of pasta and bread,” you twirled some pasta on to your fork.

Halfway through the meal, Spencer accidentally got a sauce stain on his pale pink shirt.

“Oh no,” you said as he tried to dab it away.

“That needs to soak right away. I don’t want any casualties at the carbo-loading extravaganza. Give it to me to scrub and I’ll get you another shirt.”

Spencer unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off. You gulped at the sight of him shirtless, grabbing the shirt and heading to your bathroom sink to scrub it with laundry detergent.

“You can just grab any t-shirt from my room that you think will fit,” you called out to him.

Spencer settled on a light gray shirt with a golden retriever on the front.

“Okay, the stain is out! It’s just soaking now-“ you immediately stopped talking as soon as you saw the shirt Spencer was wearing.

He noticed your eyes were beginning to glisten with tears, “I’m so sorry. I can pick a different shirt,” Spencer was already beginning to pull it over the top of his head.

“No it’s fine, Spencer. That’s just my grandma’s t-shirt. I forgot I even had it.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he spoke guiltily.

“You didn’t know, besides it looks good on you anyways,” you smiled, “My grandma is the whole reason I’m running the 5k.”

“My mom has Alzheimer’s too so I understand that it’s extremely hard to watch a loved one go through that,” Spencer pulled you in for a hug.

You cried into his chest as he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

After Spencer hadn’t heard any sniffles in a while, he whispered, “Do you have any tea I can make you?”

You nodded and Spencer guided you to the couch, wrapping you in a blanket before turning the kettle on.

-

Spencer answered the cheerful knocking at his front door early in the morning.

“Race day! Are you ready?” you exclaimed.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Spencer smiled.

“I promise we are sticking together the whole time because it doesn’t matter how long it takes us as long as we finish,” you held up your pinky.

“Together,” Spencer affirmed, locking his pinky with yours.

The starting line in the park was only a short distance away from Spencer’s apartment so you and Spencer decided to walk there as a little warm-up.

You and Spencer were doing quad stretches when you saw his eyes wander to something behind you and then widen. His face immediately reddening.

“What?” you asked, turning around to see a group of people with a sign that read ‘Go Spencer and his girlfriend!’

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect them to do that,” Spencer stammered.

The poor boy was so flustered so you decided to take it easy on him.

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged with a slight smile.

“You don’t?” Spencer clarified, “I’m not very good with words or flirting in general but I would like to see you again after the race is over. Maybe I could take you out to dinner?”

“Yes but my only condition is...I’m driving,” you smirked.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” Spencer grinned.

An air horn sounded, signaling the start of the race.

“I think you’re going to have to catch me first, Dr. Reid,” you giggled as you sprinted ahead.

-

“It’s in sight, Spencer! We can do this!” you pointed to the finish line in the distance.

“Y/N, you’re going to have to carry me. I can’t,” Spencer heaved.

“If you finish this race, I will…” you cupped your hand to his ear and whispered something.

Spencer immediately perked up and started running again.

“Hey, wait up!” you laughed.

You and Spencer crossed the finish line at the same time. Spencer’s legs immediately gave out which caused you to fall too, collapsing on top of him.

“I know I’m really sweaty and gross right now but can I please kiss you?” Spencer whispered.

Your lips were pressed on his as soon as he finished his sentence. You honestly didn’t know how long you had been kissing for but you didn’t look up until you heard one of the race officials shout, “Hey lovebirds! That’s very sweet but other people are trying to cross the finish line.”

“Sorry!” you and Spencer apologized, scrambling to your feet.

“Not really,” Spencer whispered to you and you jabbed him in the side with your elbow playfully, stifling a laugh.

what slightly inspired this fic is one time @samuel-de-champagne-problems commented on one of my posts “i could never stay mad at spencer” and then i thought to myself “same. i couldn’t stay mad at him even if he hit me with his car” and now here we are... 🚙

taglist: (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly

[gallifrey1sburning]

Hi 👋 a prompt you can take or leave: Draco is very unsure whether he is being flirted with or this is an extension of their office rivalry that he doesn't understand (or the reverse!) Ty!

@skeptiquex and @ihavesomeideawhatimdoinghere, I read both of your prompts back to back, and they worked really well together, so I squished them into one. I hope you enjoy! Thank you both for sending me things, and thanks to @mxmaneater for the fast beta ❤️

—

The Tally

“One more for me!” Harry crowed, scratching a new tally mark next to his name on the chalkboard behind Draco’s head. “Better luck next time, Malfoy.” The board had a partner behind Harry’s desk, and the tallies recorded on one would reflect on the other, but Harry took great joy in invading Draco’s space and rubbing his victories in his face at every opportunity. Not that Draco was any better. It was part of the fun.

“Please, that one hardly counted,” Draco objected reflexively. “You only caught him because you tripped, for Merlin’s sake. Hardly an impressive arrest.” 

Harry shrugged and grinned, perching on the edge of Draco’s desk. “An arrest is an arrest.”

“Whatever,” Draco grumped. He and Harry had been playing this game for over a year now, and the margin was always extremely close. Harry was just barely ahead, at the moment, but Draco would catch up to him soon. He and Parvati had a potions ring bust coming up that Harry and Weasley weren’t involved in. Once that was done, he’d have overtaken him, and the smug expression currently gracing his colleague’s face would disappear along with his lead.

“So, any big weekend plans?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s pout.

Draco dropped the expression when it failed to produce the desired reaction. “Nothing too exciting. Yourself?”

“I’ve got tickets for the Puddlemere game on Saturday, actually. Ron was supposed to come, but something came up, so I’m trying to find someone else who might want to go. It would be a shame for the ticket to go to waste.” Harry was biting his lip and looking hopeful, and for just a moment, Draco thought— but no. If he’d wanted to ask, he would have asked, he told himself firmly. 

Taking care to keep his expression light, Draco pondered for a moment before saying. “I think McCutcheon is a Puddlemere fan. Maybe try him?”

“Oh, right.” Draco almost thought that Harry looked disappointed for a moment, but on second glance, his expression was clear and friendly. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll see if he’s free. Have a great weekend, Draco. Parvati.” He knocked his knuckles against the desktop twice before straightening and walking off, hands in pockets. Draco watched him go, sighing as he rounded the corner. It really was a pleasure watching him walk away.

He was brought back to reality by his partner smacking him in the back of the head with a stack of paperwork. “Ow! What the fuck, Patil?”  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, looking even more exasperated with him than usual. “Every time he’s over here, you spend the rest of the day mooning, and he finally asks you out, and you say NO?!” 

“I do not moon!” He did moon, and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to say so. He still had his pride. “And he didn’t ask me out, either.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“He didn’t! He just said he had an available ticket! He very clearly had an opening to invite me, if he wanted to, and he very clearly didn’t.” There had been a number of moments like this, in recent months, and Parvati kept insisting that Harry was flirting with Draco. For his part, Draco kept insisting that she mind her own business, because she obviously could not read Harry Potter at all if she thought he was interested in Draco.

“You are an absolute moron.” Parvati shook her head in disbelief, but let it drop.

— 

They made the bust on Tuesday. Monday had been a rush of preparations and contingency planning and final logistics, and the stakeout had lasted all day, but in the end, it had been worth it—they’d brought in six players in one sweep and were confident that at least one of them would give up the rest in exchange for sentencing leniency. Draco had dropped into bed exhausted but elated.

He was still riding high when he sauntered into Harry and Weasley’s office on Wednesday. He leaned ostentatiously over Harry’s desk, stretching almost directly over his perpetually-tousled head to grab a piece of chalk and carefully add six perfectly straight tally marks to his own side of the board, giving him the lead by three. 

“And that’s how you do it,” he gloated as he straightened, smirking smugly down at Harry. “Suck it, Potter.”

Across the office, he heard Weasley groan and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like ‘he wishes’ under his breath. Harry looked a bit pink, but still smirked right back up at Draco, so it was probably just the heat. “Played that one close to the chest, didn’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve got something in the pipeline. I’ll be back on top before you know it.”

In Draco’s peripheral vision, he saw Weasley bang his head against his desk. “I’m getting tea,” he announced, stalking out of the office. Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who shrugged. 

Now that he was here, Draco didn’t quite want to leave yet, so he searched for something else to talk about. “How was the game?” he finally asked.

“Huh? Oh, the Quidditch game. Yeah, I didn’t end up going, actually.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact. “Wasn’t really in the mood.” 

Draco wrinkled his brow, not really sure what to make of that, but then Harry asked a question about the potions bust, and Draco forgot about it, instead focusing on a dramatic retelling of his glorious victory.

— 

Harry’s next arrest came after a particularly brutal double homicide. It was all anyone was talking about when he arrived that morning, but, despite Draco’s expectations (and perhaps anticipation), Harry didn’t appear at his desk to brag about it. He was feeling a bit anxious by the time he finally saw him passing by his door in the late afternoon, and the feeling only grew when he did. Harry had bags under his eyes, and his usually confident posture was slumped. He didn’t look as though he had slept. He also didn’t look like he was going to stop.

“Hey,” Draco said, rising from his desk to catch him before he passed by completely. “Haven’t seen you today.” Are you okay?, he didn’t say, but he thought it was probably audible in his tone anyway.

“Oh. Hey, Draco.” Harry looked up at him, seeming a little lost. He looked hollow behind his eyes, and Draco could feel his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Yeah, I’ve been…” he trailed off and glanced past Draco, into his office, to where the chalkboard hung prominently on the back wall. He seemed to curl even further in on himself. “I don’t want to count this one, okay?” he said, finally. “It doesn’t really feel like a victory.”

“Yeah, of course,” Draco said immediately, and he suddenly felt completely helpless. “Can I—” he hesitated, and then put a tentative hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

He was half sure that Harry would pull away from his touch, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed almost to relax into it. “I’m okay,” he said, and it wasn’t convincing, but Draco didn’t want to push it. “Thanks, though.” He reached up and gripped Draco’s hand where it lay on his shoulder, so briefly that his hand was gone before Draco could even fully register it, and then stepped back, continuing on his way.

Draco stood and stared at the chalkboard for a while when he got back to his desk. Then, he picked up his eraser and carefully removed one tally from his own side.

— 

Their next bust, they were on together. A small Neo-Death Eater group that the department had been keeping an eye on, but who hadn’t done much of anything until now, had suddenly decided to make a grand statement by threatening a large-scale attack on Diagon Alley if their (entirely insane) demands weren’t met. Needless to say, the Ministry was not interested in negotiation, and the whole Auror force had been called out en masse. 

Somehow, Harry and Weasley had ended up working in tandem with Draco and Parvati, and now Harry and Draco were back to back in a dead-end alley, dueling a pair that seemed to be the last desperate stragglers, while Parvati watched the street, ready to block anyone who might try to interfere, and Weasley stood to the side, clutching his ribs and sweating but still managing to hold a fairly steady shield charm. There was an unconscious, Incarcerous-ed body on the ground near him; his Stunner’s aim had been true, but the assailant had gotten off one last hex before it hit. He wasn’t in imminent danger—Draco had been hit by the same spell before, and it was extremely painful but didn’t cause any lasting damage once reversed—and although that would be easy enough to do, they didn’t have a wand to spare at the moment.

Harry and Draco worked together like they’d been born to it, and if their respective partnerships hadn’t been working so well for so long, Draco might have considered it a waste that they weren’t paired together. Spells flew around them like fireworks, and they cast and dodged and shielded and attacked without speaking, without pause, until, suddenly, it was over. 

“Ron!” Harry cried as soon as his wand dropped, but Parvati was already by his side, countering the spell, and Ron’s body relaxed almost immediately.

“I’m fine, mate. Great work.” 

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and then turned to Draco, chest still heaving with exertion. Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face even as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel sweat tracking down his face, his neck, his back, and he was streaked with dirt and—he suspected—blood; but they had won, and no one had died, and he was almost high on the rush of it. “I’m not sure who those count for,” he said, half laughing. “It happened too fast. Did you catch who took them down?”

Harry was grinning now, too, the buzzing energy of their win almost visibly coursing through him. He beamed at Draco, and he looked so fucking beautiful, even though he was just as dirty and dishevled as Draco was, that Draco couldn’t help but glance, just for a second, at those lips that he’d surreptitiously observed for so long as they stretched wide with joy. When he snapped his eyes back up, however, it was clear that Harry had seen, because the smile had morphed into something that Draco couldn’t put a name to, and his eyes were searching Draco’s for something. And then— 

“Fuck it,” he heard Harry say, and then there were hands on either side of his head and he was being—quite thoroughly—kissed, right there in the alley. He melted into it immediately, pulling Harry closer to himself almost instinctively. There was an iron tang of blood as their tongues met, and Draco wasn’t sure whose it was, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t care about much of anything, right now, besides Harry’s hands, and Harry’s lips, and the press of Harry’s chest and hips against his own, and whether Harry might want to reenact this moment later but somewhere with a bed and a lot less clothes.

“I TOLD YOU!” Parvati yelled triumphantly in the background.

“Fucking finally.” Ron sounded both amused and exasperated.

Draco ignored them in favor of sliding his hands into Harry’s birdsnest of hair, pulling lightly and making him groan into the kiss. He supposed this one counted as a win for both of them.

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