#not canon in any of my au’s this is just for shits and giggles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ginevrapng · 1 year ago

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𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄?

pairing: george weasley x slytherin!reader

word count: 5.2k words

content: no war au, non canon quidditch match, fluff, some angst, insecurities

a/n: this was super fun to write and my first long harry potter fic, hopefully you all enjoy it! hopefully george isn't too ooc in this. i might make a part two of this with smut but i'm not sure yet.

"did i ever tell you how beautiful you are?" spitting out your drink in shock you turn to look at your best friend and see him looking at you, swaying drunkenly. george has definitely had too much to drink tonight. before he can say anything else that you know he'll regret in the morning you cover his mouth with your hand. "honestly george, i leave you alone for an hour to talk to adrian and you get wasted and start sprouting nonsense. normally you're the one stopping me from doing stupid stuff, georgie," you giggle, vowing to make sure you don't get any drunker so you can get you both home safe.

you first met fred and george in potions in your 4th year and it was a rocky start, they didn't like slytherins and you didn't have the time and energy to waste on trying to get people to like you. however that all changed when in one class fred nearly messed up his wit-sharpening potion by putting gurdyroot in instead of ginger root, immediately you grabbed his wrist before he could put it in, straight away scolding yourself for doing such an idiot thing and dropping his hand. normally you wouldn't've minded if someone messed up their work, plus potions was your best class so it'd be less competition but sitting in front of george weasley and then right next to fred it was inevitable you took a liking to their antics, even if you never told them so or even spoke to them.

at the time fred was extremely suspicious, some girl who he'd never spoke to before stopping him from putting in an ingredient. before he could even question it you stated, "it's meant to be ginger root, you've got it wrong." you turned away from him and carried on with what you were previously doing, not wanting to see his reaction, you warned him and he'd do with that what he will. you expected him to not respond but you didn't expect utter silence from his workside. "you can believe me or not, i don't care. don't just do nothing though, snape's going to think you're up to something and it'll distract me when he comes over."

you started to get pissed off at weasley's lack of movement before you heard him not so quietly whisper to george, "oi, what's meant to be in this thing? gurdyroot?" you didn't hear what george said, you're not sure if it was because he was actually quieter or if you were slightly stunned and pleased with the fact he took some notice on what you said and didn't throw away what you said you said completely. in the corner of your eye you saw fred turn back around and almost sounded reluctant as he replied, "shit. urrr thanks.. i guess."

after that day you both took more interest in each other, only talking when having something that needed to be said but that was definitely an upgrade in your relationship. george took notice of this change but others didn't. by the end of your fourth year you talked in potions together all the time, with george joining in by leaning over to talk to you both, cheekily winking at you whenever he caught you looking at him, promptly leading to an eye roll from you and occasionally walking over to you under the guise of needing to get something where you were, leading to many detentions and you vowing to never speak to him again if he distracted you in crucial parts in class. everybody just thought george wanted to talk to fred but they were wrong.

you also listened to their prank ideas, giving impute when you can but mostly just fascinated by everything they were saying. you'd stealthily give them presents for christmas and their birthday and they'd always tease you about it but you'd always be able to tell they liked what you gave them. they also decided to bother you while you studied in the library. to this day you think about shock people must have had when fred and george said they were going to the library for the first time, madam pince probably thought she was going mad when she saw them.

it just turned into a secret, your friendship, you're not really sure how, you just knew that fred and george didn't want people to know about you. you wish you could have said the same but you had no interest in what others thought of you. you were very prideful of your house but you didn't care about your reputation, at those times you wish the twins felt the same. you would like to say it didn't bother you to keep quiet about how you're friends with them but it did, not all the time but sometimes it did get to you. you'd finally found amazing friends and they actually liked you for you and have interest in what you had to say, they were probably the closest friends you had and had ever had. you knew that you kept to yourself and you liked that fred and george somehow managed to get you to open up so being made to never speak to them in front of other people hurt sometimes. you sometimes wondered if you mattered that much in their lives.

that was answered to you after a quidditch match, slytherin against gryffindor. slytherin won by a landslide and for some reason the other team were off their game this time, whatever the reason it was a win to slytherin. you wished you could have cheered on fred and george, they are great beaters but you knew you couldn't have cheered for them, that's okay though because adrian was on the slytherin team and you two have always been close since first year. you were decked out in all green, cheering him on and the rest of the team, house spirit and all, scarf and socks matching, watching them play.

on your way back into the castle you see a small commotion and notice the green robes so you went over there to see an argument between some of the two teams. malfoy spewing rubbish like all ways. more and more people were starting to come over and you knew soon one of the professors would get there, you were not going to lose house points today, especially when you've just won the game and gained house points in return. "the only reason you're still on the slytherin team malfoy is because your father's paying flint's parents to keep you on the team." you heard potter say as you walked up towards them.

you reached your hand out to touch malfoy's shoulder pulling him back. "let's go malfoy, it's not worth it, we just won."

you froze as you heard potter talk to you, he'd never even looked at you before, now he's got it in for you. "who are you, anyway? just some other blood-purist? bet you're so proud of your house cheating." if you were more confident in that moment you would of spoken up, would've told him to shut it, that he knows nothing about you. but you realised everyone is looking at you, slytherins, gryffindors even hufflepuffs and ravenclaws and the twins are behind harry and oh god you felt sick. you tried your hardest to not look the twins in the eye or even in their direction at all. you thought that they're probably disgusted that they ever talked to you. you're nothing like what potter thought you were and everyone who knew you knew that but fred and george never did ask you questions about your beliefs, maybe afterwards they had doubts when potter said that.

you kept your head down and walked away, pushing against people, clearly trying not to cry. you just wanted to get out of there. you found out how much you mean to the twins when george see's your figure leaving, going back to the castle. without much thought about the situation he goes to correct harry, because there was no way in merlin he was going to let someone think that about you. fred beat him to it though, "she really is nothing like that harry." george pushes against everyone as he followed you, catching up with you quickly.

"don't worry about it, harry just doesn't know you."

you couldn't help it, it just came. you were overwhelmed with emotions and frustration you stop momentarily, spun to face him and shout, "that's the whole problem. he doesn't know me! leave me alone weasley, i never want to speak to you again." you walked off quickly, deciding you're done. it's over and you just want to sleep for the rest of the day.

george wasn't too fond of this idea and he catches up with you again. honestly he was slightly taken aback by your outburst, one second he saw you desperately try to stop malfoy from saying anything else due to not wanting to get into trouble and the next second harry made you run off while trying not to cry. he wished that you never saw the fight between them all, he hoped you didn't think ill of him. "please don't go, let's just go wait for fred somewhere, he's probably still fighting with malfoy."

"didn't you hear me weasley, i'm done. i'm not going to be your stupid secret. i don't want to be your bloody friend only when it suits you."

george never meant for you to think that you're a secret and he knew fred felt the same. "i'll fix this." you didn't answer but all you could think was 'no, not this time.'

you did however successfully help deescalate the argument. gryffindor's confusement with how the twins stood up for you left malfoy to throw a couple of snide comments without any reply from them, leading enough time for pansy to notice mcgonagall on her way over and warn all her house that they should leave, including a very worked up malfoy.

"what the bloody hell was that all about?" ron questions fred, everyone else turning to face him thinking exactly the same thing.

"well obviously malfoy was being a git like always."

"you know bloody well that's not what i mean."

"is she who you go see when you 'go to the library'?" ginny asks. "i mean seriously, it's not like i believe you both have suddenly started studying multiple times a week."

fred knew ginny's caught him out but he doesn't know what to say. how would they all react to finding out about you and what if you don't even want anyone in slytherin to figure out your friends with two gryffindors.

"we're friends." fred hears as he turns round to see george had come back. he didn't want for you to feel like a secret anymore. he wonders where you are and questions him. "she said she's going... actually i don't know where."

"is she okay?"

george pauses for a second, "we'll figure something out."

ginny was the only one who didn't have something to say about what they'd all just found out. she had a suspicion something was up, she just didn't know what, she really did not think that it would be something to do with a slytherin though. but everyone else definitely was not taking the news too well. not just a slytherin but someone opening being friendly with malfoy, at least in their eyes that's what it looked like.

every time you saw the twins after that you walked away, doing everything in your power to stay away from them. that did not work for long, as two days after the incident you had charms first period with george. mentally preparing yourself to see him and ignore him no matter what he said or how funny he is, you get out of bed, get ready and leave the common room.

as you left you get the fright of your life. "oh merlin, george! what are you doing lurking about?" your heart racing out due to the jump and still trying to be angry and scold him even though you missed him and fred incredibly so. you see him smirk as he tries not to laugh and you want so bad to wipe that smirk of his stupid face.

"i've come to carry your bag, you always complain that you have to carry to many books on tuesday so i've come to save you, i'm your knight in shining armour! we've got charms." before you can even retort and tell him to go away he's taken your bag and is walking off.

"hey give me my bag back!" he doesn't try to keep in his laugh this time as he then assures you that you'll have it in charms. "i need that bag now weasley, if you remember before class there's normally a little thing called breakfast."

"i did actually forget about that. let's go have some breakfast then." he carried on walking and didn't give you your bag back. you're walking in the halls together and you don't know how to react. not only are you angry at him but now you're confused because what the hell does he think he's doing and why did he suddenly care about you enough to be seen with you.

"stop thinking so much. you know me and fred really care about you and we'll make it up to you. we never wanted you to feel the way you have been feeling. godric i'll even drop a bag of dungbombs in mcgonagall's classroom because i know how much you secretly don't like her. even if you pretend you do, i see your face scrunch up in annoyance all the time when she talks."

you unsuccessfully tried to hide your smile, as you mumble about how you want your bag back and how you wasn't even thinking about that. george relaxes more as he see's you smile, there was always that insecurity that you'd never talk to him again after the quidditch match although fred was so sure you would and told him so and he's so fred was right glad.

right now though at this party fred's on his own this time with getting home. you're pretty sure he was talking to seamus finnigan and neville longbottom last time you saw him anyway so it's unlikely you'll see him again tonight if he's with all gryffindor alumni.

you've found it best to stay away from that lot anyway, as you've only properly met the twins family and harry, and you know they're probably very welcoming people now that they know who you are and the twins want you to properly meet them but you had a hard enough time meeting hermione granger for the first time, you don't want the hassle of going through that all again and even after all these years you know that she still doesn't like you, no matter how close you both are to the weasley family. you remember bursting out crying the first time they invited you to spend the holidays with them at the burrow when they found out you'd be staying at hogwarts that year for christmas.

now george has come to find you he hasn't left your side, not even by an inch, so close together you can feel each others body heat, squished on a small sofa together with your thighs touching. he tries to hold out to you and you're unsure about what he wants to do but lean into his touch anyway. "don't get your drink on my dress or i'll kill you weasley."

he grins and pulls you closer, you're now tucked under his chin, being able to feel his heartbeat. you're already hot from the summer heat and the dancing, but you welcome being so close to him, quickly getting used to the position.

'fred's normally the one who's touchier.' you didn't realise you said that out loud until george pulls you tighter to him, humming back to you.

you both sit together for a minute or two, listening to the party-goers and the music in the background. you could sit there all day with george, doing nothing in particular, just being next to him. just like at hogwarts when it was only you and him, fred's off somewhere else and you'd both sit under one of the oak trees in the shade away from everyone else and play with his hair absentmindedly, reading to him as he closes his eyes and listens. but as you go to sip your drink you hear george say, "i don't like how you and fred always touch each other." you stop moving and draw your hand back down without drinking. he really must have no filter when he's had too much to drink.

"what on earth are you talking about george? you make it sound like we're bloody all over each other. you know we don't have any kind of feelings for each other. plus does it really matter to you?"

you look to him and see his eyebrows furrowed and lips in a tight line. "you are all over each other though." he looks you in the eye while whispering. "and pucey, what's his deal, you know he was a shit quidditch player right?"

you get up to leave, george may be pissed drunk but right now he's pissing you off. you decide you'll cool off and come find him later on to take you both home. that is unless you see him making out in the corner with alicia spinnet. last time he got in a mood like this with you it was at a party in your last year at hogwarts. for some reason george just had so much to drink and started questioning why you spent the night dancing with fred and even started talking about how you went to the yule ball with flint. aware that you were both drunk you didn't want to argue you left to find fred. later when you came to find george after missing him and wanting to forget about the outburst, you saw him snogging alicia spinnet, his hands on her waist and her hands in his hair. just seeing it made you feel sick and overcome with feelings you don't want to confront as you left the party without saying bye to anyone, nearly forgetting the password for the common room as you stumble inside, wanting to forget about the entire night.

this won't be like last time though as before you can successfully make your escape george holds onto your wrist and drags you back down onto the sofa, nearly landing on his lap. with his other hand he tilts your head towards him, so you're face to face and eye level. too flustered and surprised, you don't move. you're so close to each other that you can can smell the firewhisky he's been drinking and the sandalwood shampoo he uses and his cinnamon scented body wash and cologne. you're so close you can count his freckles and you're trying desperately not too think about this. george is your best friend, george weasley is not someone who should distract you from your surroundings because all you can focus on is him.

"the only person who you should be all over is me. not pucey, not fred, not that twat flint that took you to the yule ball, not that bloody ravenclaw who kept eyeing you up in our 5th year, it's me, not them." your eyes widen as george talks softly to you. you're gazing into each others eyes and you don't think you've ever seen george look so nervous in his life. you think his eyes are beautiful, you've always thought that. like he told you he thinks yours are tonight, like how he told you how beautiful in general you are tonight. but right now it's different, he's being vulnerable and trusting you by letting you look, by letting you softly study his features in more detail than you've ever been able to in the past, it's an open invitation into his heart and soul, trying to convey to you how much you mean to him. his chocolate brown eyes are glazed over and you're unsure if it's due to him drinking or if it's because he's telling you how he feels and he's getting emotional. you see crinkles under his eyes from his countless hours of laughing and smiling and pulling pranks. how he's slowing blinking as if his eyelids feel heavy. you wonder what he can see in your eyes and during this moment you can't even begin to recall what your own eye colour is. the warmth of his eyes making you forget your own, you believe they're probably glassy due to what george confessed.

you licked your lips, suddenly finding them incredibly dry, "why?"

george slightly moves his head back further away from you, "why, what?" george didn't know what you would say but he didn't expect it to be a one word question that he's too drunk to wrap his head around to understand. he genuinely did not know where this night was going to go at the beginning but one thing lead to another and in george's eyes you started getting to touchy with someone and then all these words kept tumbling out that he thought he'd never say out loud.

"why you?" you turn your head away slightly, twidling with your fingers.

"thought it was pretty obvious after all i said love." your stomach flips at the name, "i'm mad about you." he looks at you with bated breath, waiting for your response.

"tell me you mean it." george hears your voice shake and as he leans closer to you to try and get you to look at him again he see's tears running down your face, uncontrollably. he's taken aback by seeing you cry and hates that he's the one who caused it, he's unsure of what he should do after but right now he can't help but to draw you into his arms, holding you against his side, placing a kiss on your head and stroking your back. he hears you sniffle and strokes your cheek, wiping away all the tears. "please.. please georgie. tell me you mean it."

"i-i mean it. i've never meant anything more in my life-," george starts to say but you cut him off.

"are you sure? your friends don't like me and what if alicia spinnet comes up to you and kisses you again or asks you out on a date." you whisper, still holding on tight to him. you're insecurities flowing through you.

"well firstly, i have no idea what my mates have to do with how i feel about or why it matters. and secondly..." he trails off as he then realises exactly what you said. george lifts a hand to your face and gently places under your chin tenderly, lifting your face up and facing him. "wait, are you jealous of alicia spinnet?" he studies your face, red eyes still watery and seeing you heat up and pout. he knew he got his answer and became more confident and self-assured. grinning from ear to ear, he says, "i didn't even know you saw that love. we only kissed once." you furrow your eyebrow causing george to chuckle and gently smooth out the wrinkles with his fingertips before kissing your forehead. "you seem bitter, love?" he teases.

you knows he's riling you up for a reaction but that doesn't stop the reaction. now he knows you might share feelings for him nothing will stop him from pressing your buttons in hopes that you'll get fired up and shout at him because he finds that you're so cute whenever that happens and you might even shout out your feelings and tell him how you feel. he might be able to get you to tell him how you feel about him or if it's only you being possessive of your friend after you've had a few drinks but he really hopes that isn't the case.

"weasley if you keep teasing i'm going to be mad at you," you huff. george hasn't stopped grinning though and you want so desperately to wipe that grin off his face, to have the upperhand but you've lost all capability of telling him you feel the same, you have since your fourth year and even now you worry that you aren't good enough, but you remember to before how he was looking at you and what he said about you and how pleased he looks right now and all of that worry goes away for awhile.

you lunge closer to him and close the already small gap between you two and kiss him, momentarily stunning george by your bold attention before he's smirking and kisses you harder, moving his hands so one is tracing patterns on your waist and the other delicately holding your jaw and cheek.

after kissing for so long it feels like your lips might just fall off, you reluctantly break apart, not realises how much you currently needed air until you could get some. "so you like me too, ay?"

you refuse to answer out of being shy and kiss him again, mainly to get him to stop speaking but there is one thing about george and that's after all these years he knows you like the back of his hand, so he doesn't kiss you back to watch you get frustrated, and boy did it frustrate you. you scowl as you look at him, "why'd you do that?"

george tucks some of your hair behind your ear, causing you to shiver at the action and george to smirk at your reaction. he whispers in your ear, "tell me you like me too, love." you want so desperately to hold onto him but he's moving away from you before you even get the chance to. he's looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to crack.

you soon crack, just as george knew you would. "bloody hell, george i am in love with you, alright! so kiss me now!"

"you..you what?" if you were more sober you would have instantly regretted saying that, however as soon as the words came out of your mouth you forgot what you confessed to entirely.

you grab hold of his shirt and pull him closer towards you again. "please, georgie, 'need you." that snaps him out of his thinking as he starts kissing you again, this time less soft as before. he's almost hungry now as he's holding onto you tight, and has started moving down your neck, placing kisses in his wake. you softly moan at the sensation before you're rudely interrupted by whistling.

"oi, get a room you two. it's bad enough to have seen you make heart eyes at each other for the last six years." you've never wanted a strangle fred more and it looks like george is sharing a similar sentiment, as he glares at him across the room.

"lets get out of here sweetheart before i punch him in the face." you giggle and stand up.

"that's awfully violent of you george, i'm meant to be the one that gives threats." you've started to sober up a bit now but lean against him anyway, wanting an excuse to be close.

" 'fraid i've always seen through that. you're not very scary love, i mean you scream every time you see a spider. if i trapped you and dear little ronnikins in a room with a spider, just imagine the chaos." he chuckles as he looks at you fondly and holds your hand while pulling you tighter to him, he sees through your guise of needing help to stand and keep steady but that doesn't stop him from holding on to you, any reason or excuse to hold you and touch you he's going to take it, especially now you're both sobering up.

george steers you through all of the people as you're making your way to the door. "wait georgie, do you need to say bye to everyone?" you stop in your tracks and pull in your hand back a bit.

"nah, doesn't matter." you softly smile and hold tighter onto his hand. you hum and follow him out the door.

as soon as you're out the door you're hit with the winter cold. " 'm cold," you grumbled as george was already taking his jacket off.

"here, love," he replied as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, giving you extra warmth. "if i knew it was going to be this cold i'd have brought a scarf." he wraps you up in his arms, slinging his arm around you and sharing body heat, making in difficult to move quickly but appreciating the warmth.

"don't know why we couldn't apparate out of there, bloody annoying if you ask me." you complain.

he laughs as you make a fuss. "there were muggles there."

"what the bloody hell were muggles doing there?"

"careful, love, you're starting to sound like malfoy," he responds playfully, causing you to lightly hit his shoulder and pout.

"you know what i mean. how does he know muggles?"

"dunno honestly, but on the brightside i get to walk home with a pretty girl." you pinch his arm softly to silently tell him to quit it, getting a laugh out of him.

"there's no 'brightside', it's night. plus i'm just pretty?" you feel the need to tease him like he's been teasing you as george always wins in this kind of thing, never failing to make you shy and flustered.

"oh no, not just pretty. the most beautiful person in the world." he tells you without missing a beat. in response you kiss george's cheek, pleased and feeling fuzzy at what he said and you both walk together in comfortable silence.

"so you're in love with me," he remarked. you can hear his grin. the cogs turn in your brain as you remember what you told him.

you keep your head forward even though you want to turn away, and silently thank how you're still slightly tipsy, giving you the courage you need to not deny your deeper feelings. "shut up weasley."

george spins you to face him, your skirt flowing with the movement, the skirt that you definitely should not have worn tonight no matter how long it is. pressing your foreheads together he whispers, "i love you too. now lets get home before i freeze my bloody bullocks off."

you burst out laugh and bury your face in his neck, this time making him shiver at the touching contact. you don't think you've ever felt happier than right now, as the man you love loves you too.

you carry on your walk and swing your hands intertwined with his. "does that make me your girlfriend georgie?"

"merlin! it better be, six years is a long enough wait."

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icarusredwings · 2 months ago

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Finding home Au things that are canon (because I said so, and it's MY au so I can do whatever I want. Send me headcanons, and I'll approve them)

Gambit just got back from the void so he's just now meeting everyone. He looks a little different from how they remember since their gambit really was never a full team mate and rather then just some guy that helped Logan a couple of times. This being said hes meeting Rouge as a 35 year old linguistics teacher for a bunch of brats, flirting with her in the halls, trying to impress her all the time, etc. He wanted to have a cool class like how to use a Bo staff or tutor energy weilding kids but instead got stuck with sex ed. Because of this, he now makes a ton of jokes to Rouge about it (she's across the hall) but actually is really excited to start his cooking elective class this coming fall when he's considered a real team member.

Ororos heals click in the hall like they did when you were a kid and you could tell the principal is coming. She's almost always with a tea or a coffee, walkie talkie and keys jingling. She's very sweet but kids shit their pants if sent to Mrs. Munroes office, meanwhile Mr. Summers office is a nothing, just a lecture and a slap on the wrist. Aint no one actually scared of lasik because they know thw worst theyll get is community work for a couple of weeks but they ligit cry the second theyre sent to munroe's (especially if they know theyre guilty of a big prank or something)

The school gives out free hygiene products and depending on what you need you can special request it.

If students get too angry they are sent to Piotr's art room for art therapy. He surprisingly is very artistic and chill.

Forges shop class is working on a car with no weight limit and that can handle their heavy hitters (Colossus and Wolverine) both in the same car (most bust) as well as a car made from plastic recycling. They're working on it. Its only blown up once!!

Gambit makes breakfast for the staff and some students of they beg enough. He keeps bringing Rouge the first cup of coffee from the pot and has made her pancakes shaped like hearts multiple times. Watching her stab them and smother them make him... giggle helplessly.

Gambit🤝Watching their love intrests viscously stab and rip apart their meals with a boner wishing it was them🤝Wade

He's very respectful towards her, though and sometimes is a bit (COUGH a lot COUGH) of a kiss ass.

Hank's students have blown up the lab at least 4 times by now. One of those times was Wades fault for touching stuff he wasn't supposed to.

Kurt is very glad that Wade has taken over his Duel weaponry/swordsman class, so now he has time to start working out a pitch for a world's religion class+ sunday school. He still runs a fencing club, though.

Peter (quicksilver) has tried so many different positions, including music teacher of all different instruments. Now he just kinda lounges around in the game room and speed cleans the mansion after each day in like 2 minutes flat. Imagine being paid a full salary just for 2 minutes of work? And you get to live somewhere for free and play games all day? Fuck yeah.

Positions I've been thinking about:

Beast (Dr. Henry "Hank" McCoy) is the Vice-Principal, so he does orientation. He has multiple science classes, including biophysics, and has electives in philosophy and poetry.

Colossus (Piotr Rasputin) is an art teacher and handles art therapy

Gambit (Remy LeBeau) runs a sex-ed class and is hoping to soon get approved to run a cooking class next semester.

Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner) has a fencing elective as well as a religion class, sunday school, and sometimes helps Morph with drama/theater. (Ex duel weaponry instructor)

Rogue (Anna Marie) is a Linguistics teacher who drabbles in social science. “Diction and Linguistics, with Professor Rogue” She can teach just about any language, but russian/german/ french/ spanish and Japanese are her main ones. She's who you go to if you dont understand English and need help. Almost all foreign students have her.

Cyclops (Scott Summers) is the headmaster. He has classes in Geometry, has an elective for leadership and communications (PFFT) as well as being the schools mobility/disability specialist. He, of course, specializes more with children who have trouble with their eyesight.

Storm (Ororo Munroe) is the Headmistress. She has an Environmental Science and Political Science class as well as a multi cultural elective.

Shadowcat (Katherine "Kitty" Pryde) has a comp-sci class and runs an ethics class.

“Ethics 101: Forgetting Everything You Ever Learned From Emma Frost, with Professor Pryde.”

Wolverine (Logan Howlett) is a(n occasional hand to hand combat/ martial arts) PE instructor. (Ex History teacher)

Jubilee is the schools event organizer, event coordinator, event manager, and more broadly, event professional, the ‘hip’ school counselor. "Activities Director & Counselor"

Morph is the director of drama acting and disguises (duh)

Laura is a graduating student In training under the Wolverine (Gabby is a student and is too young to be an understudy)

Yukio graduating student In training Under Storm or Rouge (I can't decide)

Negasonic teenage warhead (Ellie) graduating student In training under Jean Grey.

Mr. Wade Wilson (Deadpool) Is in training under Colossus. Duel weaponry/ swordsman tactics class instructor (plus whatever Logan's doing, he's very nosey and WILL cause issues if bored)

Jean Grey is an english teacher, has a class on psychology, and drabbles in physics.

Ice man (Bobby) is the school financal advisor/accountant and runs a business elective class.

Forge is a Shop teacher.

Quicksilver (Peter maximoff) Janitor, housekeeping, music teacher, replaced original Logan as PE teacher for a while, target practice, teaches fast kids how to avoid running into walls, always in the game room, stock/ errand boy, gets bored super quickly, sports instructor, Read almost all the books in the library, likes swimming, mainly just lays around waiting for something fun to do, his father causes trouble sometimes which he thinks is entertaining but also hella embaressing.

I'm unfortunately left without a history teacher, so shoot me any ideas :)

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theyoungeragrippina · 1 year ago

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✨ 15 gentlebeard fic recs ✨

i have spent the last month trawling the pages of ao3 for you, dear reader, to find the best ofmd fics. all the works on this list:

are longer-form (generally 40k+)

have no steddyhands (simply not my thing)

are generally, all around brilliant (well-written, had me kicking my feet and giggling, laughing, or crying)

are complete!

part 2 and part 3

A Heart Unsated by roughwinds

48k, explicit

"Stede Bonnet has just moved into Orange Crescent. There’s a house on the corner, opposite Stede’s own, with a garden full of flowers and a gleaming motorbike on the driveway. He’s forgotten to buy sugar.

Edward Teach has his morning disturbed by his new neighbour. Enamoured at first sight, he invites Stede round for a chat, and then another, and then another.

This is the story of them."

man i normally avoid fics with lots of alma and louis in them because its just not for me, but literally every second of the family bonding in this was so wholesome i was forced to change my entire mind.

all you left me was a pearl by @sightofsea

88k, mature

"1717. The Golden Age of Piracy. Stede Bonnet sets about wooing the love of his life through any means necessary.

Things do not go as planned."

every day i wish for a precise memory erasing potion to be invented so i can read this again for the first time. i would devour like 2000k more words of this if it was offered to me. brilliant.

forgive & forget by @fool-for-luv

44k, mature

"It hits him then, like a wave breaking on sand, loud as thunder when it crashes, then trickling away into little rivulets flowing back home, murmuring one word over and over and over. Ed.

The problem is, Stede doesn’t recall ever having met anyone named Ed."

so sweet and wonderful, and i wish there was more.

#gentlebeard is trending! by regional_catastrophe

41k, teen

"In which Stede accidentally convinces the pirating world that Gentlebeard (or Blackbonnet or Stedward; there's a poll) is canon, reunites his crew, and gets his boyfriend back."

hilarious & silly & great, but also the most compelling notes of any fic i've ever read. a proper learning experience.

if music be the food of love (then darling, you're a feast) by @fool-for-luv

107k, unrated

"“Hey, so, those two, right, they get together in the end?” Ed asks.

“I would protest spoiling it, but I think it's rather obvious, isn't it?” Stede says. His nose wrinkles as he smiles. “The tension is certainly there from the beginning. It just takes them a while to get there.”

“Good. Would have been a shit story otherwise.""

i love sassy stede and i love ed who is a grump and i love that they share one single braincell at any given time.

If You Were Mine to Keep by @mysterybees

162k, explicit

"Caught between the gallows and the end of an English sword, Ed accepts the Act of Grace: marry into the aristocracy, leave the English ships alone, and live to sail another day. But who in their right mind would ever agree to marry the mad devil pirate Blackbeard?"

Worth every second of tiredness I felt after pulling an all nighter to finish reading.

It's Only Right by hexuponye

53k, explicit

"A modern AU based on Imagine Me & You, in which Edward is a florist who does the flowers for Stede's wedding."

mary gets to be a little silly sometimes too as a treat.

pliocene by unfortunatelyobsessed

75k, mature

""man, it's just ocean for miles.” Ed motions out to the waves, where there is no sign of any sort of ship, their small dinghy pulled far up on the sand. “I told you when the clouds look like seagulls you take fuckin' cover. Goddamn ocean mutinied me.”"

william golding wishes he did something this brilliant and significant when he wrote Lord of the Flies. the best deserted island story.

quite a career shift by @stedesparasol

157k, explicit

"Stede's been posting book reviews on Youtube for two months now. It's taken him that long to finally get a comment, and the person it comes from is rather unexpected."

rip stede you would've LOVED booktube. furious i can never really watch his content.

Semaphore by komodobits

124k, explicit

"Talking things through as a crew is easier said than done, and honest communication has never really been Stede’s strong suit. When it comes to Ed, he is willing to try."

so good that i was properly and truly laughing and gasping and 'oh no-ing' out loud while i read it.

Such Joie de Vivre by @louciferish

94k, explicit

"Professional thief Edward Teach is tired of hole in the wall apartments, shitty pub food, and skipping town every few months to keep the cops off their tail. He’s well past the age he meant to flee the country and retire, and all he needs is One Last Job to set him up for life. When he hears that some rich bastard outside of town has just the sort of treasure he’d trade his good knee for, Ed sets out in disguise to get the lay of the land."

i (so so foolishly) avoided reading this for a while because i simply didn't think i was one for nanny aus. i was so, terribly wrong. don't make the same mistakes i did. showstopping. incredible stuff.

The Chains of Flowers are Fragile Things by @grandmastattoo

62k, explicit

"Stede can't see the shop he's inherited from his late father as anything other than a burden, another insult added to a life that's going nowhere fast. Then he meets the charismatic man who owns the tattoo studio next door, and Stede finds himself forced to consider the idea of home."

maybe i love tattoo shop owner ed fics, sue me. i love this stede and i love his embarrassing mistake tattoo.

The Love Experiment by karawrites

65k, mature

a married at first sight (aus) au. i didn't know i needed it until i read it.

Water/line by @the-gentleman-mermaid

60k, teen

"During a raid on a smuggler ship, Ed finds a merman named Stede locked in the hold."

So good that I would actually pay the author real person money to do a similar story but where Ed is the mermaid.

Where the Daylight Begins by @xoxoemynn

116k words, explicit

"Modern day AU slow burn featuring a pining Ed, a clueless Stede, found family, roughly a million animals, and a very magical house."

This one sort of gave me House on the Cerulean Sea vibes; it was so much fun and genuinely necessitates a proper use of the word whimsical.

#i will add more as i keep reading!!#pls send me recs too i have brainrot so all the media i consume has to be about pirates rn #hopefully there is at least one thing in here you haven't read before!#thanks for listening #if your fic is on this list know that i love you #our flag means death #ofmd #gentlebeard #gentlebeard fic recs #gentlebeard fanfic #blackbonnet #blackbonnet fic recs #blackbonnet fanfic

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honestlyboringperson · 3 months ago

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Persona 5 AU anyone? No? Just me? That’s fine.

Anyways, welcome to an AU that’s been bouncing around my head for nearly a year now! It was inspired by @/chrisrin’s take on the MCYT x Persona series as well as @/scruffyturtle’s ACAU! Go check ‘em out!

Team B.E.S.T.

The Scottage + Gem

Fairy Fort

Magical Mountain + Cub

More Information is under the cut!

Grian - “Ace” - The Sun Arcana - Lafayette/Eris

Grian is a college student working for a degree in architecture. He lives with in roommate Mumbo and does journalling and photography as a hobby. For some odd reason however, he can’t seem to remember anything about his past beyond simply going to college, doing a part time job, and spending time with his cousin and friends. This is because Grian isn’t really human. In this AU, the Watchers take the role of Yaldaboath, and created Grian to begin the mental shutdown cases to scare people into looking for someone to look towards. In this case, The Watcher Cult (Called the Pupils) for the Watchers to take control. During his creation, false memories were implanted in certain people in the Pupils for Grian to more seamlessly appear. But unbeknownst to them, the Velvet Room interfered and erased Grian’s memories of his purpose.

Anyways, onto the personas, Grian’s persona is Lafayette, a key figure in the American Revolutionary War and the French Revolution. In both wars, he was known to lead his armies in decisive battles of the war to secure their victory. Even today, he’s celebrated as a hero in both France and in the US. This fits in with canon Grian’s habit of rebelling against any governmental entity that’s in the Hermitcraft server (although he is currently the government) l

His Ultimate persona is Eris, the Greek goddess of chaos and strife. She was the instigator of the Trojan war, where she threw at apple at Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena. She stated that it was for the “fairest goddess” and one thing led to another, and several kingdoms are now at war with each other. Wow, starting a war for shits and giggles? That sounds like Grian!

Jimmy - “Sheriff” - The Fool Arcana - Black Bart/Baldr

Grian’s cousin and charmingly unlucky, Jimmy is often the target of teasing. He’s the one to egg Grian on to actually go to class instead of just doing the online assignments. He’s personally seeking a degree in education, and is a stickler for the rules he agrees with. Unbeknownst to him, he was a victim of the Pupils and one of the people that had false memories implanted in him. He’s extremely excited about being a phantom thief, but his joyous excitement will be tested through the story.

His Persona is Black Bart, an American Outlaw who is known for the poetic messages he left behind after two of his stagecoach robberies. He is considered a gentleman bandit with a flair for style and sophistication. He brandished a shotgun, but was noted to never fire it during his robberies. He was famed to the point there is an annual parade in Redwood Valley, California where there is a Black Bart Parade where he is played and portrayed as a stereotypical Old West Villain.

Anyways, Baldr is Jimmy’s Ultimate Persona. Baldr is a Norse god, and was well loved by everyone in the Aesir. He had a prophetic dream where everything is destroyed and gets terrified. His mother then makes everything in existence to personally promise her they won’t hurt him, rendering him near indestructible. But there was one thing that didn’t promise his mother; mistletoe. Loki kills Baldr when the other gods made a game where they throw countless weapons at the newly indestructible Baldr where he throws a spear made of mistletoe at him. He was the metaphorical “canary in the mine” due to his death being the first domino that trigger Ragnarok. Baldr only returns from the dead after Ragnarok throughly destroys everything.

Impulse - “Rook” - The Hierophant Arcana - Wayland/Hephaestus

Impulse owns a small prop weapons company where he forges and creates prop weapons in his own garage. He is coined the “dad” of the group, but would let a stupid scheme play out if he thinks it’s going to be funny. Unknown to anyone but his close friends (Skizz, Gem, and Pearl), but Impulse has a criminal record. He once worked under the one of the biggest mafia families in the country, and he was caught by the police after his teammates from the mafia abandoned him and used him to distract the cops. Ever since then, Impulse has been secretly trying to locate his former teammates to enact revenge on them.

Wayland is Impulse’s persona. Wayland was a blacksmith who was enslaved under a king. He had revenge on the king by killing both his sons and built wings to escape the king. Afterwards, he supplied weapons to several other people in myths and stories such as Charlemagne and his paladin as well as Beowulf as their weapons maker. Impulse is an advocate for burying the hatchet after using the hatchet to brutally destroy those who wronged him.

Impulse’s Ultimate Persona is Hephaestus, the Greek god of the forge and blacksmiths. After being thrown off Mount Olympus, he swore revenge on Hera. He enacted said revenge by trapping her on top of a golden throne that made her unable to get up. Not only in this story, but also in tales such as Aphrodite’s affair, he is noted to be very vengeful and will not yield unless his demands are reached.

Martyn - “Knave” - The Judgement Arcana - Atlantis/Judas

Martyn is a stagehand in the local theatre known for his friendly and amiable demeanour. However, under that cheery demeanour is a burning desire for revenge. Martyn’s parents were devout worshippers of the Watchers and worked under the Pupils. He was subjected to several grievances due to his parents volunteering him for the Pupil’s experiments and abuses. Ever since he’s escaped, he has focused on destroying the cult. He’s been working as a grey hat hacker to clients with varying levels of morality to get money and further his research on the cult.

Martyn is the navigator of the team with his persona Atlantis. Atlantis was a city that was sunk beneath the sea for being too greedy. It was noted to possess technology that surpassed the technology of times and even to this day, it’s still being searched for. The people were of divine descent, and lost their humility as they became more human after each generation.

Martyn’s ultimate persona is Judas. Judas was one of the original disciples for the Big J, and sold out him out for 30 pieces of silver. Martyn’s story in this AU revolves around his grudge against the Pupils and the Watchers, so his persona is someone who betrayed a religious figurehead.

Mumbo - “Vamp” - The Hermit Arcana - Galileo/Thoth

Mumbo is Grian’s roommate and a self proclaimed “spoon”. He is working towards a degree in Computer Science and is often found tinkering with old technology in his room, often to the point him and Grian step on loose screws and pieces of plastic on a weekly basis. Much like Jimmy, he had false memories of Grian implanted in him, which would come into conflict when the origins of Grian is revealed. This was because the main reason he joined the Phantom Thieves was out of concern for Grian. According to him, the day he turned 18 is when his signature moustache just grew spontaneously.

Mumbo’s persona is Galileo, the father of modern science and the scientific method. His studies were considered blasphemous against the church and he was sentenced to house arrest. Even though he was imprisoned, he still had faith in his discoveries and continued his studies within the confines of his house,

His Ultimate Persona is Thoth, the Egyptian God of the moon, wisdom, knowledge, writing, hieroglyphs, and judgement. He’s associated with Hermes and due to the connection, created the epithet Trismegestus. He is someone who solves his issues with diplomacy and reason instead of pure power and strength.

#PERSONA x MCYT AU #Hermitcraft #Hermitcraft au #Grian #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #Mumbo jumbo #impulsesv #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #life series #third life #last life #double life #limited life #secret life

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satellitesunset · 2 months ago

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hey i saw ur reblog about itfs fic recs 👀 any cute/fluffy itafushi fics?? or just your favs! specifically one shots/shorter fics bc i never have time for long fics. either canon or au!! itafushi world domination 🐕‍🦺🐅🌍

hi !! yes absolutely here r some of my favorite fluffy itafushi fics divided into two categories au & canonverse

warning: most of these lean into the humor/comedy aspect, hope that's also under the cute label.

Alternate Universe

Pavlov's Dogboy by lococation

i would recommend everything by this author actually, this one in particular tho is a fav bc its incredibly funny and just very sweet yk like its a giggling while reading kinda fic.

Sweet Tooth by Anonymous

if you like romcoms you'll love this. its has a coffee shop, its a meetcute, lots of pining etc.

A Cat in Hell's Chance by KittMitt

this will make u giggle and kick your feet ok. like the cutest thing ever. reading it will have u feeling giddy and excited. vet megumi u r so beloved.

my blessing; my love. by toomanyonions

a treat fr. if u love fake dating this fic is for u. incredible execution. 10/10. dont need to say more

Canonverse

only human by cabins

"“Married to, uh, someone like you, ideally,” " can u believe this 2021 fic predicted the most recent itfs canon love confession. hashtagitafushiworlddomination fr

that's the spirit! by akaashism (acciomerlin) @akaashism

i'm very fond of this one, it's different but my god is it a masterpiece. another author that has many delightful itfs works !! this one is just the first i read from them so ill always have a special spot for it.

heptadecagon by seclusion

the prose of this one. holy shit r they so gorgeous. the words are wording omg i love this style of introspective character study and it so perfectly done here.

you have hands (hold mine) by mustardleaf

disaster pining yuji is so dear to me, and baby is he the disaster in this.

I want to renew you again and again by Shapeshifter99

a world where yuji's pink hair is the product of dye. ok this is a minor plotline but anyways. this is so fucking tender i have a sweet tooth. i go crazy over soft domestic displays of affection and this is 14k of that.

5 Times Fushiguro Tried to Tell Itadori He Was Trans and It Went Over Itadori's Head, Plus 1 Time It Didn't by doctorcakeray

i am so incredibly soft for any trans characters fics and this one is so cute abt it. yuji's very endearing abt it.

Ryoumen Sukuna is Not a Gay Mentor by cursedwritings

i adore any sort of outsider pov fics and this one is genuinely hysterical ok. once again i love down bad!yuji

hope u like them !!

#itafushi #fushiita #jjk fic recs #myle's recs #jjk #megumi fushiguro #yuji itadori #myle mumbles answers #ALSO SUNNY I ALMOST RECED YOUR OWN FIC #it did remind me that i need to comment bc i forgot #sunny <3

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phykios · 5 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You just did.”

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

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

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

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

She stared at him.

“Honest!”

“I’m sure.”

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

“A shit-show?”

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

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

“...Well, yeah.”

“And did he?”

“Of course.”

“All of them this time?”

His silence spoke volumes.

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

“Where do you think?”

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

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

Besides, she had a son of Poseidon to find.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabeth sighed, resting her head on her knees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! You could have–”

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

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

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

“Annabeth–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In response, she drew her knife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There. “Now, are you going to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no way she could block this strike.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she had one last secret weapon.

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

“Never,” he swore. “I would never.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

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

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

He kissed her.

Turns out, he had a secret weapon, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You heard me.”

“Me? Run away?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...What did you say?”

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

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

“You okay?”

Not well enough, it seemed. “Fine.”

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

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

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

And then he leaned forward and she met him halfway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded. “Yes. I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked, uncomprehendingly. “Excuse me?”

“Do you want to do this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiled, supercilious ass.

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

She was being stupid.

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

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

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

“You can use my soap if you want.”

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

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

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

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

And he slipped into the shower with her.

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

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

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

And wordlessly, she did.

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

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

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

And boy was she not bothered by it.

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

He hummed, a wordless question.

“Washing people. Is it a kink?”

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

“So it’s the shower, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

“...You’ve lost me.”

He shot her a look, slanted, eyebrow raised.

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

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

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

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

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

She swallowed, her stomach twinging unpleasantly.

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

But it did piss her off.

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

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

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

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

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

“Well…”

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

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

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

“What for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s really okay–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop what?”

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

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

She jumped–into him, and he smirked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did. She couldn’t not.

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

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

And then, he smacked her ass.

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

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

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

Good for her, too.

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Definitely not a virgin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hng,” she responded, eloquently.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Annabeth pushed at his chest.

In response, he blew a raspberry on her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not at–...ah. Of course. The naiads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, he did, did he?

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

He raised an eyebrow at her.

Annabeth raised hers back, a silent challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You motherf–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because that’s so reassuring.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, well, I haven’t.”

His eyes widened. “Never?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She liked that. She liked that very much.

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

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

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

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

“Tell me.”

“Fuck, it’s so good–ah…”

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

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

“I–want–Percy–touch me–”

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

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

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

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

She grunted in agreement.

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

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

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

“In a good way or a bad way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She frowned. “Wriggly? Squishy?”

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

“Or the lake, in this case.”

He huffed a laugh. “I guess.”

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

Percy stilled beneath her. “Oh, shit.”

“What? What is it?”

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

“...Excuse me?”

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

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

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

Yup. That was definitely semen.

Well.

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

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

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

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

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

“There better not be.”

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

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

“How do you know?”

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

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

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

“...Oh.”

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

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

He coughed. “Um, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

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

A bargaining chip? “For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Night.”

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow, then. She’d make tomorrow count.

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

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

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monodramatic-cannibal · 3 months ago

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Renegade!Killer

Info post about the au

(If characters seem OOC ((Out Of Character)) it's beacause I'm going off of my own interpretations/headcanons/fandom versions. So please be aware of that)

More info under the cut (Info is subject to change at any time. Info may be added to as well)

(TW: Mentions of murder)

-Jobs in the group: Protection of the base, fighting Wraiths, scouting, hunting

Weapons of choice: large kitchen knife/machete, throwing knives, any gun he can get his hands on

-Head canon voice: ???

-Not similar to canon/og!Killer. Renegade!Killer doesn’t have stages really, he does have some form of interaction with a Chara though.

-Goes by any pronouns, mainly uses He/Him as his default one though. Is asexual.

-Went to prison and when the apocalypse hit he escaped with Dust. Just decided to kill people for shits and giggles, was bored of his own life so thought he would do something more entertaining with it. Was slightly influenced by his Chara to do this.

-As a teen he was also arrested for arson, so it’s not like it was his first time being arrested when he killed people.

-Tried to attack Dust when they first broke out of prison. Dust kicked his ass though, but didn’t kill him. Since he had nothing better to do he decided to tag along with Dust. In which they became good friends.

-Found a phone that has an Alex G playlist on it, has basically made it part of his personality. It’s not like they find that many phones with ‘good’ music on them. Well music that he likes. So he treasures this phone. He had never heard of Alex G before the apocalypse.

-Loves pulling pranks on anyone he can, or joining Ink in doing something stupid. Often gets told off by Nightmare for doing those things. But he won’t stop unless he gets threatened with some sort of consequences.

-Before joining the group, Nightmare was the one in the group that said to give him a chance. Nightmare got put in charge of him after that, but Nightmare had made it clear to him that he can do his own thing, as long as no one is harmed. Though due to the pranks Nightmare has to step in now and then.

-Forgets to take care of himself half the time, often having others remind him to do things, such as Horror reminding him to eat.

-Doesn’t feel emotions too often, when he tends to feel emotions more intensely his eye sockets have his eye lights appear.

-Soul always hovering in front of his chest, he can’t explain why, he doesn’t remember when it happened. Just always remembers it being there since he was a teen.

-Finds it hard to care about things, so unless someone somehow managed to become a friend of his, everyone else he doesn’t care about. Even then if your a friend he may find it hard sometimes to care. Also has no sense of danger due to not caring. Understands when he shouldn’t mess with someone/something, but anything else he doesn’t really have a sense of danger for.

-He is a flirty person, but never takes it seriously. He may flirt with people then insult them in the same sentence. Tends to insult people who take his flirting seriously. He just finds it fun to do, having others question his actions and just seeing others get confused. It’s one of the least chaotic ways he will mess with someone.

-Has to wash his clothing on the regular due to the liquid coming from his eye sockets. And the fact he tends to use his clothes to wipe away these tears.

-Sometimes the tears/liquid in his eye sockets can blur his vision slightly, so sometimes struggles to see things. This is particularly bad if he has to read something.

-Good at remembering completely useless information, always says ‘You never know if it will be useful’. Has probably had one or two situations where this information is actually useful and has been smug about it.

-Despite his boots having laces on them, he doesn’t actually know how to tie laces properly, just tends to tie them into an awkward knot and pray for the best. Sometimes he may bother Nightmare to tie them for him.

-Adore’s Horror’s cat, Fig. He originally wanted Fig, but both Nightmare and Horror said he’d not take care of Fig properly. It annoyed him slightly, but he can’t complain too much, he’s with Horror most of the time anyway so gets to see Fig every day.

-Will bite people if they put limbs too close to his mouth. Has bitten Dust, Horror and Nightmare before, also tried to bite Cross but Cross reacted too quickly for him.

-Will steal Horror’s and Dust’s clothes sometimes. Acts oblivious to it when they try to say anything to him. Can also steal Nightmare’s oversized hoodies because they’re a normal size on him. Nightmare doesn’t give any reaction to it.

-Often carries a knife around with him, the only time he actively puts it somewhere out the way is when he’s interacting with Fig.

How they feel about:

Nightmare: Likes him, thinks Nightmare is fun to be around when Nightmare is in a joking mood. Is often the one finding cat related clothing to give to Nightmare. Also tends to pick Nightmare up a lot, treating him like a teddy bear since Nightmare doesn’t complain about it.

Dream: Only really tends to see Dream when Dream comes to hang out with Nightmare. Has picked up on the fact Dream is unsure of him. He never makes an effort to befriend Dream though, or calm his worries. Finds it funny to try to make Dream uncomfortable, e.g. staring at him for too long. At least till Night tells him to knock it off.

Cross: Thinks it’s fun to mess with Cross, especially when it’s something involving Night. Thinks it’s hilarious when Cross gets super protective over Night, cause it annoys Night as well, two birds with one stone. He’s chill about Cross, but just thinks his reactions to things are funny. Was one of the ones with Cross when Cross had screamed about the cow statue, doesn’t let him live it down and often hides cow related things in Cross’s room.

Blue: Can get along with Blue from time to time, but also likes to insult him for no reason. He doesn’t interact with Blue enough to have a proper opinion on him.

Ink: Can get along with Ink when it comes to pranks and joking around. And other time Killer isn’t that fond of them. Only finding them fun when they have something planned.

Dust: Sees him as a good friend, can crack jokes with him and lets Dust cling to him when they’re doing things together. He’s seen Dust’s face when they were in prison together. Has never mentioned Dust’s face to anyone though mainly out of respect for Dust, and also he doesn’t want Dust to kick his ass over it.

Horror: Likes Horror, sees him as a good friend. Often tells jokes and stuff to Horror, sometimes tries to rope Horror into his pranks that he does, but Horror never has any of it wanting to stay out of it. Horror normally makes sure that he’s okay, and makes sure he’s fed. Knows Horror struggles to read a situation, so he tends to announce the mood of a room, partly to annoy the others in the room and partly to let Horror know the mood of the room. Knows Horror is a murderer.

Error: Has tried to poke Error’s shoulder and face a few times, normally gets attacked by the strings. He doesn’t really mind Error just finds it fun to mess with him. When around Nightmare he does chill out with annoying Error, since Nightmare doesn’t want to be breaking up a fight.

Lust: Lust treats him with respect, so he gives Lust some respect back, still will prank Lust now and then but doesn’t mind Lust. Knows Lust gets along with Horror, Dust and Nightmare, so since his friends like Lust he will play nice.

Fell/Edge: Only tends to run into him whenever he’s following Nightmare around. Fell is always on edge around him, he doesn’t really care though. Just finds it funny. Doesn’t really have an opinion of him.

Geno: Doesn’t really run into him that often and normally Geno ignores him. Doesn’t really have an opinion of him.

Outer: Talks to Outer often, normally when Outer is on the roofs on a night. He tends to be chill around Outer. Outer was wary of him at first but after a few interactions they get along. He’s unsure if he’d consider Outer a friend or not. But does enjoy the peace he gets when he hangs out alone with Outer.

Sci: No real opinion of him, other than he’s the only one in the group he isn’t allowed to prank. Knows he should respect him, but he only gives Sci the bare minimum. Knows Sci is the reason he can stick around but he just doesn’t care about that.

Reaper/Death: Has talked to him two times before. Has no opinion of him. Did try to throw a knife at him which Reaper caught, will watch Reaper and Dust play board games, but that's really the extent of their interactions.

Fresh: Not met him before. Did hear about him from Dust though which made him ask around about who Fresh is. Since no one really knows that much about Fresh he’s determined to fight Fresh if he ever sees him.

Gans/Echo: Forgets this dude exists, since Echo doesn’t leave the radio room too much. No opinion on Echo other than he's a chill guy. Echo doesn’t have much reaction to his pranks, so tends not to prank Echo as much as the others.

Chief: Chief is always yapping at him to get him out of certain areas, doesn’t really mind Chief, but doesn’t like how Chief thinks he can boss him around. Will sometimes do things Chief says not to do out of spite.

#monoart #monos art #digital #art #digital art #undertale au #undertale sans au #underverse #sans au #Killer #killer sans #Renegade!Killer #Renegade ref #Renegade refs #Renegade au #Renegade #Renegade info #ref #reference

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fffanii · 1 month ago

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10.03.24

more inaisei song au stuff

ranting below, BEWARE!!!

OKOK so. this is not canon in any capacity. these silly little fans are like how ppl make aus based on pjsk cards and what not. thats what these guys are

the first is liar dancer, second is hitomania, third is uminaoshi, fourth is god-ish. now, you might be like. wtf uminaoshi??? liar dancer and hitomania and maybe god-ish are fine but UMINAOSHI??? and to that i say. it was a joke. and then i got attached. BUT JUST LOOK AT THAT GUYYYY HES SO FUCKED UP!!!!

this was the start of the joke btw. its so fucking stupid. context? teto likes to bully fan for shits and giggles idk

anyway. i like these silly fan song things and uh. i might make more designs but i also wanna do some for other characters… specifically non-breath oblige for suitcase :33

also. uminaoshi fan and god-ish fan are in a toxic gay situationship, do not question me, i make the rules, not you. so what if the fans are being gay for each other. i mirrorship all i want and fan is gay as hell what do you want from me

ALSO WHY IS MY ART SUDDENLY GETTING ATTENTION??? i should be glad (AND IM VERY GRATEFUL DONT GET ME WRONG) but its like wow. all these people who like my art are gonna be so disappointed when i throw filler at them nine times out of ten

ALSOALSO the ii charas are not teenagers… theyre still adults in this au…… im still figuring out the whole ‘how they became groups’ thing but they have GRADUATED FROM HIGHSCHOOL!!! BOT IS BASED ON BOW WHO IS AN ADULT SO BOT IS ALSO!!! AN ADULT!!!!! the cherries and yinyang and other characters who are portrayed as children a lot are ALSO!!!!! ADULTS!!!!!!!! i should clarify this because to be honest making them all be in highschool or younger feels a bit fucked up because i put them THROUGH some shit like im not putting a fourteen year old through whatever the fuck happened with the bright light’s sekai dude… that just feels wrong….

#プロイナイセイ #proinaisei #プロジェクトinanimate異星 #project inanimate isei #pjii #fan pjii #why do i have so many tags for this one au #im normal guys trust #art #i dont wanna tag ii for the same reason as last time #also. not elaborating on the bright light sekai thing. you will have to stay tuned…#or not idk i might never tell you lol

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frownyalfred · 1 year ago

Note

Are there any tropes or whump ideas you can't believe no one has done or there is little of?

I say this because I adore your fic "pull out the pin." Possession trope is so WHUMPY and makes me giggle and curl my toesies like an idiot. I don't care if the "Fight it" "This isn't you" "give him back" dialogue is cringe, I gobble that shit as if I were in a famine. It has so much potential and I'm so surprised how underused it is.

Love your work! Love your account! You inspire me to write - one day at least haha❤️ 😔✊

Thank you so much! Yeah even if it is cringe I’m gonna write it 😅 I hope you write someday!

I would probably say eldritch and/or Gotham being weird, giving the Batfamily powers, etc. I know there are fics out there with those that are great, but it didn’t seem to catch on as much as you’d think with all the canon source material.

When I was writing my eldritch superbat fic there weren’t a ton of similar fics. I then wrote that post about cryptid/weird batkids getting powers over time and that seems to have sparked a few new fics which is awesome! I’ve been reading all of them hahaha.

People tell me pretty frequently that the mind bond fic is rare for DC. I would also say that a lot of the older fandom tropes (reincarnation, royal AUs, sex pollen) have also decreased in recent years, but that’s not always a bad thing! Just means fandom interests are shifting to other tropes.

I’ve mentioned to fellow writers, in the whump realm, that we don’t cover Clark in blood nearly enough. And we definitely don’t talk enough about the batkids getting hurt trying to emulate Bruce, not necessarily in his vigilante activities, but in his social/Brucie Wayne identity ones.

As always, if anyone has recs to prove me wrong here, I happily welcome them!

#asks #anon #fandom tropes #writing #myfic #bruce wayne #batman #dc #theresurrectionist #batfamily #clark kent #superbat #superman

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carnation-damnation · 2 years ago

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Here they are!! All my AU Shadow's!!

Some design info + small trivia bits under the cut:

Refraction of a Shadow:

Story takes place after Sonic Heroes but before SHTH 2005. Emerald and I go back and forth about how it's like Shadow The Hedgehog (2) in the sense that there's multiple endings but also like Sonic Adventure (3) where you'd follow different characters in overarching stories with different perspectives. It was, at first, a fun idea about what it'd be like if Terios (The prototype of Shadow during sa2's development) were to exist within Sonic canon. This rides off how Shadow NEVER joins GUN and as a result, they seek to create their own "Shadow" of sorts, as a basis for a robotic/organic army (Since Shadow never joined them, they view him as a potential threat, both politically in how they're responsible for the covered-up ARK deaths and shadow knows and physically, as the Ultimate Lifeform.) Shadow's design is close to how I'd draw him cemented into the Team Dark dynamic; he ditched the white gloves for fingerless black ones and wears red mascara. He's attempting to heal from his experiences and trauma, but this new threat is opening up old wounds.

Rumination in Saudade:

Oh this guy is just so fucked up

Sa2 but everything is so FUCKED amiRIGHT!! So uh. I'd imagine hurtling towards Earth and losing all your memories after this blue angel of a hedgehog tries to save you. That can kinda..fuck you up. Esp if you're a weird little alien thing. Like...Having to relearn how to be something, how to be personable, and mask (haha...autism) He doesn't remember how he was conditioned by Gerald and Black Doom to train and be the Ultimate Lifeform, and doesn't remember how he grew up with Maria, loving Earth and all the people in it. He doesn't have any of it. He's just a weird little freak of a guy. He's off-putting, doesn't know how to control his chaos energy and black arms DNA, and overall just...Trying his best to re-learn what it's like to be a person. No influences from anybody except himself and Sonic. His design elements are basically Sa2 But With Some Extra Bits. Thousand yard stare, singed from becoming a fucking meteorite, an extra eyeball, messed up little tail, 'n an awkward demeanor. So your average unmasked teenager

I Was a Teenage Werehog:

The anxiety and dread of not being able to remember anything but bits and pieces not your style? How about a werewolf au where I self-indulgently combine everything I love about werewolf stories and their tropes for shits and giggles? No please don't run awa-

Basically Unleashed..2. I was inspired by the zombot arc in the comics and was like "haha what if....werewolves" and it kinda went from there. Shadow is your typical Experiencing Werewolf Issues protagonist, except he's not patient zero. Like instead of the real werewolf protagonist dealing with the pain and turmoil of waking up in a mess of blood knowing that something horribly went wrong for some random joe on the street, you get to see what happened to that guy instead. Shadow keeps things to himself; he's the ultimate lifeform, nothing can hurt him! He fell out of space! He fought THE DEVIL !!! Sonic's fucked up werewolf virus will have no effect on him and his mobian/alien DNA <- Guy who is so wrong and incorrect. For design elements, I purposefully fuddled with his proportions to make them a bit less...?? Sonicy?? ig? To put everybody in clothes that didn't make my head spin in confusion. He's got the hot topic 'fit he's got the mascara he's got the RIPPED JEANS!! He's ready for a gritty 2000s teenage werewolf drama baby!!

anyway, thanks for reading this far! I like these guys they're cookin', these cats are swingin'

#shadow the hedgehog #sonic au #art from the den #artists on tumblr #sth #sonic the hedgehog #Refraction of a Shadow #Rumination em Saudade #I Was a Teenage Werehog

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ladamedusoif · 1 year ago

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Visiting - Chapter 11: My Favourite Work of Art

(Moodboard by @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: Work stresses and the pressures of an impending public talk threaten to derail Ben and Lyd's attempts to do Valentine's Day their way, while news spreads of their romance among the student body.

Word Count: 10k (I'm...sorry?)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (series and chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; Ben and Lydia are contemporaries; canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots to lovers; smut; fingering; oral sex; safe PiV sex; enthusiastic consent; strong language; alcohol consumption; praise kink; self-esteem issues; body and weight insecurity; office sex; students thinking people in their 40s are 'old' (they aren't); some references to previous emotional abuse; references to stress; some minor angst; fluff central and I'm loving it

A/N (further notes at the end of the chapter):

The title for this chapter comes from Chet Baker's 'My Funny Valentine'.

youtube

Thank you to everyone who's shown so much love for this pair so far - every comment, reblog, like, interaction, ask is just a joy to me.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Chapter 10 - Chapter 12

Cross-posting to AO3 (and if you're reading on there, too, and yelling along in the comments - I love you, thank you!)

@julesonrecord and @lunapascal - thank you, extended family members of the dorksicles.

Taglist:

@lunapascal , @julesonrecord , @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush , @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss , @imaswellkid , @intheorangebedroom , @javierisms , @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse

“Okay - dirty gin martini for Lyd, whiskey sour for Evan, and for me, a negroni sbagliato -”

Ani pauses, looking expectantly at you and Evan.

In unison, you look at each other and pronounce: “with Prosecco in it”, in your sultriest tones, before giggling as Ani settles back into their dark red leather chair, drink in hand.

Evan raises his crystal-cut tumbler. “To us. And to our people.”

“Our people?” Ani arches an eyebrow.

“David, Cass…” He turns in your direction. “And of course, the other half of dorkdom’s greatest love story: Benjamin.”

You roll your eyes, raise your glass, and take a sip of the ice cold cocktail. “To our lovely people.”

Ani and Evan sip their drinks contentedly. You’d tried to meet for a drink every week or so, schedules permitting, since you came to Barrow, and Evan had been adamant that the routine would continue now that you were, in his words, “sickeningly loved-up”.

“Speaking of our lovely people,” Evan asks, reclining in his chair, “what are your V-Day plans?”

Ani scoffs audibly. “V-Day. Fuck, Ev. Me and Cass are going to a nice hotel for the weekend at the end of February, and I’m sending her one of those ridiculous heart-shaped cookies on the day, iced with the message Fuck Heteronormative Capitalism.” They trace their hand through the air, as if illustrating the inscription. Then, a little more quietly: “And, uh, a nice bouquet of her favourite flowers, obviously.”

Evan sighs happily. “I knew you were a romantic, Ani Sen. We’re sending flowers too - David said some shit about how we’re appropriating and queering the established gestures of heteronormative romance, but I know he just wants some cool blooms in his apartment.”

“Everyone loves getting flowers,” you add. “I bet even the most performatively straight dude wouldn’t say no to a really nice hand-tied arrangement.”

You become very aware that both Evan and Ani have trained their gazes on you.

“And what, pray, has love’s young dream cooked up for the great festival of lurrrrrve?” Evan rolls his rs with relish.

“Uh…” You stare at the olive in your glass and take a fortifying sip of your martini.

“We haven’t really talked about it yet. It’s just been so busy and stressful lately - for Ben especially, but for me too. I’ve got that big public talk at the end of next week, you know, and he’s got that big submission to the college board about the diversity and inclusion plan, and that’s due on 15 February, of all days, and it’s hard, because it’s all still so new and so lovely, and we’re having such a gorgeous time, and we love each other so much and we’re trying not to be stressed, but we kind of are, and yeah - yeah. I guess it just hasn’t been on our radar.”

Ani squeezes your hand gently. “Oh, babe. It’s okay, it’s not like it actually matters, right? If your relationship has to conform on one day, then you’ve got bigger problems. And you two are so happy. Even if a bit stressed. Right?”

You nod. “Really, really happy. Fuck, it’s just my overthinking shit again. Should we do something, is it bad if we don’t, is it too late to arrange something at this stage…”

Evan clears his throat. “Girl, you’re spiralling. Again. Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t feel you have to do something just because of me asking.” He sips his whiskey sour as you smile over at him.

“I am making him a gift, though.”

Evan and Ani wheel around in their seats dramatically.

“OH FUCK YOU MISS OH NO PLANS SO STRESSED OH DON’T MIND ME JUST MAKING A GIFT!” Ani shrieks.

You lean over in your seat, laughing hard, grateful for all the love in your life here: the warm, platonic love of your friends as well as the extraordinary, unique love you shared with Ben.

Deep down, though, you know you should probably ask him about Valentine’s Day. Just in case.

“Hi baby, it’s me!”

You close Ben’s front door behind you and drop the key he’d given you on the hall table. The house seems oddly quiet. It wasn’t particularly late, and you could see the lamps were on in the front room, so you assumed he was up. You take off your coat, hang it up, and wander in the direction of the living room.

Since getting together properly - becoming an “us”, as you’d said that cold Saturday morning a month before - you had not spent a night apart. Within a week, he had a drawer at your place and you had one at his; there were two toothbrushes in each of your bathrooms, now; and while you still valued having your own place, for now, you had begun to settle into a kind of loving domesticity stretched across two locations.

If you’d been twenty years younger, this would have been moving worryingly fast. Now, though, it felt right in every way. You’d both been through enough to know what you wanted, and to know how you felt about each other. Even in the midst of a stressful time, each passing day only deepened the love that was still so new. Each tiny act of love, however practical or mundane, strengthened the bond between you.

An example: Ben was astonished when, one evening at your place when you realised he’d not only removed your laundry from the dryer but carefully folded it and placed it in the basket, ready for you to put away (he still didn’t really know where everything went), you’d thrown yourself at him for a huge hug, tears in your eyes.

“I just folded your laundry, baby, it’s not a big thing! Why are you crying?”

You looked at him, slightly blurry through your tearful gaze, thinking about what you could say to explain. That you’d spent over a decade in a relationship where your partner wouldn’t even think of taking your laundry out of the dryer, let alone folding it and neatly leaving it for you to put away. That you’d become so attuned to a partner doing absolutely nothing to make your life better or easier that you had come to see even the tiniest gesture as a major one.

Instead, you’d leaned in and kissed Ben softly on the mouth. “I’m crying because I’m so happy. Because you’re the kindest, most loving man I’ve ever met. And you love me.”

You open the door into the living room now, slightly mellow after your martini, and discover Ben sitting up, asleep on the couch: glasses askew, papers and notes for the diversity initiative scattered around his sleeping form, and (somehow, miraculously) his laptop still safely on his knees, his broad hands resting lightly on the keyboard.

Your heart melts at the sight. You tiptoe carefully over towards him, afraid of startling him and sending the laptop flying.

“Ben?” you whisper, very gently stroking the crown of his head before lifting his laptop onto the coffee table. “Hey. It’s me.”

He blinks awake and his eyes pop open as he turns and sees you, smiling warmly at the sight. “Lyddie. Hi, darling. Shit… was I asleep?”

You sit beside him on the arm of the couch, not wanting to disturb the random spread of paperwork, and feel his arm wrap around your waist. “You were. Fuck, baby, you’re working too hard on this.”

He shakes his head drowsily, rummaging around for his notes and looking for his laptop. “It has to be perfect.”

You put a hand on his, to still his movements. “No such thing. And even if there was, it won’t be perfect if you’re writing it half-asleep, Ben.” You look in the direction of the kitchen. “Did you at least eat?”

He nods and smiles cheekily. “I did, but only because some sexy art historian came over last night and brought enough lasagne to feed the five thousand. Or at least, to feed two academics for a couple of nights.”

“Sexy, huh?” You lean closer to him, admiring the line of his neck as he looks up at you, eyes scanning your upper body for a moment before meeting yours again. “Well, now that I know you’re fed and watered…why don’t you put away the work for tonight and take a sexy art historian to bed?”

Ben trails his hand under your sleep shirt, gently stroking the soft flesh of your breast with his thumb as you kiss languidly, your hand reaching into his boxers.

He shifts on top of you as you tug down his shorts and hitch up your knees. You feel him resting hard and heavy on your soft belly as he continues to kiss you, one hand caressing your face with the greatest care.

But it’s pretty obvious he’s fighting sleep. His eyelids are heavy, he struggles to keep his eyes open, and when they’re closed - even as he kisses you - you feel like he might just nod off there and then. No one wants their boyfriend to fall asleep on top of them, of course - but he’s got a good excuse. And he’s trying so valiantly to stay awake that your heart swells with affection.

“Baby,” you murmur. “Baby?”

“Mmmmmfh?”

“Baby, look at me.”

His beautiful dark eyes barely peek at you from under his heavy lids, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Darling, you’re nodding off. You need to sleep, love.”

Ben looks disappointed in himself, even as he shifts his body off you and back to his side of the bed. “I’m so sorry, Lyd. I shouldn’t be falling asleep on you like that, that’s not fair.”

You turn to face him and reach for his hand. “Ben, you were asleep on the fucking couch at 9.30pm. You’re getting up really early to go to work on the project. It has nothing to do with me or you or what we feel for each other.” You kiss him softly. “You’re just really overworked.”

He trails his long fingers over your hip. “Well…maybe. But I want you, darling. You know that, right?”

You nod. “Of course I do. And you can show me tomorrow, hmmm? So get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.”

He grabs you with a growl and pulls you in to him, holding you close as you squeal delightedly. “You too, baby. I’m a man of my word.”

“And I’m a woman of mine.”

The two of you blink awake at 6am after a blissfully uninterrupted night of sleep, feeling thoroughly restored.

“My lovely girl.”

“My handsome boy.”

A lazy kiss and cuddle soon becomes more urgent: hands roaming under each other’s nightclothes, seeking to discard them as quickly as possible; soft giggles as your head gets stuck in your sleep shirt turning to gentle sighs of pleasure as he dips his clever fingers between your legs; low moans from him as you straddle his body and take him inside you; cries of mutual pleasure as you come in quick succession.

You turn your heads to face each other as you flop back onto the bed, sweating, sated, and wide awake. Ben looks at his phone.

“Not bad going for quarter to 7 in the morning, huh?”

You laugh out loud, turning to rest a hand on his tummy. “What’s that Dusty Springfield song?” You sing lightly: “Just a little lovin’/Early in the morning/Beats a cup of coffee/For starting off the day”

Ben is staring at you like you’re a marvel. “Well, shit. You really can sing. Is there anything you can’t do?”

You flash him a sceptical look. “If I start listing all those things, we’ll be here all week. But thank you.”

He reaches over and pulls you to him for another cuddle.

“Hey, Ben?” you ask, head resting on his shoulder. “Do you…do you want to, like, do something, for Valentine’s? I understand if it’s not your thing, I’m not a fan of the cheesy stuff but I thought -”

“Fuck. I got you a - no, never mind what I got you. But I completely forgot about making actual plans.” He traces a line along your shoulder. “Other than spending time with you, of course.”

“You know that’s fine with me, love.”

He shakes his head lightly. “No, we should at least go for dinner.” He kisses your forehead, nose pressing against your scalp. “It’s been a very long time since I had a Valentine.”

Later that morning, you pop your head into the faculty office, where Susan is typing rapidly and humming contentedly to herself.

“Hi, Susan. You don’t happen to know what room Ben’s in for his ten o’clock lecture, do you?”

She looks up at you and beams, a dreamy look in her eyes. “I remember this phase with Nick. Couldn’t stay away from each other.”

“Well, uh, not quite…” You hold up the dark blue hardcover notebook in your right hand. “He needs this for the session and I’m not sure if he knows he left it at home. I’d like to get there before the lecture starts, so if you know the room…?”

She gives her head a little shake, as if snapping herself out of her reverie, and with a few clicks of her mouse brings up the master timetable. “Okay… yep. Aubyn Building, room 015 - that’s the small-ish lecture theatre on the ground floor.” You thank her and are about to dash off when she calls you back.

Susan’s smile has become slightly menacing as she stares you down. “We’re all so happy for the two of you. But don’t you dare hurt that lovely man.”

You gulp audibly. “I promise I won’t. Um…yeah. See you later, Susan.”

You arrive at the lecture room with five minutes to spare, and most of the students are already sitting in the tiered rows, chattering brightly to each other as they whip out their laptops and tablets to take notes (or, let’s face it, do anything but take notes). Ben, dressed in a chartreuse green sweater with the collar of his white button-down shirt just visible, is standing at the podium and staring into his messenger bag with a puzzled expression. Though the lecture theatre is not particularly large, he’s wearing one of the radio mics available in the bigger teaching rooms, to ensure his voice will carry without strain.

You bounce quickly down the steps in your denim pinafore dress and floral-print blouse, brandishing the notebook. “Looking for something?” You keep your voice low, not wanting to make a fuss in front of Ben’s entire sophomore option class.

He raises his head and turns, smiling in surprise and delight. “I was starting to wonder if it had fallen out on the way over here this morning,” he says, taking the notebook and looking at it like it’s a Shakespeare First Folio. “I’d have been in trouble without this today.”

You shrug. “You’d have been fine, you know this stuff inside and out. But I remember you making revisions to the lecture in the notebook, so I’m glad I got it to you in time. See you later.” You turn and walk back towards the stairs to the exit.

“Thanks baby, love you.” Ben’s tone is casual, because telling you he loves you is now a kind of reflex for him, and vice versa.

Except right now, he’s got a radio mic on, and his sweet, nonchalant declaration of love has just been broadcast to the entire lecture theatre. You’ve never seen a classroom full of chatty students fall silent quite so quickly before.

You try to look back as subtly as possible. He’s flushed pink at the podium, the colour stark against the white of his collar and the green of his sweater, eyes wide and panicked behind his glasses as he stammers and stutters. All the while, the students swivel their heads looking at the two of you, whispers and giggles starting to build in their ranks.

“It’s okay!” you mouth to him. “See you later!”

The eyes of the students bore into you as you make your way towards the classroom door, trying desperately to avoid any accidental eye contact. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a handful who are also taking your class this semester - some of whom you’ll see for a seminar in just two hours’ time.

Oh, fuck.

As you walk back to your building you try to reason with yourself. It’s not like you’re hiding your relationship, even if you’re not going around broadcasting your feelings for each other to all and sundry, and it’s not inappropriate or against the rules for you to be together. The students would probably have worked it out at some point. Hell, you got the feeling some of them already thought you were together. And it’s not like Ben had uttered something graphic or overly intimate, right?

All he said was he loves you. In front of a whole class of students. Who heard every word.

You buy a coffee from the little cart outside the library and try to reassure yourself. “It’s fine,” you think to yourself. “They’ll forget it quickly and move on to the next drama.”

Your seminar with the sophomores has been reassuringly drama-free thus far, save for some knowing glances from the students who’d been in Ben’s lecture earlier that morning. The students are working in small groups on exercises you’ve set around image analysis, using iPads to zoom in on a selection of visual sources and referring back to the set text for that week as they put together their commentary.

You glance out the glass-panelled door of the classroom, just in time to make eye contact, unexpectedly, with Ben as he moves down the hallway. He grins at you, and your face immediately breaks into a smile.

“Omigoooood, they’re so fuckin cute!” It’s not clear if the student realised quite how loud they were being, or whether they meant for you to hear, but their whispered comment immediately attracts your attention. They flush and sink down a little in their seat, looking like they might be about to burst into tears. “I’m so sorry Lydia, I didn’t mean…”

You bite your lip and think for a moment, folding your arms as you bring yourself to sit on the desk at the top of the room. “Y’know what? Get it out of your systems.”

The students stare at you, open-mouthed. “You mean…?”

“I mean: get it out of your systems, in whatever way you want. Within reason and appropriate personal boundaries. But only if you promise to focus on the sources afterwards, okay?”

They nod, looking at each other as if to confirm that they’re not being set up. One girl shyly raises her hand. “Um…so are you and professor Morales…”

“We are a couple, yes. Next quest-“

The babble from the students drowns you out.

Awwwwwwww she’s so fuckin cute I mean of course he would wanna be with her dude he was never with Professor Arden what the fuck dude girl don’t get upset you were never gonna get with a professor I don’t care what you read in stories I thought they were together already do you think they’re getting married omg what if they have babies no don’t be silly they’re probably too old it’s just so nice that old people can fall in love

At the sound of “old people” you call a halt. “Alright, I think you’ve got it out of your system. Fair?”

A student near the back lifts their hand. “You’re happy, though, right? You look happy.”

You nod and smile. “Yeah, I’m happy. We’re happy. Okay, so, if we return to what Hall says he-“

Another hand. “Does this mean you’re gonna stay at Barrow?”

You feel your heart sink and you try to keep a bright expression on your face. “Haven’t got that far yet.”

A girl near the front looks panic-stricken. “Oh my god. Is Professor Ben gonna leave with you?!” Her classmates look equally stressed out by the thought, looking at you as if you’re about to take away their favourite pet.

“I… no? I don’t…uh…” You try valiantly to suppress the panic building in your own chest. “Like I said. Haven’t got that far, not for you to worry about. Okay?”

They nod, but eye you suspiciously for the rest of the session.

Ben is packing up his things when you knock on his office door later that evening, ready to go home. It’s his busiest day in the week and you haven’t even been able to meet for lunch or a quick coffee. He looks up from his bag, smiles at you, and then immediately flushes pink again.

“I’m so, so sorry about earlier, Lyddie, I completely forgot where we were and then the radio mic and oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so-“

You stop his anxious train of thought with a little kiss to the lips. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been fretting over that all day?”

He shrugs, but his eyes answer in the affirmative. You move in for a little hug.

“Darling, it’s fine. They’d have found out sooner or later, even if I wasn’t quite expecting a mass announcement to your option class.”

“I know, but… fuck. You know what students are like.” He closes the flap on his bag and reaches for his woollen coat and sky-blue scarf, hanging on the coatstand. “Evan told me that - and I quote - our ‘shenans’ had completely derailed his queer theory workshop group, because they wouldn’t - and I quote again - ‘shut the fuck up about it’.”

He switches off his desk lamp and you both move into the hallway, Ben turning back to lock his door. You stroll down the corridor and around the corner towards the stairs that lead to the main entrance.

“I should probably warn you,” you offer, “that you might hear some rumours about you leaving.”

He turns abruptly, looking completely lost.

“Remember you walked past my classroom today? Well, my seminar group asked me if I was staying, because of us. I said I didn’t know…and then one of them asked if you were going to leave when my year was done.”

His eyes widen.

“And you said…?”

You have no idea if your answer is what he would have wanted you to say to them.

“And I said no, I don’t know, haven’t got there yet, etc.” You exhale. “I just worried that you might hear it back once it’s been filtered through the student rumour mill a few times.”

Ben reaches for your hand as you reach the door of the building, giving it a squeeze. He’s quieter, not saying much but continuing to hold your hand as you walk with him towards the staff secure bike shelter, where he unlocks his bicycle and pops his messenger bag in one of the panniers on the back.

“Oh!” he exclaims as he finishes affixing his bike lights, “I do have some good news.”

You raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“Lino’s had ONE table left on Valentine’s Day. Now, admittedly it’s at 5pm but if you’re okay with an early dinner…”

“Early dinner means more time at home with you for, um, dessert?”

He rolls his eyes, smiles, and gives you a soft kiss before putting on his bike helmet. Errant curls stick up here and there through the vents in the blue plastic and you melt all over again.

“I’ll see you at your place? Hope you’re ready for my famous enchiladas!”

You nod and wave before turning in the opposite direction towards the pedestrian route, leading off campus and towards your street.

As you walk, you find it difficult to shake off the memory of how quiet he had become after you told him about the students and their questions. Would he have answered them differently?

Regardless of how happy and comfortable and forever your relationship feels right now, you know deep down it’s far too early to talk about the future in that much detail. You don’t want him to think you’re asking him to make a call - make a commitment - that he’s probably still a long way off even thinking about.

You also know, though, that there’s an invisible countdown to the day you’ll need to have the conversation, and that it started running the moment you first kissed.

“Lyddie? You ready? Gotta go, my love.”

Ben calls to you from your living room. You’re standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, stomach twisting with nerves ahead of your public lecture, and you wish to God you looked…well, better.

Your slides are prepped. Your notes are ready. You’ve run through the talk’s outline with Ani as well as Ben. “You got this,” you murmur to yourself, and try to suppress the voice that wants to chime in with a jibe about your body, your grey hairs, your wrinkles.

You blot your lipstick and emerge into the living room. “Okay, let’s go.”

Ben turns, mouth slightly open, and raises his eyebrows as his gaze takes you in from head to toe.

You tend to wear skirts and dresses when you teach. But for this talk, for whatever reason, you’ve pulled out a scarlet red pantsuit, high-waisted pants cut slim to the leg and tapering to end just above the ankle, jacket with wide lapels and long enough to end just below your ass. Underneath, a vintage-style cream satin blouse, buttoned to the neck and a black velvet ribbon tied under the collar in place of a necktie.

Black velvet pumps on your feet, oversized brass earrings, a vintage brooch your grandmother had given you on your lapel, and a slick of Lady Danger across your mouth.

He runs a thumb over his lower lip.

“Oh, god, it’s shit, isn’t it? I should have known I couldn’t get away with this, not with my fat arse and stupid tummy and ugh, it’s like I don’t realise how shit I actually look until -”

“LYD!”

You take a step back. Ben didn’t yell, exactly, but you’ve never heard him speak so firmly to you.

His face softens and he moves to hug you. “Aw, god, Lyd, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s just - please stop picking holes in yourself. Please. You do it so often, it’s like an involuntary response.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I’d never lie to you, Lydia. So believe me when I say: you look fucking incredible in that.”

You giggle, head resting against his chest. “You’re just saying that.”

He breaks away, meets your gaze, and sighs. “I said I don’t lie. And I say you look…” his eyes flit up and down your body appreciatively. “You look perfect. Smart, and stylish, and so goddamned sexy I don’t know how I’m going to get through watching you in that for an hour.”

You burst out laughing. “Alright, darling man. You’ve convinced me. ALLONS-Y!”

You steal a glance at your watch as you reach the last paragraph of your paper. For once in your life, you’ve got your timing spot on.

“To bring this talk to a close, let’s situate these visual representations of revolutionary military masculinities across painting and print can help to shift our understanding of what it meant to literally embody the values of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic empire.”

The final slide. The final points. A confident “Thank you.” And, to your delight, sustained applause in the packed lecture theatre. You look up towards the back rows, dead centre, where Ben, Ani, Evan, Jen, and David had said they’d be sitting - far enough away from the front so that you won’t see them and get distracted, but within a clear line of sight from the podium in case you panic and need some reassurance.

Ani is pumping their fist in the air, whooping and hollering. Evan is applauding hard, mouthing “YES, GIRL!”

Ben isn’t taking his eyes off you, a huge smile on his face as he applauds and applauds, not showing any intention of stopping. He looks…proud. You look up at him, shrugging and mouthing the words “Was it okay?”

He nods enthusiastically, and mouths back: “You’re fucking amazing.”

When the questions and discussion are over, and the majority of the audience have filed out of the theatre, Ani and Evan come down to the rostrum to invite you and Ben for drinks to celebrate what Evan was calling “your triumph.”

“I’ll even buy you champagne,” he promises, hugging you tightly. “Well. Maybe one glass. Or two glasses. I’m not made of money.”

“I am there. I can think of nothing better than a glass of champagne right now.”

Ani grins. “Hey, Lyd? We’ll be at the Lake Bar in the hotel. You guys can just follow us whenever, you probably need to leave stuff in your office anyway. Sound good?”

You turn back to Ani and nod. “Sounds very good. The Lake Bar! Fancy pants.”

The Lake Bar is tiny but formal, the only bar in Barrow’s only hotel and certainly not your usual haunt for drinks with friends. It’s also probably the only place you could get champagne for many miles.

“Text me when you guys are heading out, okay?”

You nod as they walk up the steps of the lecture theatre and begin to pack up your notes. It’s just the two of you, at last.

“You okay there, Benjamin? I’m just going to leave this stuff in my office, and then we can -“

Before you can finish your sentence, he’s cupping your face in his big hands and kissing you like a man off to war. You reciprocate, opening your lips gladly when his tongue sweeps over them and moaning softly into his mouth. You can feel the shiver of pleasure that runs through him.

You break away, his hand stroking your cheek affectionately. You reach out to wipe the traces of your lipstick off his mouth.

“So it was okay, then?”

“Yeah, it was okay, I guess.” He laughs, warm and deep, and takes hold of your hand, leading the way quickly up and out of the theatre and in the direction of your office. You giggle as you try to keep up, Ben looking back at you every so often with a huge smile on his face.

You turn on your desk lamp, shuck off your tote bag full of notes, and exhale, stretching your arms and rolling your shoulders. “Fuck, I’m so relieved that’s done. Can I have a congratulatory hug?”

Ben drops his coat on the spare chair and wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly. Your hands feel the stretch of the cotton plaid of his shirt against his broad back, and the sensation goes straight to your core.

“I’m so proud of you, Lyddie,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking amazing. Watching you do your thing up there, so smart and funny and bright and engaging and -”

You can feel his cock hardening against you, even through his dark jeans. You raise an eyebrow and lean back to look at Ben.

“Um… does the sight of me in full academic flow do it for you, Professor?”

He blushes a little and gives you a flash of his most puppy-dog expression, brown eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Y’know, I think it does. Especially in this outfit. Fuck, you look so good.”

He tilts his head, and the sensation of his soft mouth and coarse beard against the delicate skin of your neck makes you sigh with pleasure.

“Tell me.”

He chuckles lightly as he continues to ghost kisses against your throat. “It’s fucking sexy watching your mind work like that,” he says, voice low and warm, as your hands move up his chest to start loosening his tie. “Such an intelligent, gorgeous girl.”

His praise makes your cunt ache for him. You perch on the edge of your desk, the position so familiar from the night of the holiday party a couple of months before, and grab a tissue to wipe off what remains of your lipstick before kissing him hard as you reach for his waistband. He holds you up with one broad hand at your back, as he hastily works your blouse open with the other.

Ben’s about to slip his fingers under your waistband when this fantasy scenario made real is abruptly interrupted by a cheery, southern English voice greeting you.

“Hiya!”

“What the FUCK?” Ben swivels around, holding an arm across your chest in a chivalrous attempt at giving you privacy, while trying to buckle his belt with the other. You do up your blouse as best you can and thank the universe that you hadn’t got as far as shedding your pants yet.

“I thought you’d locked the door,” you mutter, as you stand up and Ben shifts behind you so he can do up his waistband.

“I thought YOU had locked the door.”

To your astonishment, though, the owner of the cheery English voice doesn’t seem to have realised that he’s interrupted anything, or noticed your hasty efforts to make yourselves decent.

In fact, he’s kept up a stream of consciousness chatter since he came into your office, oblivious to your and Ben’s panic. When you finally direct your attention to him he’s saying something about Napoleon and pyramids while searching for something in the brown satchel he’s wearing across his body.

“I…hi?” He pulls out an iPad covered in what look like stickers depicting Egyptian deities and looks up at you, mouth slightly open.

“Hi. I’m sorry, can you repeat all that, please? We…I mean, I didn’t catch a lot of it. Who - who are you, again?”

The man gives you a lopsided smile. He’s small, angular, and dark, wavy hair parted at the side and falling untidily over his eyes. There’s what can only be described as an aura of chaos surrounding him.

“I’m Steven!” He seems surprised that he’s having to introduce himself. “I’m a postdoctoral fellow in archaeology - well, now, actually I’m an Egyptologist by trade, in point of fact, but you don’t have an Egyptology department so I’m in archaeology, haha.” He steps towards you, flipping open the cover of his iPad. “I was at your talk just now - really good by the way, really liked some of the paintings you had in the slides - and I thought blimey, wonder if she’s got thoughts on Denon’s Description of Egypt, and then I thought oh well Steven you’ve got it on your iPad don’t you? And I said right well I bet she’d like to talk about that and I looked up your office and-”

Ben has moved to the door of your office and looks pointedly at you over Steven’s head as the postdoc swipes frantically through his files, trying to locate the book in question. “Professor? I’ll be in my office, whenever you’re finished with, um, Steven.”

“Aha! Here it is in all its glory.” Steven has found the digitised copy of the huge, early nineteenth-century study of Egypt, undertaken to document the expedition led by Napoleon in the late 1790s. You smile politely and shrug in Ben’s direction as he sighs and heads in the direction of his office.

You’d managed to keep your chat to a minimum, in part by promising to meet Steven during your office hours that coming week. A familiar silhouette appears at your open door.

“You finished talking Egyptology, Lyd?” Ben leans against the doorframe.

“I am. He’s a sweet kid, really. I mean, I don’t think he’s that young, but…” You give your head a little shake, as if resetting yourself. “Anyway. Let’s go. I’m surprised Evan hasn’t left us some furious voice notes.”

Ben steps into your office, shutting the door very carefully behind him and swiping the air to dismiss the idea as he strides towards you. “Pfffft. They’ll be alright, they’re in a bar.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, twirling the curls at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “Darling, we’re already running very late…”

“So?” He guides you back to sit on the edge of your desk and resumes his trail of kisses down the side of your neck.

“So…” You pull him close to you, fingers hooked inside his waistband, and moan as his hands rove up your body, grabbing handfuls of you through the silk of your blouse.

He quirks an eyebrow and smiles, looking down at your fingers already working to undo his belt buckle. “You want to stop, Lyd, and we’ll stop. Do you want to stop?”

You lean in and kiss him as you discard your suit jacket, push yourself further back on the desk, and guide his hands under your own waistband.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

“How many drinks have we had now? Two?!” Jen looks at her phone and shakes her head. “I’m starting to worry.”

“I’m not,” Evan mutters darkly over the rim of his glass. “I’m gonna win our bet, Jennykins.” He shifts his gaze towards the door of the hotel bar. “Aha! Right on cue.”

He leads the group in a slow, sardonic hand-clap as you and Ben walk sheepishly over to your table, apologising profusely as you take off your coats and hats.

“Guys, I’m so sorry!” You settle into a cosy leather chair beside Jen. “A postdoc called to my office to talk about the Egyptian campaign and…”

Jen looks at you, then at Ani, who looks at David, who looks at Evan, who casts an appraising eye over Ben.

“Well, I’ll take that twenty bucks now, Jennifer. And Benjamin? You owe each of us a drink.”

“Me?” Ben looks incredulous. “Why?!”

Jen pats her old friend’s arm and shakes her head sympathetically. “Hon, your shirt isn't tucked in properly and Lydia seems to have lost her little necktie. Be real.”

Ben’s ears turn a deep pink as he stands up and fishes for his wallet.

He’s up very early on Valentine’s Day, the looming deadline for his report and funding application pulling him, reluctantly, out of your arms and your bed.

You stir under the comforter, propping yourself up to watch him dress. You bite your lip as he pulls on his white undervest, admiring the way the ribbed cotton fabric fits so beautifully over the solid breadth of his torso and tummy. He slips on a pale blue shirt, leaving it open as he looks for his pants.

You can’t help yourself. “Ooof.”

Ben turns around as he grabs his pants, and quirks a smile at you. “Ooof?”

“Just like what I see, that’s all. Ooof.”

He grins as he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I look forward to hearing more about this later, Lyddie.”

You reach around and wrap your arms around his middle, kissing the back of his neck. “Happy Valentine’s, darling.”

In truth, you didn’t mind the extra couple of early morning hours on your own, as it gave you time to finish and wrap Ben’s gift before heading to work. You’re brushing your teeth when you hear your door buzzer sound.

“Delivery for, uh, Lydia?” It’s barely 9am on Valentine’s Day and the delivery guy already sounds like he’s in the throes of an existential crisis.

You run down to the main door and sign for your delivery: a perfect bouquet of palest pink camellias, wrapped in brown paper. You smile as you inhale their scent, and immediately put them in a vase.

LYDIA: Thank you for the flowers, love. They’re perfect. And camellias! You really didn’t have to.

BEN: No flowers for my girl on Valentine’s? Who do you think I am?!😉

BEN: (I read an article about how environmentally-unfriendly roses are at this time of year and they suggested camellias. I’m so glad you like them.)

LYDIA: I love them. And I love you.

Before you leave for work, you take one camellia bloom from the vase and cut it slightly shorter. You wrap the stem in moist paper towels, then in plastic wrap, and place it carefully in a ziploc bag to bring to your office.

“Check her out. Fuck, I love her.”

Over coffee, Ani is showing you photos they’ve got from Cass, who received her enormous Fuck Heteronormative Capitalism cookie bright and early that morning. In one, she’s holding up the heart-shaped biscuit triumphantly; in another, she’s snapped it in half with a raging expression; and finally, there’s one of her eating an enormous chunk of it, face slightly smeared with half-melted chocolate chips and frosting.

“Aww!”

Ani stares at you. “What?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever actually said that in front of me.” You smile gently. “I’m so happy for you two. Looks like Valentine’s really is changing you, huh…”

“You shut the fuck up right now or I will lick that ridiculous cupcake you’ve got.”

They’re pointing aggressively at the college canteen’s special baked offering for the big day, a red velvet cupcake topped with an extraordinary amount of frosting and covered in edible red glitter.

You chuckle and stick a finger in the frosting, picking up a generous amount before popping it in your mouth. “Aha! Touché.” Your phone lights up with an incoming call from Ben, and you swipe to answer with your clean hand.

“Hi, love! You okay? You must be really up against it if you can’t even come for coffee…”

“Uh… yeah. It’s…yeah.”

You get up from your seat, mouthing to Ani that you’ll be back, and move into the hallway. “Ben? What’s wrong?”

He exhales. “They’ve asked for another section to be added to the proposal by tomorrow. I thought I could get it out of the way quickly but then I realised it needed more data and I’m trying to find that and put the details in and it’s just complicated and I dunno it’s not really hanging together and -”

“Ben? Breathe.”

He inhales and exhales slowly. His voice is quiet and hesitant.

“I don’t think I can get it done by five, Lyd. I’m - fuck. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so disappointed in myself, and I’ll try so hard to make this up to you, I promise.”

You lean against the wall as a group of chattering students ambles past. “Darling. There’s nothing to make up to me, nothing at all. We’ll have dinner at the weekend or something, I’ll see you later tonight, it’ll be perfect.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you can almost feel his disappointment through the phone.

“Ben? Honestly, I don’t mind.”

He sighs. “Okay. I love you very much, you know?”

“I do. And I love you very much too. I’ll pop by with some coffee later, okay?”

You hang up and rejoin Ani in the staff lounge.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” You’re thinking, trying to formulate a plan. “Hey - what are you doing around five this evening?”

The desk light is on in Ben’s office when you call by later that evening, but there’s no sign of him. You peer through the glass panel, and there he is: sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of his desk, printed-out drafts of the various sections of the proposal spread out in front of him and a pot of coloured highlighter markers to hand.

His tie is loosened, top collar buttons undone, and his brown-framed glasses have fallen forward on his nose. From the looks of things, he’s been running his hands through his hair a lot, curls standing on end and falling this way and that, the light catching the streaks of silver that pepper his dark hair.

He looks tired, but he breaks into a wide smile when he sees you and pushes himself up to standing as you enter the room. You place the large insulated bag and jute grocery tote you’ve been carrying on a chair and he wraps you in a warm, tight hug.

“Is it weird that I really needed this hug?” he mumbles into the crown of your head.

You smile and breathe in his familiar scent: more top notes of coffee today, the spicy undertone of his cologne, the clean smell of his shower gel - your shower gel, actually - and the hints of paper and pencils that seem to be part of his olfactory essence.

“Not weird at all.” You pull away and look at him, gently caressing the side of his face. “I hope you’re hungry, by the way.”

Ben looks puzzled as you reach for the two bags, unzipping the insulated carrier and flooding the office with the delicious scent of good Italian food.

“Lyddie, what the fuck is going on?”

You reach into the jute bag and retrieve two plates, two tumblers, some cutlery, and a bottle of red wine, placing them on Ben’s desk.

“If Ben Morales can’t come to Lino’s, then Lino’s will come to Ben Morales. Okay if I move some of these papers, love?”

He nods, brow furrowed as he tries to make his overworked brain understand. You shift his work materials out of the way and lay out two table settings on one side of the desk.

“Mixed mushroom fettucine, right?” Ben nods again, and you place the takeaway container on one of the plates. “And the carbonara for me, and some sides of green salad and that gorgeous focaccia they do… Okay! Sit.”

Ben pulls a chair up to the desk and opens the container of pasta, sighing happily at the aroma. You open the wine and pour a small glass each, and are ready to settle down to your own meal when you realise you’ve forgotten something.

“Shit! Wait. Hold on.” You reach again into the tote bag and pull out two of your vintage candlesticks, cheap finds from thrift stores over the years, as well as a pack of tall white candles and some matches. Their soft light flickers against the walls of books, illuminating the lines and contours of your faces as you share this most idiosyncratic and intimate of Valentine’s dinners.

Ben raises his glass, and you clink yours off it. “How… how?”

You shrug, twirling some linguine around your fork. “I promised Ani I’d cover for them at the next open day if they drove me over to Lino’s. The guys over there were only too glad to box up the food as a takeout - especially when they heard who it was for.”

Ben sips his wine. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you. And I still feel bad that our first Valentine’s Day plans were a bust.”

You reach for his hand, rubbing your thumb over his tattoo. “You deserve everything good because you’re you. Our plans weren’t a bust - we’re still having dinner, aren’t we?” He smiles as he concedes the point.

“And… first Valentine’s Day, hmmm?” You raise your eyebrows.

Ben looks into your eyes as he turns your hand over to hold it in his broad palm. There’s a voice inside him that wants to tell you straight out, here and now, that he wants this for the rest of his life, the rest of your lives: you, him, an “us”, forever.

But there’s another, louder voice that tells him it’s still a bit too early for that. He doesn’t want to spook you, or make you think he’s asking for some kind of commitment so soon.

So he just raises his eyebrows and grins at you. “First of many, I hope?”

His key turns in the door at about 10pm. You pop your head round the door of the living room as he’s walking down his hallway, coat and bag already discarded near the front door.

“Is it…?”

“It is…done. And sent.” He does a series of air punches as he saunters towards you, and you wave your arms in the air with delight before leaning in for a kiss, taking his hands, and pulling him gently towards the living room.

“So - there are about two hours of Valentine’s Day left. Not that expressing and celebrating love is a one-day affair, of course.”

“Of course!” he nods with exaggerated seriousness, before his expression shifts to one of surprised delight when he sees the candles flickering around his living room, the bright fire that’s burning in the small stove, and the champagne on the table.

The soft light catches his sparkling eyes. “Oh, you’re too cute, Lyddie.”

“But if you’re too tired…”

He pulls you to him and kisses you hard, hands gliding down the silk fabric of the vintage robe you’re wearing and seeking out handfuls of you along the way.

“I will take that as a ‘no, I am not too tired, Lyd’.”

He arches an eyebrow and takes off his glasses, the lenses already a little fogged up. “Definitely not too tired.” He looks you up and down, admiring the loose folds of the printed silk. “That’s a beautiful thing.”

“Picked it up for next to nothing in a second-hand shop years ago.” You preen a little to show it off. “You sure you’re not too tired?”

He nods solemnly, and you undo the belt of the robe, letting it fall open as you stand in front of him.

“Oh, my god.” Ben moves close to you, slipping his long fingers under the edge of the robe to reveal the soft flesh of your bare shoulders and the full, plush outline of your naked breasts. “Oh, fuck me.”

“That is indeed the plan, love.”

He pauses and chuckles, then eases the rest of the robe off you and places it on the armchair before exploring the contours and creases and folds of your bare form with his gentle fingertips. His mouth is open a little, as if he’s astonished by the sight of you: illuminated in candlelight. Soft. Warm. Curvy. Inviting.

“You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.”

You tilt your head in the direction of the fireplace and the cosy fire burning in the stove. He sees the soft blankets and pillows laid out on the rug in front of the hearth, and he smiles and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. You start to undress him, loosening his tie and helping him out of his shirt and pants.

He moves as if to take off his undervest and boxer briefs and you still his hands. “Uh… maybe keep the vest. For the moment.”

The light from the stove casts shadows over you, body writhing on the blankets as Ben works another orgasm from you with a quirk of his thick, talented fingers.

He’s focused his attention on you, on your pleasure, since you’d stretched out together in front of the hearth. “It’s only fair,” he’d whispered, kissing your neck and collarbones, his warm, solid frame resting above you. “Want to show you how much I love you - all of you.”

With his mouth and fingers leading the way, he had taken you on a kind of guided tour of your own body, praising every bit of you as he went. The curve of your hips. The specific shape of your mouth. The softness of your belly. The strength of your thighs. The line of your neck. The velvet weight of your breasts when he holds them in his big hands.

He sucked lightly on your nipples, tracing his thumb over the pebbled skin. “These are spectacular tits, Lyd. Better than I’d ever imagined.”

You’d laughed and wound your fingers through his hair. “Did you often imagine what my tits were like before you actually got to see them, or…”

He groaned in embarrassment, burying his head against your chest. “Maybe a little.” He lifted his face slightly and looked up at you. “I was admiring respectfully. You can’t blame me, they’re fucking amazing.”

He quickly worked his way down your body, running his mouth and tongue over the soft flesh of your middle and settling himself between your thighs before reaching his hand up to part the wet folds of your pussy, sighing happily as he did so.

“And this is…so beautiful.”

He trailed two fingers along the wet seam, slipping the tips into your cunt, before they were replaced by his lips and tongue.

One orgasm. Two. And now, what was this - three?

You whine with need. “Please, baby. Want you now.”

He shifts his body on top of yours and kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around him, then leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Can I roll you over and take you from behind?”

You kiss him again before shifting onto your front, enjoying the sensation of the soft blankets against your naked breasts and belly. Ben grabs another pillow and places it under your head. His weight on top of you is warm and grounding, the broad span of his shoulders eclipsing yours.

He brings his lips to the back of your neck as he gently slips inside with a long, low moan, feeling the plush flesh of your ass against him as he bottoms out. Even as he starts to move, even as he picks up the pace and fucks you harder, he’s ever the conscientious, considerate lover. Every now and then he leans in to ask if you’re okay, if it feels good for you, to tell you how beautiful you are, and to remind you how much he loves you.

You can tell he’s close, and you know another peak is building in you. You reach up and pull one of the cushions from under your head.

“Can you pull back just for a second? Wanna lift my hips up and…”

He does as he’s asked and you slip the cushion under your hips, adjusting yourself until you hear him groan with pleasure and you know it’s just the right angle for the two of you. Ben slips a hand under you to cup your breast as he fucks you hard, pulling one final climax from you just as he cries out your name and spills inside you.

He pulls out and reaches to turn you round, bringing your bodies flush together and covering your face with soft kisses as you run your fingers through his damp hair. You drag up one of the blankets to cover your bodies, and you lie there, entwined together exchanging gentle kisses in the glow of the fire.

Disentangled and cleaned up, the two of you nestle together on the couch to drink some champagne: you back in your robe, Ben in a soft old t-shirt and flannel pyjama pants.

“I’m sorry this isn’t more glamorous, Ben.”

He cuddles you closer. “Best night ever, and it’s all down to you.”

He puts his glass on the side table and reaches beside the couch to retrieve a small gift bag. “Happy Valentine’s, my love. I only wish I could give you everything.”

You smile and shake your head. “I’ve got everything I need.”

The gift bag contains a rectangular jewellery box and what feels like a gift-wrapped book. “I should explain why there’s no card,” Ben says, looking a little anxious. “They were all just a bit… cringey. Is that the word? They just weren’t you. So… the book is a gift but also a card. Kind of. If that makes sense. Does that make sense?”

You kiss him lightly and open the paper to reveal what looks like a mid twentieth-century hardback book, wrapped in a bright blue dust jacket. You laugh when you look at the author’s name and title:

H.E. BATES

LOVE FOR LYDIA

“You know I’ve never actually read this?”

Ben smiles broadly, his eyes crinkling. “Neither have I, but… well. It’s self-explanatory.”

You open the book and read the inscription on the inside.

To Lyddie, for whom my love would fill countless volumes. B x

Tú

que ayer sólo eras toda la hermosura

eres tambien todo el amor, ahora.

You

who were merely all beauty yesterday

are today all love, as well

J.L. Borges, ‘Sabados’ (1923)

“I know it’s a little bit soppy.”

“Soppy?” You’re wiping away tears with the sleeve of your robe. “Ben, this is - I don’t have words, it’s beautiful. Perfect, in fact.”

“Do you want to open the other one?” He gestures towards the jewellery box, resting on your lap.

“Ohh, baby.” Inside is a fine gold chain with a little gold disc hanging from it, no more than a centimetre and a half in diameter. It’s delicately engraved with your initials, arranged in a sort of cypher design.

It is elegant, beautiful, and you can’t quite believe that someone would love you enough to even think of a gift like this, let alone give it to you. The inner doubts about whether you ‘deserve’ this kind of love are mostly under control these days, but never too far from the surface.

“It’s so perfect, darling, it’s… It’s…it’s too much, Ben, I don’t -“

“Don’t you dare say you don’t deserve this.” He looks deadly serious. “Do you want to try it on?”

The gold feels warm against your skin, and you admire the way it reflects the candlelight as you lean in and kiss him before standing up and fetching a gift box that you’d hidden behind the TV.

“Okay, now it’s your turn, Benjamin.” He takes the gift box and carefully takes off the lid to reveal something neatly wrapped in tissue paper underneath.

You settle back beside him on the couch. “I really hope you like this, and that you don’t think it’s inappropriate. But - tell me if it is, okay?”

He nods, a slightly suspicious look in his eyes, and begins to fold back the layers of tissue paper to reveal a crisp, white cotton poplin shirt with a camp-style collar decorated with red embroidery. His initial uncertainty rapidly gives way to recognition as he lifts the shirt out of the box.

A little while ago, not long after you had officially got together, you had been chatting one evening about the family photographs on display in his living room. Your gaze had settled again on the photo of his father as a young man, so uncannily similar to his son.

“Other than the hair and the fact that your eyes are exactly the same as your mother’s, you’re a carbon copy of him. You just need a similar shirt and you could recreate the image.”

Ben had picked up the photo so you could look at it in more detail together. “He had this shirt for years. It’s a traditional style, but they come in all sorts of variations. His was gorgeous, though - that embroidery was like a dark red, I think. I loved it when I was a kid and he wore it, he just looked so cool.” He’d smiled warmly at the image of Diego Morales, captured forever in his youthful prime. “Fuck, I miss him so much.”

You leaned in and cuddled him. “Do you have one? Of the shirts, I mean”, you’d asked, and Ben had shook his head.

“Never found one that was as nice as Dad’s.”

It is a relatively simple design - short sleeved, button-up, with four pockets, two on each side - but you have added embroidered details to each of the pockets, to match the collar. The shirt itself was an easy enough job - after doing your research on the exact style and its history, you’d made it one Saturday when Ben was doing an open day at the college and you could lock yourself away in your apartment. The embroidery had been more challenging, especially as you were trying to approximate what you could make out of the pattern on Diego’s shirt.

Like Ben, you were unable to find a Valentine’s card that didn’t make you want to vomit. So you have, instead, stitched a tiny message along the fabric facing just inside the collar - his initials, your initials, and the year.

Every stitch and every seam was, in its own way, a tangible expression of how much he meant to you.

Ben is silent as he looks at the shirt, taking in the details. He runs his fingers along the hand embroidery and feels the small pearl buttons. You worry that this might actually be too much - too intimate a gift for so early in a relationship, too close to the grief he felt for his father - and that you have got this horribly, desperately wrong.

“B-Ben?”

He turns slowly to you, tears in his eyes, the shirt still in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Ben, I just -“

He places the shirt back in the box and pulls you close to him. He struggles to get the words out. “Thank you. Thank you, Lyd, this is - wow.” He looks at the shirt again and bites his lip. “It’s the most beautiful gift I think I’ve ever been given.”

He notices the tiny lettering inside the collar. “Oh, fuck me. You made this?!”

You bury your head against him, mumbling into his chest. “Yes is that weird oh god is it weird?”

He laughs and wraps an arm around you. “How could you making me a version of my dad’s guayabera be weird? It’s… fuck. I love it. And I love you. So fucking much.”

“I’m so glad you like it, darling.”

His gaze is earnest as he reaches for your hand. “It means the world to me. You mean the world to me.”

You take the box and place it on the coffee table so that you can cuddle in against his broad, warm chest, bringing an arm around his middle as he enfolds you in his strong, safe embrace.

You mean the world to him. He means the world to you. Isn’t that all that matters?

The countdown to the hard decisions might be rapidly running out, but for tonight, at least, they could wait. You close your eyes and focus on the reassuring rhythm of Ben’s heartbeat.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N:

The song Lydia sings a line of to Ben after their morning exertions is 'Just A Little Lovin'', by Dusty Springfield.

youtube

The shirt Ben's dad is wearing, and that Lydia recreates for Ben as his Valentine's gift, is inspired by the traditional guayabera summer shirt that is thought to have originated in either Mexico or Cuba, but is worn throughout Central and parts of South America in the summer months.

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