#one of my first classes posted their syllabus! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

covenofagatha · 5 months ago

Text

Do I wanna know? (Part 1)

Sequel to But you're my stepmom!

Picks up a few months later after your dad and Agatha get divorced and you've started college

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: fingering, mommy kink, slight angst

Fuck. You do not want to do this.

It’s a Saturday night and you’re here. You should’ve said you had anywhere else to be, but instead, your car almost gets hit as you turn the corner in possibly the narrowest parking garage you’ve ever been in. It makes you swear and you stomp on the brakes so quickly you think you might have a bruise from the seatbelt.

But luckily, you find a spot on the first floor and squeeze between two other cars, muttering a silent prayer that you don’t scrape against them.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans as you get out and walk into the lobby of the apartment complex.

It’s nice, although you hate to admit it. You would surely not mind spending more time here if it didn’t mean having to see—

“Hey, sweet pea!”

Him. You look to your right and plaster on a fake smile when you see your father standing there, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Hey,” you say softly, awkwardly patting his back with a hand as he embraces you.

He had been asking to get dinner with you at least once a week for the past few months since he and Agatha got divorced. You’ve always found an excuse to get out of it — you had homework, you had exams, you had to work over the summer and you were so tired — but now that it’s your first weekend in college and he knows that you don’t have anything going on, he insisted.

Plus your mom had sort of asked for you to go at least once. Your dad has been sending you updates about his apartment search and random internet posts that he found funny, and having lived at home all summer, you’ve kept your mom in the loop. She is still obsessed with him, always finding ways to bring him up in conversation, and you wish you were brave enough to tell her to just move on. She was absolutely ecstatic when you broke the news about him and Agatha and she’s been pressing you for updates ever since.

Part of the reason she wanted you to go see him was to scope out his new place and see if there was any sign of a new woman. There was still no sign about the lady he was having an affair with, so you weren’t sure if things had ended.

And when he moved out the first time, he took your mom’s can opener and she still won’t let it go. Before you left, she texted you that if you saw it, you should steal it back.

After the divorce went through, your dad had decided to sell the house and look for an apartment a little closer to his work, and he’s lived in this place for about a month now.

“How are you? How’s it going?” he asks as he leads you to the elevator. He presses his fob to the button inside and then floor six. You remember him being so consumed with having one of the top floors, like that would make him seem more important.

You shrug and pick at the peeling skin on your fingers. It’s a bad habit — one of your many. “Pretty good. Syllabus week has been a breeze. Made some new friends.”

“Classes seem like they’ll be fun?” he asks.

“Yeah, I hope so.”

And then a tense silence falls over the both of you. You haven’t actually seen him since your graduation, which was a whole other level of awkward with your mom there too, and you both know that the two affairs and two divorces has put a strain on your relationship.

It does hurt a little. You wish there was a way you could reach over the cold gap between you and go back to how things were when you were a kid, when you actually liked being around him.

But too much has happened.

“Well, I’m really glad you were able to come down for dinner,” he says and you smile tightly. “I can’t wait to show you the place and then we can get whatever you want to eat.”

The elevator dings and you follow him to an apartment a few doors down and he unlocks the door and lets you go first.

The floors are a laminate gray, the counters in the kitchen marble white with black pendant lights over the peninsula. The refrigerator is stainless steel and there’s a completely stocked wine cooler fridge built into the cabinets next to the stove. You walk past the kitchen into the living room where the couches from his and Agatha’s house are set up around an entertainment center with a fireplace and a blue rug under the coffee table.

“What do you think?” he asks, stepping next to you and putting an arm around your shoulders to bring you in close to him.

You take his fancy bachelor pad in again. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Maybe just pizza for dinner? We can order and watch a show or something?”

Staying in and having the television as a buffer is a much better plan than going out and having to make small talk that will end up with him on his phone anyway. He agrees and calls to order the pizza while you perch on the couch and scroll on your phone. You already have a text from your mom telling you to call her when you’re done and your chest tightens at the thought of all the shit she’s going to say. It’s fucking exhausting still being in the middle of this — you really thought it would get better, especially now that you’re in college. And yet, here you are.

“So…” your dad starts, plopping down next to you with a groan once he gets off the phone. He grabs the remote and turns the TV on. “You like your roommate?”

Your roommate, Alice Wu, is a sweet girl from out-of-state. You think that you and her will get along just fine and you’ve already agreed on all the rules of cleaning and having friends over. The first week has gone well and you’ve gotten close. “She’s cool. I think she and I will be good friends.”

He nods and turns on a show you watched awhile and the two of you sit in awkward silence until the pizza guy rings from downstairs. You excuse yourself to the bathroom after your dad rings him in.

The bathroom is through the bedroom and you take careful note of the sheets still strewn all over the bed and the two pillows at the top. One nightstand is cluttered with a phone charger, earplugs, a lamp, and a picture of you on your graduation day in a silver frame. It tugs at your heart and you instantly look away, not wanting to feel any more nostalgia.

However, on the other nightstand, there’s just a matching lamp. No hair tie, no other chargers or personal belongings.

But that stuff is easily hidden, so you go into the bathroom. One toothbrush, one retainer case, one razor. You can’t tell if you’re disappointed or glad.

At least you won’t have to listen to your mom talk endlessly about a new woman.

Your dad already has a plate with two slices on it for you sitting in your spot on the couch and you dig into it, suddenly famished. The atmosphere does warm up over time, and it’s no longer uncomfortable silence and you do end up talking a bit about his work and more about your school while the TV plays.

He doesn’t bring up your mom or Agatha at all, and neither do you. In a way, it’s nice to be removed from them for a few hours. Your dad has been villainized by both of them — and obviously he fucked up — but he is still your dad, despite your complicated feelings toward him.

After a few episodes of the show, you shift to get up, grabbing your plate. “You’re leaving already?” he asks and checks his watch.

“Yeah, it’s getting late and I should really be getting back to the dorms,” you say, trying to sound apologetic. Even if the bubble has been nice, you have somewhere you need to be.

It’s hard for your dad to hide his disappointment, but he gets it and grabs his keys to walk you down to your car.

“How’s, uh, how’s your mom doing?” he asks. Still putting me in the middle of all the imaginary drama she’s creating with you is what you want to say. But you know that he’ll call her out for it and you’d have to deal.

“She’s pretty good. Work’s been keeping her busy.” A safe answer. A true answer.

“Good,” he says and shoves his hands into his pockets and you know what’s coming next. “And Agatha? Have you seen her at all?”

Imagines of her hot body on yours flash through your mind. Her rosy nipples, her pale stomach, the heat that swallows up her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve seen her around. She’s doing all right, too, I think.”

Your dad nods and stops at your car. “Well, I had a great time with you,” he says and holds his arms out for a hug. You mutter something in agreement and give him an embrace with two pats — the way you’ve done it since you were a kid. “Let’s do it again soon.”

He tells you that he loves you and after you say it back, you get into your car and he watches you as you drive away.

Begrudgingly, you call your mom and put her on speaker and not even a second later, her voice fills your car.

“How was it? Did you see anything? Is there another woman? Did you find my can opener?” she asks all in one breath and you take a silent, deep breath.

You can’t wait to be home. “It was a pretty nice place actually.” Your mom snorts. “There wasn’t any sign of someone else there and I didn’t have time to look around. We just watched a show and ate pizza.”

She makes a sound. “Wow, father of the year. Maybe he cleaned up the place before you came over.” You hum noncommittally. “What are you doing tomorrow? Want to come over? I’ll take you grocery shopping.”

“Yeah, let me just check my schedule. Alice and I might be doing something, but I’d love to go there for a bit. Especially for groceries,” you tease and she laughs.

“I bet your father didn’t even offer to do that,” she says smugly and your face falls. Sometimes you wonder if she does half the things that she does for you just to one-up him.

“Okay, well I’m almost back now, so I’ll let you know when I’m coming over tomorrow,” you tell her, eager to wrap it up, and about to turn in. “Love you.” You hang up before she’s even done saying it back.

Once you park, you text your roommate saying that you won’t be back for the night — staying with family — and walk up to the apartment side door, letting yourself in with the fob on your key ring.

Agatha’s apartment complex is smaller than your dad’s, but just as nice, and you prefer it a lot more.

After the divorce, she stayed in a hotel for about a week before signing a lease on a place about ten minutes away from where the house used to be. You had helped her pick out the furniture and spent more time here than at your mom’s house the last couple months of school and she gave you a key to it the day she moved in.

It got harder over the summer to hang out with her, as you worked at an ice cream shop in the afternoons into the evenings and she was working her normal nine to five, but you made it work.

Things are really good between the two of you. There isn’t exactly a label on it, per se, but you both know that it’s a relationship. And without your dad in the picture and with her not being your stepmom anymore, there isn’t as much of a need to keep sneaking around — so when she puts an arm around you while you’re walking down the street and kisses your cheek when you say something cute and ghosts her pinky against yours, it’s okay.

You know things might change a little with you in college now, but you’re ready for it. And if you spend more nights at her place than at your dorm, so be it. It’s not like anyone’s going to know, and Alice will just think you’re staying with family.

Unlocking the door, you can practically feel the tension seeping away from your body. Agatha makes everything feel better. Even the house you grew up in, the one your mom still lives in, doesn’t feel as home as this does.

You don’t see her when you first walk in and you walk into the living room to see her typing something on her computer, brows furrowed, and you can just make out the glint of a document through the reflection of her glasses.

“Hey, you,” you greet, kicking off your shoes. She startles and looks up before slamming her laptop shut and smiling.

“Hey, honey,” she says and pats the spot next to her while she leans forward to place her computer on the coffee table. “How was it?”

Agatha had emphatically listened to your incessant complaining about having to get dinner with your dad, but in the end she had also pushed you to go. You groan and flop onto the couch, situating yourself so that your head is in her lap and you’re looking up at her. “It wasn’t that bad,” you admit and she smirks. “Don’t even think about saying ‘I told you so’. I will leave.”

She tosses her head back with a laugh and you play with the strands of hair that’s falling over her shoulder and teasing your face. “I would never, darling. But I’m glad it wasn’t bad. How is he?”

Your nose wrinkles. “Can we not talk about my dad? Although, I was just thinking about how much of a reward I deserve for going.”

“Oh, you think you deserve a reward, do you?” she ribs lightly, raising an eyebrow and poking you in the stomach. You giggle and twist away from her finger before sticking out your bottom lip as pitiful as you can and giving her doe eyes, nodding your head. She rolls her eyes fondly. “What were you thinking, honey?”

You shrug like you’re just now beginning to think about it. “Well, mommy,” you say, a thrill running through you at her sharp gasp. “I think since I was such a good girl, you should give me an orgasm.”

“Oh, just one?” she asks playfully, and you surge up out of her lap, turn over onto your knees to face her, and pull her in for a kiss. Your lips move against each other with familiar ease, her tongue licking hotly into your mouth and you moan — her hands slide up under your shirt and rest on your bare skin before you reach down and take it off.

“As many as you’ll give me, mommy,” you pant, and she grins before starting to suck open-mouthed bites onto your chest. You’re wearing green lingerie but she barely even looks at it before unclasping your bra from behind and tearing it off, throwing it somewhere on the floor.

She swirls her tongue around your nipple before suckling hard and you whimper, holding her head right against you. It feels like there’s a wire running straight from your boob to your cunt and you quickly feel yourself becoming soaked. Agatha switches to the other one and soon your entire chest is sticky with her saliva and you’ve moved onto her lap, squirming.

Her teeth nip at the underside of your breasts and you can’t take it anymore. “Mommy, please,” you beg, grabbing her hand and leading it to the waistband of your jeans. Her fingers rest there while you quickly unbutton and unzip and then you shove her into your pants, your hand circled around her wrist to just feel her.

Agatha chuckles throatily and moves her fingers experimentally against you while you try to grind down for some stimulation. You suddenly feel so empty, a molten heat between your legs, and Agatha crashes her lips back onto yours. She sucks on your tongue and tugs on your bottom lip as she finally presses against your clit and your hips jerk. “So wet for mommy, aren’t you?” she huffs and you nod and try to move against her harder.

When she finally pushes your underwear to the side and runs her fingers through your folds, you keen and bury a hand into her hair, face dropping down into her neck. She sharply gasps when you start breathing heavily against her skin, content to just keep your lips planted against her throat.

She slides a finger into you and your walls clench around her, trying to draw her even more in. Each time she fucks you, it feels like the first time — the same energy is there, the same electricity. But at the same time, she knows exactly what you need, maybe even more than you do.

Her thrusts begin to pick up and heat is rising through your body and you can see little indents in Agatha’s skin from where your teeth have slightly sunk in.

“Mommy, mommy — please, I need more,” you whine and she obliges by pushing another finger into you and curling them just right. A high-pitched sound leaves your mouth and you start riding her fingers the best you can, rolling your hips to match her and get her even deeper. You’re clenching furiously around her as sparks begin to fly in your lower stomach and you can feel the beginning tendrils of your orgasm start to build.

Agatha’s thumb circles around your clit without actually touching it. “God, sweetheart, you look so hot right now, taking my fingers like such a good girl. You feel so good, too. Never wanna leave you,” she babbles, making you convulse even tighter. There’s a slight pink tint to her cheeks and her breathing has picked up and you know she’s affected too. Her fingers are moving faster and she pauses for just a moment, making you whimper, before she stretches you out with a third.

“Oh, fuck,” you swear, your walls adjusting, and the slight burn only adds to the immense pleasure you’re feeling. “Fuck, fuck.” Your head is spinning, completely drunk with her and her perfume that’s been invading your nostrils the whole time, and you can’t even form a single thought.

She presses harder on your clit and with the hand that’s not currently inside you, grips your hair and pulls you away from her neck. You can see red blotches staining her skin and the thought of her wearing your marks around gets you even closer. “Look at me,” she grunts, her thrusts becoming more sporadic and you stare right into her dark blue eyes with your pleading wide ones. Your breaths intermix and she looks like she might also cum just from this.

Agatha lets out a strangled gasp when her gaze flickers from your eyes to your swollen lips to your breasts that are bouncing with your movements in her lap.

“Mommy, I need — right there —” You can’t even string together a coherent thought and she scissors her fingers inside you, the pressure making you see stars.

She looks you up and down again, drinking you in like she might never get enough, and her chest heaves with each breath she takes. “Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect,” she groans and your head falls back as you keep riding her. “I need you to cum for me, okay? Cum for mommy.”

“Mommy, fuck, I’m gonna — fuck I love you,” you groan, not even realizing the words slipping out of your mouth, the words neither of you have ever said before, before it’s too late and your orgasm explodes through your body in a way it never has before. You feel it in every crack and crevice inside you and she keeps fucking you just as hard while rubbing your clit and it quickly becomes too much, tears springing into your eyes.

Agatha’s fingers finally slow down and she coos sweet nothings in your ear and you wonder if she even heard you. It’s been a few months since you’ve been together, but neither of you has really acknowledged the depth between you.

And you just did, in the middle of sex.

“You okay?” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you nod before she pulls out of you and you wince at the sudden emptiness. You fall back out of her lap onto the couch. She must not have heard it.

There’s a slight gnawing feeling that begins to grow in your stomach — if you said it for real, in a moment that couldn’t just be blamed on a dopamine rush, would she say it back?

Does she feel the same?

Agatha kisses you before sticking her three fingers into your mouth so you can clean them up. “Good girl,” she purrs in a low voice. “Was that a good enough reward?”

You’re still a little out of it, but you nod dazedly. “Yeah,” you say softly and she gets off the couch and walks over to the fridge to get you a glass of water. “My mom wants me to go hang out with her tomorrow. What are you doing at night? Can I come over after?”

She pauses for a fraction of a second and then glances at you over her shoulder. “Um, sorry, baby. I have to work all day tomorrow. Some last minute things I’ve got to get done.”

You hum, a little disappointed, but graciously accept the water. “No worries. Maybe Monday or something.”

“Yeah, of course. Just a second, I need to go grab something,” she murmurs and then walks into her bedroom. You’re exhausted and you get off the couch, stretching your aching muscles, and you’re about to follow her when her phone buzzes on the end table.

Thinking it’s just a work email or something, you glance at it and your stomach drops, heart lurches.

It’s a text message from an unknown number.

Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along #covsfics #do i wanna know

586 notes · View notes

harknessxo · 6 months ago

Text

Professor Harkness

Paring: Darkish!Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Agatha is a very attractive but strict Professor in your College. You somehow manage to keep up with her without seducing her like many students tried but failed to, which makes her take an interest in you.

Warnings; spanking, fingering, cunnilingus, professor kink?

Word Count: 3.5k

A/n: Haven’t posted in quite a bit, my bad!!! This is lowkey ass but I hope you like it!

This was your first year of college. You lived in Eastview most of your life but chose to go to Westview college when you got a full ride scholarship. It was scary at first, moving away from home, away from your parents but you got a new start.

As you got comfortable in your new environment, you had asked around about your teachers to know what to expect from them and everyone told you they were chill except for one, Professor Harkness. Many of the people you asked said she was a bitch, was way too strict, acted like she had a stick up her ass but “at least she was hot.” ‘Lucky me,’ you thought. You later figured out you had her once a week on Wednesdays. At least you only had to deal with her one day a week.

Your first day soon approached, your teachers all seemed very easygoing and understanding which only made you more nervous to meet the infamous Professor Harkness. Wednesday rolled around and you woke up nice and early to get ready. You wanted to make a good first impression, well, at least attempt to.

You were the first student to show up to the lecture hall. You took a seat at the very front, you liked to be able to hear everything your teachers said. After about five minutes, more students strolled in, filling up all the seats and finally, in all her glory, she walked in last. They weren’t lying when they said she was hot.

She walked to the front of the room, carrying a stack of papers and a bag. She placed the stack on the podium and began to set up for class. She didn’t bother addressing the class until the bell rang.

“Good morning everyone. I’m Professor Harkness and you will address me as such, no ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs,’” she picked up the stack she had previously placed on her desk and started passing the papers out, “This is my syllabus. My email and office hours and at the top, if you have any questions, competent questions I mean, feel free to reach out. The first section talks about my deadlines-“ she was suddenly interrupted by a tardy student knocking on the door.

Her expression turned from somewhat welcoming to anger in seconds. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly frustrated by the tardy student, then opened the door.

“Don’t bother coming back to this class.” She stated in a cold tone before shutting the door on the student’s face. She continued on going over her rules and expectations, which were extremely high but nothing you couldn’t handle, like nothing happened.

This was going to be fun.

As the weeks went on, less and less people remained in her class either because they couldn’t handle it or they got kicked out. Many tried to seduce their way to an A but Professor Harkness was not having any of it. You found it embarrassing how the boys tried to flirt with her, sometimes even girls.

She dealt with the various attempts made to seduce her in the most professional ways, or unprofessional too, she didn’t seem to care. She would ignore their comments or straight up insult them, she had no time to deal with idiots.

You found it hot. You might have thought about her treating you just like that once or twice while getting yourself off, but of course you would never admit it or tell anyone. You were too scared to approach her anyway. She would most likely report you if she ever heard that you found her strict and harsh ways “hot”.

She didn’t seem to notice your presence much until she started noticing the efforts you put into her class. She couldn’t remember the last time any of her students were competent enough to reach the bare minimum of her expectations. She was not one to have a soft spot for students yet she found herself paying more attention to you in particular, she found it amusing how serious you were about her class.

You didn’t seem to notice her attraction at all. You didn’t notice the hungry looks or the way she would speak just a bit softer towards you if you raised your hand in class. Well, you did but you thought you were imagining things or that she was just in a good mood. You never actually approached her one on one. You thought she was very intimidating plus you always understood her material and never had to approach her. That was until now.

She had assigned a project and you couldn’t seem to understand a specific part of it so when the class was over and everyone strolled out, you stayed behind.

“Professor Harkness?” You called out nervously. She looked up from her papers and saw you still sitting in the classroom, the rest of the students were gone.

“Ah, Y/n.” She spoke your name, which honestly kinda surprised you. She set down her pen and stood up from her desk, walking over to you and leaned against the edge of the desk.

“You need something?”

“Y-yeah. I don’t mean to be annoying, I know you said if we had any questions, to reach you through email or visit you during office hours but I promise this is quick.” You rambled on, hoping she wouldn’t curse you out like she did other students. To your surprise, she simply nodded for you to go on.

“I can’t seem to understand this part of the project,” you pointed to a specific part of the rubric she gave out, “Could you explain further please?” She leaned over your desk to look at the rubric, her body hovering over yours. She studied the part you were pointing at, taking note of your struggle.

“Ah, I see. That part can be a bit tricky for some,” she proceeded to explain the section in more depth, her eyes scanning your features as you took in her every word. She made sure you were understanding every word she said, her gaze never leaving your face as she watched your expressions. It was almost addicting how attentive you were.

“Oh okay. That makes so much more sense now, thank you Professor Harkness. I hope it wasn’t a bother.” She smirked at your response, amused by how polite you were.

“It’s no bother at all, Y/n.” She said, straightening up and leaning against the desk again.

“But, since you’re still here…” she turned to a stack of archives on her desk, “Would you be a sweetheart and help me take these to my office?”

“Of course!” you agreed immediately. You took half of the stack while she took the other half and led you to her office. The office was spacious and organized. She had shelves full of books, papers and other things. A large desk was displayed in the middle of the room, along with a comfortable looking couch against the wall and a chair across from it. She gestured to the chair as she set her half of the archives down on her desk.

“Set those down here, please.” You carefully placed the stack on her desk. She walked over to her chair and sat down, watching you set the archives down with a satisfied smile.

“Is there anything else you need, professor?” You asked, sweetly.

“No, that’s all for now. But I have a question for you, Y/n.”

“What is it?” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving yours as she studied your expression.

“You’re one of my best students, if not the best. You’re not like the other idiots who just show up to class and fail every test. You actually care about the material, don’t you?”

“Mhm…” you hummed in response, trying to figure out what she was getting at. She chuckled softly, crossing her legs.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint me then, would you?”

“O-of course not.” She smirked at your stutter, finding it adorable how nervous you seemed.

“Good. You may go now. Have a good day, hon.” Your cheeks flushed at the pet name.

“H-have a good day, professor.” She watched as you left her office, a smirk still on her face. She couldn’t help but think about how cute you were when you blushed like that.

—

As the semester went on, Agatha tested you. She would give you material that was harder than the rest to see how you would do and you always came out on top. Rarely did you ever ask for help, nine times out of ten you could handle yourself. She was proud of you but she felt the need to punish you for something. To make you submit to her in a way, so when midterms began and you took her exam, she failed you on purpose.

When you got your grade back, you were stunned. You had studied your ass off night after night to prepare for it and you still somehow failed. This could potentially jeopardize your scholarship and not only that but you let down Agatha. You desperately needed her approval for some reason and you knew she would most likely not give you a chance to retake it but you chose to test your luck.

“Professor Harkness?” You said meekly as you strode into her office. It was six in the afternoon so mostly everyone had already gone home except for her apparently even though it was way past her office hours. She looked up from her desk, a small smirk on her face when she saw you. It was like she was expecting you.

“Yes, Y/n? Come in, close the door behind you.” You did as she asked.

“I um…I wanted to talk about my test score. I know you’re not one to give second chances but I really need to retake it. I studied so hard for it and this could put my scholarship at risk.” You pleaded with her. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms and looking at you with a cold expression.

“I was so disappointed when I graded your test, Y/n,” she stood up from her chair and walked around to the other side of the desk where you were, “But the fact is that you failed. I can’t just give you a second chance. It’s unfair to the other students who work just as hard as you.” Her words hurt you to your core. You let your favorite teacher down and now she was disappointed in you.

“Please, professor! I’ll do anything! I want to make you proud again.” You pleaded, desperately needing her approval. She stepped closer to you, standing in front of you now. She tilted your chin up with her fingers, making you look at her.

“Anything, huh?”

“Y-yes…” She smirked again, looking into your eyes and noticing the desperation in them. She could see how much you needed her approval, it was like you were addicted to it.

“I think there’s a way you can make it up to me…”

“Tell me…please?” You leaned further into her touch. She chuckled at your eagerness, running her thumb across your lower lip as she looked down at you.

“It’s going to be quite the task, darling. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Anything just- please? I’ll be a good girl.” You almost sobbed. She shushed you, pulling you closer by your chin.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re already such a good girl. So eager to please…I can’t wait to see how well you can do this for me.” She pressed her lips against yours and you let her. You let her take control and so as she pleased.

She explored every inch of your mouth and moved her hand to grip at the nape of your neck. She roughly pulled your head back with a grin plastered on her face. In one quick motion, she manhandled you to bend over her desk. A pathetic moan left your lips when she did so.

She chuckled darkly at the sound, enjoying the way you bent over for her. She pushed everything off her desk with one arm, making a loud thud as it all fell to the floor.

“You want to be a good girl for me don’t you?” you nodded your head, “Then you will take this punishment for me and if you do good, I will change your grade on your test, is that a deal?”

“D-deal.” She smirked and moved her hand from your neck to your back, gently running her hand down your spine. She then pulled your hips back, pressing them against her.

“Good girl…” She lifted the hem of the skirt you were wearing and admired the lacy purple panties you had chosen to wear. Her eyes darkened as she ran her fingers over the lace.

Sometimes, when you would start daydreaming in class while staring at her beauty, you noticed she would always wear something purple. You guessed it was her favorite color and therefore wore purple panties. Of course, you didn’t expect for things to turn out this way but good thing you did.

She was quite pleased with your choice. It was almost like you were a perfect little doll for her, a toy to play with and do as she pleased. She knew you would submit to her easily and it was going to be so much fun breaking you in.

“Look at you, already being a tease for me even before I’ve begun. You look so pretty in my color, honey.” You blushed at her compliment and gasped when she started sliding the fabric off until it reached your ankles, leaving you completely bare before her.

She ran her hands up your bare thighs and ass, her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. She admired the way your body reacted to her every touch, she loved how easily she could rile you up.

“I’m going to give you ten spankings and you’re going to take them like a good girl, right?”

“Yes, professor…” you whimpered. She hummed in approval, her hands still roaming your thighs. She leaned down and whispered in your ear, her breath hot against your skin.

“Stay nice and still for me. If you move too much, I’ll have to punish you even more. Understood?”

“Understood.” She smiled at your obedience and straightened up. She raised her hand and brought it down on your right cheek, leaving a red handprint behind.

“Count them for me, darling.”

“One…” She hummed again, satisfied with your response. She continued her onslaught of smacks, each one harder than the last. By the time she reached ten, your skin was red and sensitive, stinging from her touch. Tears had managed to escape your eyes and your breathing was ragged.

She rubbed her hands over your stinging cheeks, admiring her handiwork. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lower back, her lips gently brushing against your skin.

“You did so well, darling. You took your punishment so well for me…such a good girl.”

“T-thank you, professor…” you sniffled. She smiled against your skin, her hands still rubbing soothing circles into your flesh.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you. Maybe I should reward you…” You felt your own arousal pool down your thighs at the thought of what kind of reward she meant.

“A r-reward?” She chuckled as she noticed the way you were reacting, noticing the way you got wet at the mere thought of a reward.

“Mhm…you look like you really want one, honey.”

“P-please? I’ve been so good!”

“I know you have, sweetheart. You’ve been such a good little toy for me…” She hummed in agreement, her hands slowly moving from your ass to your folds, dipping her fingers in your wetness. You shuddered at her touch, moaning as she spread your juices all over your lips. She smirked at the sound of your moans, enjoying the way your body reacted to her every touch. She circled your clit with her thumb, teasing you as she spoke.

“Look at you, so desperate and needy. You really do want a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I need it!” She chuckled darkly, continuing to toy with your sensitive bundle of nerves as she spoke. She leaned closer to your ear, her voice a low whisper.

“Yeah? You need it? You need your professor to fuck you senseless?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Her smirk widened at your desperate pleas.

“Such a good girl…” She removed her hand from your cunt, bringing it up to your lips.

“Open your mouth.” You opened your mouth almost immediately, allowing her to slide her arousal coated fingers inside. She pushed her fingers into your mouth, her eyes darkening as she watched you suck on them.

“That’s it, pet. Taste yourself for me…” She pulled them out slowly, a string of saliva connecting them to your lips. She then roughly pulled your head back by your hair and crashed her lips against yours. You moaned shamelessly against her lips. She kissed you passionately, her tongue exploring every inch of your mouth again as she held you in place all while tasting you as well.

“You taste sweeter than I imagined.” That made you even wetter. The fact that she’d been thinking about you as much as you made you feel warm inside.

She could tell that you were getting even more turned on by her words, and she loved it. She knew just how to push your buttons and make you squirm for her. She pulled away from the kiss, a grin on her face as she looked at you with hungry eyes.

“You’re so responsive, darling. It’s adorable.” You gasped loudly when she slipped her fingers inside you without warning, thrusting them in and out without letting you adjust. She chuckled at your reaction, enjoying the way you gasped and moaned for her. She started to pump her fingers in and out of you at a fast pace, curling them against your g-spot with every thrust.

“Look at you, taking my fingers so well. You’re so tight, sweetheart…”

“Thank- thank you!” you stuttered out, overwhelmed with pleasure. She hummed in amusement, enjoying the way you were struggling to form coherent sentences.

“Such a polite little toy…I love how easily you unravel under me…”

“Only- fuck- only for you, professor!” She smiled, her fingers continuing to move inside you at a relentless pace. She leaned down and began kissing and biting your neck, leaving marks all over your skin.

“That’s right, only for me. You belong to me, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes! I belong to you!” You panted out. She let out a low growl against your neck, her possessive nature coming out.

“Good girl…now cum for me. Cum for your professor…” her mouth soon joined her finger, sucking mercilessly at your clit, sending you over the edge. You had to bite down on your hand to withhold the loud moan that almost left your lips as you came. Mostly everyone was gone but there were still janitors and such. You didn’t want to get caught.

She kept her mouth on you, helping you ride out your orgasm. She smirked against your skin, amused by your attempts to be quiet.

“Oh, pet…you’re trying so hard to be quiet, but I can see how much you’re struggling.”

“It felt so- so good…” you muttered, tiredly. She pulled her fingers out of you and licked them clean, looking at you with a satisfied expression.

“I know, hon. You did so well for me…” she reached down and pulled your panties back up. She gently patted your thigh once your panties were back in place, her eyes raking over your body with a possessive gleam.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up. We can’t have you walking around with cum on your thighs, can we?”

“Mhmm…” you hummed, too fucked out to form real words. She chuckled and picked you up, carrying you bridal style towards the bathroom in her office.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this, all dazed and fucked out.” She placed you on the sink countertop and used a wet cloth to wipe down your inner thighs. She was gentle as she cleaned you up, making sure to remove any evidence of your encounter. She smirked as she looked at your face, noticing how you were still coming down from your high.

“There we go, all clean and presentable again.”

“Are you changing my test grade?” You asked shyly. She chuckled and shook her head, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to look at her.

“Well, of course. We made a deal and you even got a reward out of it. Now, run along. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression.”

“Yes, ma’am.” you hopped off the counter and almost ran out of her office. Did that really just happen? Did you let your professor fuck you senseless? God, you were a mess.

She watched you leave, a satisfied smirk on her face. She chuckled to herself as she sat down at her desk, picking up a pen and grading papers as if nothing had happened.

“See you in class, pet.”

Taglist; @polaris-likethestar @wandasreallover @oh-no-bummer @phixiesworld @eliscannotdance @venomhimbo @aka-patsy @scoliobean @chlondykebar @marvelwomenarehot0 @mgruiz @daenerys713

#fanfic #smut #agatha harkness #x reader #agatha all along #request #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #dark!agatha

722 notes · View notes

kingkruell · 3 days ago

Text

MIDNIGHT ALGORITHMS (DATA SCIENCE AND…DICK)

SUMMARY — you were supposed to be studying for your data science retake. instead, you ended up riding the university’s biggest nerd until he came in his jeans and begged to stay inside. gojo satoru is a virgin, a computer science major, and apparently completely obsessed with you…and your pussy.

CONTENT — nerdjo! x f!reader, p in v, university au, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, overstimulation, sub gojo, virgin gojo, bimbo reader, academic corruption lol, first time (gojo), mean reader, cumming untouched, pussy-drunk gojo, filthy smut with little plot.

[WC 5.164]

gojo fanart credits to @/lemiruu on x

the library at 12:32 a.m is quiet. nevermind the fact that it’s summer, you happen to be one of the unlucky dwindling population of students staying behind during break. still, the dorms are nearly empty now, the halls so quiet you swear you could hear the building itself breathing with lights faintly buzzing overhead and that weird flicker of static in the walls.

this wasn’t how you imagined your summer. you were supposed to be in okinawa, sunkissed and full of grilled squid and mango shaved ice. but that fantasy had dissolved as fast as the email that tanked your plans. failed. you didn’t even clear the minimum requirement for your data science class.

and sure, maybe that was on you. you’d chosen your major on a whim, thinking “business” sounded safe. you figured you’d learn a thing or two about money and come out the other side with a degree and a vague sense of superiority. you hadn’t accounted for things like statistical modeling or working with python. you hadn’t even googled the course description, let alone the syllabus. you assumed, stupidly, that business school meant learning how to make money and definitely not how to interpret scatterplots and write shitty codes. you just signed up because it sounded useful. future-proof or…whatever.

it all came down to this: a midnight lecture from none other than gojo satoru himself.

stuck on campus. in the middle of july. retaking a class you hated.

he was… peculiar. he always sat behind you in class. always with those big, square glasses so out of style that sometimes you had to stop yourself from scoffing because—really, those glasses? is it some weird proclamation that he’s smart? and he is, to be fair, but it somehow annoys you to the bone. and always in the same kind of too-large hoodies (just in different colors), chewed raw at the hem. he’s so aggressively unfashionable you almost thought it was ironic. and he’s fidgety, you noticed. always had the time to raise his hand in class, only to stumble through answers in stutters and incoherent babble, pushing up his stupid glasses with one finger. and yet, he always got a nod of approval from the professor. smart, but weird.

weirder were the random instagram likes—one on a post from months ago, something you’d forgotten you even uploaded. and then, a few minutes later, it’d vanish. like he got caught and unliked it. like it was never supposed to be there in the first place.

by the last day of finals, an email from your data science professor landed in your inbox like a final nail in the coffin.

please meet me in my office. urgent regarding your final standing.

you already knew what it meant.

turns out, you were officially at risk of failing the class. and with it, your chance of graduating on time. the professor didn’t mince words. he offered you a single chance to retake the exam over the summer, provided you stayed on campus.

“but—i have plans!” you blurted, cheeks flushing hot as he raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“well,” he said, voice flat, “that’s on you. and your priorities.”

and just like that, your summer was over before it began.

“to help with your review,” he added, already shuffling through papers, “i suggest reaching out to gojo satoru. i assume you know him. he’s a computer science major. i’ve already contacted him to ask if he’d be open to tutoring. so that much is settled.”

gojo satoru was your only shot.

when you first met up to study, he short-circuited.

“w-what? teach you? i mean—i could, yeah, but like—wow, i mean—not wow like that, i just—yeah.”

‘wow’? seriously?

now you were both here, slouched at the farthest end of the library under a dying desk lamp. the only other people still around in the same miserable predicament were just packing up their tote bags and heading out. it hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were already sighing like this was your last breath.

gojo froze, then turned slightly toward you, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry? am i boring you?”

you blinked. “no. i mean, yes. but it’s not you. it’s the material.” you jabbed your pen at his screen, frowning at the words bayesian inference like they personally insulted you.

“oh—yeah, i mean, totally fair,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses again. “but i’m trying to help you not get held back, so… maybe if you try to—”

you rolled your eyes. “what, you think i’m stupid?”

he sat bolt upright. “no! no, no, no! i just—you asked for help, and i’m just—”

you grinned suddenly, cutting him off. “i’m kidding. relax.”

he let out a strangled laugh, eyes darting to your mouth too quickly before looking away. the poor guy’s ears were turning red. that kind of red you only get when you’re really flustered or freshly slapped.

you leaned back in your seat. “can we take a break? my brain is going to ooze out through my nose.”

gojo hesitated, glancing down at his hands. he was still fidgeting with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “y-yeah. sure. you want coffee or… i have matcha pocky?”

“you brought snacks?” you raised an eyebrow. “you didn’t even bring a charger.”

“i thought sugar helps with cognitive performance,” he mumbled.

you bit back a smile. “you’re such a nerd.”

he opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out.

you inched closer while you look at him struggle to open the box of matcha pocky like it might explode.

“you okay?” you ask

he nods quickly, “y-yeah, just it’s late.”

i raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh, “am i making you nervous?”

“no.” he swallows. “i mean. maybe a little. but not from—i’m good.”

“mhmm.” you smirk, reaching forward and plucking a stick from the box. you let it hang lazily from your lips, watching him watch your mouth.

you snap it between your teeth.

“so,” he stammers, eyes flicking back to his screen, “when you look at the—”

you laugh. “you’re joking.”

he blinks. “what?”

“you were two seconds from spontaneously combusting and now you’re back with this coding shit?”

he shifts awkwardly in his chair. “i’m just… trying to focus.”

“hmm.” you cock your head, pretend to consider that.“you ever think about me when you’re alone?” the words slip out of your mouth before you even had time to fully register it, but with the look on his face right now, you don’t regret it.

he chokes on absolutely nothing. “what—what do you mean—”

“like… at night.” you lean forward just slightly, elbows on your knees. your voice drops into something almost bored. “you ever jerk off to my pictures?”

he goes rigid.

“i—what—no—i mean—i would never—”

“you would never?” you echo, raising an eyebrow, eyelash battling up so deliberately, “so you haven’t?”

he looks wrecked. completely cornered. cheeks flushed, breath stuttering, hands visibly shaking now.

“i—i didn’t think you noticed me.”

“well…i did.”

his eyes snap up to yours… almost desperately

you smile, lazy and cruel.

“that bikini post? you liked it four times. you probably saved it. pretty sure i saw your username on my views list at two a.m.”

he opens his mouth, closes it, then mutters, “fuck.”

you lean in, just close enough to smell his skin; cheap detergent, matcha?

“you’re cute when you panic,” you murmur. “kinda makes me want to see how messy you get when you’re desperate.”

his whole body stiffens.

your hand moves, slowly resting on his thigh. not too high. not low enough to be innocent either.

“you want me to stop?” you ask

he doesn’t answer.

“gojo.”

his breath hitches. his eyes flick to your hand, then to your mouth, then back to your hand.

“no,” he says. it comes out rough.

“don’t stop.”

you squeeze, just a little.

he’s going to come in his jeans before i even kiss him.

his thigh twitches under your hand. tense, trembling. like he’s trying so fucking hard to stay still, to be good, to not grind up into your palm like a pathetic thing.

and he’s failing. you can feel the heat through his jeans and the he obvious ache he’s trying to hide.

“you seriously never touched yourself thinking about me?” you ask again, quieter this time.

he squeezes his eyes shut.

your thumb drags up the inside of his thigh, just shy of where he’s aching. you can practically see the pulse in his neck.

“don’t lie,” you murmur. “you seem like the type who’d come just from scrolling.”

he swallows. his adam’s apple bobs like he’s choking on the truth.

“i—i didn’t mean to,” he croaks. voice raw.

your lips curl.

“you accidentally came to my bikini photos?”

“fuck,” he whispers.

“how many times?” you press. “once? twice? how often do you stroke your pathetic little cock to pictures of me smiling with a cocktail?”

he looks like he’s going to die. or beg. maybe both.

“i don’t know,” he says. “a lot. too much. i can’t—fuck, i couldn’t help it.”

you climb into his lap slowy and he jolts.

his hands hover in the air like he doesn’t trust himself to touch. you roll your hips forward, drag your cunt over the hard line in his jeans, and the sound he makes is obscene.

“shit—wait, please—”

“you’re hard already?” you coo. “you came in your pants to my stories and now you can’t last two minutes with me on top of you?”

his hands finally land on your waist, gripping tight. too tight. like he’s holding on for dear life.

you grind down again. slower this time.

he gasps— actually gasps, like he’s drowning, his pupils dilates before he throws his head back.

“you gonna cum, satoru?” you whisper, licking into the corner of his mouth without kissing him. “you gonna soak your boxers like a good little virgin?”

he whines.

“fuck, fuck—please—”

“please what?”

“let me—i need to cum, i’m sorry, i can’t—”

“you’re humping me like a dog, baby.”

“not yet,” you murmured, tilting his chin up with a firm grip, fingers pressing into the soft give of his cheeks. “open your mouth.”

his breath caught. “wait—wait, what are you— I, ngh—”

despite the confused protest, he obeyed. flustered and still fucking obedient with his lips parted and tongue out.

then with a filthy ptfffhh—a thick, wet string landed square on his tongue, and the obsecenesound of it filled the space between you. his lips twitched like he didn’t know whether to close them or moan.

and when you kiss him all wet, deep, and filthy, he completely falls apart. his hips jerk up. his entire body shudders. and he cums. in his jeans. like a boy who’s never been touched properly and just had his favorite fantasy spit in his mouth and ride his thigh. because that did happen.

his mouth is open, eyes dazed, and his glasses are fogged now. wetness spreading between you.

you lick your lips.

“pathetic,” you whisper.

“i know,” he pants. “fuck—i’m sorry—”

“don’t be.”

you drag your fingers up his chest, to his neck. squeeze. not tight. just enough to make him stop rambling.

“you wanna make it up to me?” you ask, tilting your head.

he nods, instantly. desperate.

“get on your knees.”

yeah… you didn’t know how a study session turned into this, let alone with him. gojo satoru, the biggest nerd you knew. now he was on his knees, flushed to the tip of his ears, breath hot against your inner thigh, fingers twitching like he didn’t know whether to hold your hips or fold them into an apology.

“didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you muttered, fingers threading into the soft mess of white hair, tilting his head back just enough to see the desperate flicker in his eyes.

gojo swallows hard. his throat bobs under your grip like a silent apology, lips parted as if waiting for permission to breathe. he’s panting already, like just being this close to your cunt is doing something to him. knees planted to the cold tile, thighs trembling, pupils blown wide.

this is what he dreamt of, this is what he shamefully jerk off to. thinking of bending you over in class and ripping away every inch of your clothes— and now your dripping cunt is mere inches away from his face, its slick clinging to the thin fabric of your panties.

“I—I want to be good,” he says, voice low, breaking like a fault line. “please.”

the way he says it, you almost almost moan. fuck.

you shift forward in the chair, spread your knees just wider for him to see the wet line of your underwear, soaked through from grinding on his lap ten minutes ago. he stares like it’s proof that god is real. his eyes licker back up to yours frantically

tongue out, already panting, his hands trembling as they settle on your thighs like he’s trying not to squeeze too hard. his tongue drags up your slit through the soaked fabric and he moans, like you’re doing him a favor.

god, he’s starving. licking through cotton like he’s grateful just to have it in his mouth. you let him mouth at you like that, messy and soaking the fabric further, his nose pressed against your heat like he wants to drown in it.

“is this what you think about in your little dorm bed?” you ask, tone llazy. onehand settles in his hair. “this exact moment?”

he groans in response, and it vibrates against you in a way that makes your thighs twitch.

“i bet you do,” you whisper. “every night. jerk off with your hand wrapped tight, thinking about me sitting on your face.”

his hips jerk against the floor. pathetic.

he adjusts, and fuck, he learns fast. he licks you with slow, deliberate drags now. eye fluttering shut as he lets your taste melt into him. you grind against his face with purpose, shamelessly, slick dripping down his chin, and it’s obscene—he’s obscene. on his knees under you in a university library, face soaked, hands digging crescent moons into your thighs.

and he’s hard again. so hard it must hurt, his cock straining against jeans soaked in his own cum. He’s rutting against the floor now. fucking grinding like it’ll give him relief.

“you gonna come again just from eating me out?” you whisper, breath catching as your orgasm starts to bloom behind your ribs.

he nods frantically, moaning into your cunt like it’s a prayer.

“fucking loser,” you gasp when he hits the spot that makes you squirm. “you’re not even touching yourself.”

“i don’t— i don’t need to,” he pants, lips dragging over your clit in a clumsy, worshipful kiss. “you taste so good—fuck—I wanna stay here—please—”

of course, you obliged, and you pulled his head impossibly closer, grinding into his face harder.

“say it,” you gasp. “say you’re addicted.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m addicted,” he sobs. “I love your pussy—please—please come, I need it—need to taste it—”

and you do.

with a sharp cry, hips bucking into his mouth, thighs clamping around his head like you want to crush the air out of him.

and gojo comes untouched. again. soaking his pants all over again like a high school virgin who just discovered the word “thighs.”

“nghh—satoru—“ you gasped as he suddenly picks you up with such ease just to place you on the table. his hands are already on your thighs, spreading them open with a force that’s barely controlled before you could even catch your breath.

laid out across the library table, the edge cool beneath your hips, legs parted just enough to show him everything. your panties are caught halfway down your thighs, damp and useless, and your cunt’s already shining in the low, sterile light. his spit and your slick still wet on your skin. there’s a mess between your legs and it’s his fault. he knows it. you know it. the air smells like it.

satoru’s breathing like he just ran here.

his hoodie’s rucked halfway up, hair a wreck, glasses crooked on his nose. he’s standing between your thighs like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, fingers twitching at his sides, eyes locked on the place between your legs like it’s gravity.

“i’ve never—” he starts, but his voice breaks off into static. he swallows thickly, still staring, like he’s scared if he blinks you’ll disappear. “i mean, i’ve thought about it. with you. so many times i—fuck.”

you tilt your head, a slow smile pulling at your lips. “stop thinking then,” you murmur, breath warm. “do it.”

and he does.

his hands fumble at his waistband—nervous, fast, like he’s scared of waking up. and when he gets his jeans open and pushes them down, his breath catches. a sharp, startled sound. he drags his boxers lower, and—

oh.

his cock bounces free, flushed dark pink at the head, already leaking, the tip smeared wet with precum that’s dribbling down the length in slow, heavy beads. thick and aching. there’s a soft tuft of white hair at the base, and he’s so hard it curves slightly up toward his belly. his hand hovers near it, like he doesn’t even know whether he’s allowed to touch it now. like it doesn’t belong to him anymore. like it belongs to you.

you stare.

lips parting on instinct, breath caught in your throat. your thighs twitch open wider on reflex.

“…jesus christ,” you whisper. “how the fuck is that gonna fit?”

he blinks at you like he’s never heard you speak before. he follows your gaze and lets out a broken, whining sound, like he’s embarrassed to be seen like this, like being this hard in front of you is humiliating.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes. “i didn’t—i didn’t mean to be this—fuck, it won’t stop—”

you lick your lips slowly, “what? hard? leaking all over yourself?” you drag your gaze down, voice thick with heat. “your cock’s throbbing, satoru.”

he moans and grabs himself at the base with a shaky hand and nearly doubles over. ”f-fuck, don’t say that, i’ll—i’ll fucking cum,” the second his palm closes around his cock, his hips jerk forward like he couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

he groans and rubs his cock through your folds, just once, dragging the head against your soaked slit, back and forth, back and forth—and it punches a sound out of both of you at the same time.

holy shit,” he breathes. “you’re—fuck—you’re so wet it’s all over me—look at it—fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum just from this.”

he keeps rutting through your slick like he’s lost his mind, his tip catching on your clit, making your hips jerk every time. you feel it smear between your thighs—sticky, hot, messy.

“you like that?” you whisper. “humping my pussy like it’s your pillow at home?”

his hand falters, and his hips stutter.

you laugh, breathless. “you do. you’ve done this before, huh? jerked off to pictures of me and pressed your dick between your sheets thinking it felt close enough.”

he whines—actually whines into your neck—and kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside your mouth. his lips are hot and wet and frantic, teeth knocking into yours, tongue licking into you with the same rhythm his hips grind against your cunt.

he pulls back, dazed. pupils blown. cock still rubbing sloppily through your folds.

“can i—” he chokes on it, eyes wild. “can i put it in? please. i can’t—I need to—I have to—”

“beg,” you breathe, dizzy with it.

“please, please let me fuck you,” he gasps. “i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll—I’ll do anything—just let me feel it—fuck—please—”

you nod, slow. “do it.”

he grips your thighs like handles and pushes in.

just the tip.

your breath leaves your lungs in a moan so sharp it cuts the silence in half. he sinks into you inch by inch and it’s so hot, so tight, so wet—he starts to tremble.

“oh my god,” he gasps. “you’re gonna fucking ruin me—i can’t—i can’t—fuck, you’re clenching so hard, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna—”

you lock your legs around his waist, drag him deeper.

“do it,” you whisper. “cum inside me like a loser.”

and he does.

you feel it, the stutter of his hips, the thick, hot spill of it flooding you, the way he groans so loud it echoes down the rows of bookshelves.

but he doesn’t stop.

he keeps going. cock twitching inside you, fucked dumb, mind blank, still grinding into your cunt like he’s chasing the next high.

oh my god.

he’s tucking into you again, cock buried deep, and he swears he’s never felt anything like this. never imagined anything could feel this good. you’re so warm. so wet. squeezing around him like you don’t want to let go. like your body wants him deeper, even when he’s already pressed as far in as he can go.

he groans, forehead pressed to your shoulder, hips rocking just to stay sane. you moan under him and it makes his knees buckle.

what the fuck are we doing.

this is crazy. this is so, so fucking crazy. you’re in the damn library. it’s open. it’s the middle of the night but not locked. anyone could walk in. some poor TA could be returning a textbook. someone could hear you. the soft slap of skin. the way the table creaks every time he ruts into you. you—breathless and high off it, telling him not to stop.

and he won’t. he can’t.

he’s losing it. actually losing it.

she let me fuck her. she’s letting me fuck her. i’m inside her. right now. my cock is inside her and she’s moaning for more—holy shit—

he bites his lip, trying not to cum again too fast. his glasses are fogged, probably crooked, and he doesn’t even care. all he knows is the tight slick heat of you pulsing around him and the way your nails dig into his back like you’re clinging for life.

“fuckfuckfuck—y/n, i can’t stop—i need to stay in you—feels so good—so fucking good—you’re mine now, right? you have to be—”

“mhhmm—“ you pulled him by the neck and clashes your lips onto his. you’ve broken him. you know it the second he gasps your name like a prayer, or a curse, and drags his cock through the mess he made inside you, still hard, still leaking, like he doesn’t understand what it means to be finished. his hips twitch, rhythm sloppy, hands gripping your thighs so tight it hurts. he’s not even trying to hold back anymore.

he’s still hard.

you feel it inside you, thick and flushed and too much already. twitching like it doesn’t know what just happened. and the way he moans—god—the way he moans, it’s almost unbearable. soft, choked, high in his throat, like he’s been split open by something he doesn’t have a name for yet.

“satoru—” you try, but your voice splinters around the edges. “you—fuck, you already—”

“i know,” he gasps. “i know—but i can’t stop, it feels so good, it’s too much—”

“i-i came,” he stammers, breathless. “i already—I came and i’m still—fuck, i can’t stop—”

he sounds guilty. confused. like he’s doing something wrong. like he thinks you’ll tell him to stop but he can’t make himself do it unless you say the words.

your only answer was the filthy sounds of AH! AH! AH! from your mouth and the way your tongue lols out.

and he keeps moving.

wet, slow thrusts, dragging the head of his cock through the thick mix of cum and slick that’s pooling between your thighs, and he whimpers at the sound of it.

SCHLAP! SCHLAP! SCHLAP!

“is it always like this?” he pants, voice wrecked. “this warm—this wet—it’s so—i-i can’t—fuck, it’s too good—”

his hips twitch, involuntary.

he’s still rutting into you like he doesn’t know any better. like instinct’s got him by the throat. like he thinks he’ll stop breathing if he pulls out. and maybe he would, the way he’s grabbing at your waist, palms pressing so hard into your skin they leave imprints.

“y/n, you’re so tight,” he gasps. “you’re sucking me in like you want more—like you want to keep me—do you? do you want me to stay inside?”

you clench, and he cries.

he actually lets out a sound, desperate and high, mouth falling open in shock, like he’s short-circuiting.

“holy—fuck—you’re doing it on purpose—oh my god—”

he’s rambling. babbling. you don’t think he even knows what he’s saying anymore.

and he just keeps going.

“i didn’t know,” he whispers. “i didn’t know it would feel like this. i didn’t think i’d get to have it—have you—you’re so soft—so hot—i can feel you everywhere—i’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”

he’s shaking now. trembling over you, mouth pressed against your jaw, like he’s trying to ground himself in your skin.

your legs twitch around his waist, overstimulation crackling along your spine, and he feels it.

“wait—are you—? oh my god,” he moans. “are you gonna come again?”

you nod, breath catching, and that’s it.

he breaks.

“fuck—fuck—do it, please—cum on me—use me—i don’t care what you do—just don’t stop—please—please let me make you feel good—”

his hips stutter again, frantic, and your body arches into his, hands scrabbling at his back as the pressure finally snaps inside you again—hot and sharp and clenching hard around him.

“satoru.” you moan out and his eyes rolled back at the way you say his name, “say it again.” he pulls back and pushes in harder.

“satoru.”

you cum.

loud.

clenching down on his cock, tighter than before, and he loses it.

you clench down around him. all tight, fluttering, spasming in waves, and that sets him off.

he gasps like he’s been punched in the chest. like his heart just stopped and kicked back to life. you feel the shift in his body, the way his hips jerk forward, no rhythm left, no restraint—just pure, frantic instinct.

“fuck—fuck—oh god—i’m gonna—i’m—”

he moans into your mouth, loud and cracked open. and then he’s cumming again, deep inside you, hips stuttering as he spills into you all over again, thick and hot and endless. you feel it flood you—heat pooling inside your cunt, filling you up all over again. it’s so much more than the first time. more desperate. more raw. he stays buried as it hits him, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, whispering things he probably doesn’t even realize he’s saying.

“so warm—fuck—fuckfuck, i’m sorry—it’s so much—i couldn’t stop—i couldn’t—”

his whole body’s trembling, fingers gripping your waist like he’s holding onto the edge of the world. and when the last twitch of his cock pulses inside you, he lets out a sound so soft, so wrecked, it makes your chest ache.

his forehead rests against yours. you’re both gasping for air. his lips find yours again, slow this time, dragging across your mouth like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. it’s messy. wet. you both keep moaning into it like it’s the only way you know how to breathe now.

his hand brushes your cheek, trembling. “you okay?” he whispers, breath ragged.

you nod, still clinging to him. “so good.”

he kisses you again. deeper this time. slower. like a thank you he doesn’t know how to say out loud. his hips give a soft, involuntary roll forward, just enough to make both of you hiss at the oversensitivity. and he groans.

“…fuck. i should pull out.”

you nod, legs loose around him now, and he gives one last kiss—wet and sticky—before he slowly, carefully draws his cock back.

you both moan at the drag. it’s too warm, too sensitive, too full.

and when he slips free—soft and still twitching—you both stare.

his cum leaks out of you in thick, creamy strings, dripping from your swollen cunt down to the table. it’s obscene. wet. ruined. a mess of his first orgasm and his second spilling from your folds like you were made to be filled.

satoru sucks in a shaky breath.

“holy shit,” he whispers.

you look up at him through your lashes, dazed, lazy, spread open and dripping. your cunt clenches instinctively, twitching from the exposure.

“you’re leaking,” he says softly. and then, like something snaps in his mind: “fuck—wait—i can’t leave you like that, i made a mess, i have to—”

your chest is still rising in stutters. your thighs ache from how wide he spread you, still twitching from the aftershocks. your cunt’s messy, flooded—his cum dripping thick down your folds and pooling between your legs. everything around you is still: the quiet hum of the library lights, the flicker of a dying bulb overhead, the late hour heavy in the air.

you’re still laid out over the table.

used. ruined. wrecked.

and warm.

so fucking warm.

from the inside out.

you blink slowly, dazed, like you’re surfacing from water you didn’t know you were drowning in.

this wasn’t supposed to happen.

you didn’t mean for this to happen.

you were supposed to review a couple chapters, complain about your professor, maybe tease him a little if he blushed too much. not this. not grinding yourself raw on his cock until he came twice inside you. not the way your body feels now; sore and open, humming with overstimulation, and filled with something heavy you’re trying not to name.

“holy shit,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. your limbs feel loose. like you’ve melted into the table. “i just… we really…”

you trail off.

there’s cum on your thighs. on the inside of your calves. your panties are still rucked halfway down your legs and your bra’s shifted, barely covering anything.

you cover your face with one hand. not in even in an embarrassed way, just… stunned.

you feel him shift

and then he’s dropping to his knees between your legs.

“satoru—?”

“let me clean it,” he breathes, already nosing between your thighs. “please. let me.”

and then he licks.

long, slow, and filthy, his tongue dragging through your overstimulated, used cunt like it’s the best meal he’s ever tasted. and when he groans, deep and guttural, it vibrates against you.

“you taste like me,” he moans, tongue pushing deep inside, lapping at the mixture he spilled into you like he’s starving for it. “so fucking sweet—fuck—i made this mess—i have to get all of it—”

his tongue is everywhere. cleaning the slick from your folds, nudging your clit, slurping up the mix of your cum and his with noises so obscene your thighs twitch around his head.

“satoru—fuck—please—”

he keeps going. tongue soft and messy, mouth hot and wet, arms wrapped tight around your thighs like he’s never letting go. your back arches. hands scramble against the table edge, trying to ground yourself, but he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you there. not rough. desperate. worshipful.

“gonna keep eating you until you stop leaking,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your cunt. “i’ll clean every drop. i’ll be so good. let me be good.”

he’s going to make a mess just to clean you up again.

again. and again. and again.

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk x you smut #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #nerdjo x reader #nerdjo #gojo smut #smut #x reader #fem reader #satoru gojo

222 notes · View notes

elleloquently · 10 months ago

Text

too little, never late [ 1 ] : ellie williams

" can you see me? i'm waiting for the right time

i can't read you but if you want, the pleasure's all mine "

series masterlist

───⋆☆───────

ellie williams x female reader | college au - best friend!ellie

───⋆☆───────

| a/n - here it is!! decided to abandon my lowercase thing for this fic, not sure why but it felt right lmao. comments, reblogs, and asks ab this are so encouraged and appreciated <3 excited ab this one, hope you guys are toooo | c/w - warnings for the entire series are listed in the masterlist. a bit of exposition here. reader is vaguely indicated to be girly i guess and closeted (sorry!!!) switching between past/present tense is very much on purpose / intended!!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　

It was hard to pick your favorite season on campus.

During move in every year, at the end of summer, the air felt full of promise. The music was loud from passing by cars, the bars especially crowded during syllabus week.

Winter was pretty, too, with the string lights that adorned the town and the ice skating rink that was put up downtown. It was easy to blow dining dollars on the hot chocolate and donut truck that was always posted nearby.

There was spring, when all of the campus greenery started to bloom. It felt like tradition for all classes to be skipped on that first warm day every year, the campus green filled with hammocks and picnic blankets.

But fall.

Campus felt like it was made for fall.

The sun was still warm, but the leaves were turning. It was the perfect time, the colors still bright and vivid, the brief window before they faded to brown.

Pumpkins would be placed strategically within the decorative flower gardens, a last chance for beauty and atmosphere before everything died for the winter. Come October, the statue of the university mascot would be decorated in a different costume each week, leading up to Halloween.

September was just a little bit perfect.

The warmth from summer still lingered, the promise and anticipation of the upcoming semester evident in the atmosphere. Still, there was an indication of fall. The trees were green and yellow and orange and some strange colors in between. People were already planning their Halloween costumes. Something about the sunshine this time of year always felt different. Looked a little more beautiful, maybe.

"It looks like the early 2000's here. On this street," You mumbled, stepping carefully over the curb as you gripped tighter onto the brown paper bag in your arms.

"The fuck does that mean?" Your best friend snorted from beside you, shooting you a sidelong glance.

Your eyebrows knit together immediately as you catch Ellie's glance, her pale green eyes giving you a once over. Still, you defended your observation.

"It looks like a trick or treating street," you mumbled, your sight following along the sidewalk. Leaves were already starting to fall, littering the sidewalk.

"Like how it would look when you were a kid. Reminds me of Halloweentown," you explained lightly, continuing to walk back to campus.

Paper grocery bags in hand, you were making the short journey back to campus after venturing into town. Ellie would have driven, easily, but you always preferred the walk. It was only a matter of minutes, anyway. Besides, parking downtown on a Sunday was shitty to navigate.

You didn't mind living in a college town, as opposed to some universities that existed in the middle of a big city. After growing up in the small town of Jackson, you didn't mind being in a bubble.

"Good movie," Ellie muttered, seemingly more concentrated on crossing the final busy road before you would be back on the campus pathing.

It did remind you of Halloweentown, stupidly enough. It was the first thing you had said several years ago, when yourself and Ellie had stepped off of the school bus and saw a college campus in real life for the first time.

It had been a school field trip during the fall of sophomore year of highschool. Chaperoned by several teachers and a few worrisome parents, the school had organized a weekend long college tour, an attempt at getting students excited about higher education.

Back then, you had felt smitten with the university for stupid, insignificant reasons. The aesthetic being one of them, though you would be hard pressed to deny the fact that the way in which campus looked definitely played a part in your deciding factor. The drive-in movie theater that was five minutes away from campus was a nice selling point, too.

Still, it had felt cool at the time, learning about everything that the possibility of college had to offer.

Choir was still a thing in college, who knew? And you could major in art? Your chosen extracurriculars during that time period had been just that. You were in the high school choir, and Ellie had joined the art club. You had considered joining the art club too, just because you were jealous. At the end of the year, they got to go on a trip to some cool place with a lot of museums.

You never did end up joining, though, and had been unreasonably pissed when Ellie had been gone for two days, out of state. You got your payback the next year, when the choir had gotten to go to Disney and Ellie was left in Jackson, waiting for you to come home.

Now, art was just a hobby for Ellie, and the idea of auditioning to join a college choir felt laughable. Even so, when the time came to start seriously thinking about the idea of college, Ellie couldn't quite shake the memory of how everything in her had lit up at the sight of the university planetarium when she was younger. Soon after, Ellie had learned about astrophysics.

You hadn't planned to attend the same college, but it was certainly a perk. The small things that caught your interest during that first college tour had turned into a real curiosity once junior year of highschool had hit. Turns out, the school had a lot of really good programs. The departments for your desired majors were highly rated. Tuition rates were good, which was even better. Besides. Campus was gorgeous.

You had started imagining it, thinking about it, whispering about the possibility during late night sleepovers. When it was decision season, you were both on edge. It's not like you were applying to an Ivy, but it was the future. Who wouldn't be a little freaked out? The idea of one of you getting in and not the other was humiliating and nerve wracking.

It was thrilling, then, tearing open your letters together with shaky hands in the privacy of Ellie's bedroom. It had been a damn near stealth mission trying to get to the mail before your parents or Joel got to it first.

Joel was more easy going, attempting to hide his concern and curiosity between casual questions and glances, knowing a letter should have been arriving any day. Your parents, on the other hand, had been hounding you relentlessly. But yourself and Ellie wanted the moment to yourselves, alone. So that's what you had done.

You had checked the mail multiple times a day, your heart dropping to your stomach once you finally received the letter. Instantly it was shoved into your overnight bag before you had peddled to Ellie's, your bike wheels turning faster than ever before.

Ellie had looked like a kid again when you had opened the letters, shrieking and falling back onto her bed as you clutched each other's hands, the relief palpable as you read that you were both accepted.

"We should watch it," you suggest, turning your head. Your gaze fixed upon Ellie, focused on the strand of hair that falls over her face. Her hands are full, so she halfheartedly attempts to blow it away.

"Huh? Yeah, sure," Ellie replied, appearing as though she doesn't really know what she's replying to.

Someone on a skateboard is zipping by, their trail quick and unpredictable. You don't notice that you're nearly in their path, your focus on Ellie. Ellie nudges you with her elbow, pressing you out of the way.

"Wait, can't. There's some guest speaker lecture tonight and Dina gets extra credit for one of her classes if she.. Asshole," Ellie cuts herself off, mumbling under her breath. She glared at the inconsiderate skater, moving closer to your side.

"-If she goes to it. I promised I'd go with her," Ellie finished, adjusting her grip on the paper bag in her hands.

The bag crinkles as Ellie's hands grip onto it tighter. It was nearly stuffed to the brim, and the one that you were holding onto wasn't any different. You were slightly worried that they would split and rip before you even made it back to your apartment.

The grocery shop had been necessary, but the items were not. Yourself and Ellie had ventured to the Natural Foods store downtown, throwing any item that looked cool or weird into the cart without a second thought. It was the type of store that would still require you to go to a real grocery store after the fact, leaving you lacking despite the money you had already spent.

"Oh, right. I forgot that it was tonight. What's the lecture about?" You questioned, feeling both totally fine and not fine at all at Ellie's response.

"No clue," Ellie grinned, shaking her head slightly. "Friend of the year. I'm not even the one getting extra credit."

A huff of laughter falls from your lips as you spare a glance at Ellie, not allowing your gaze to linger. It was always so easy to fall into step together, like the two of you were naturally in sync.

"You're coming, right?" Ellie asked then, drawing a shrug out of you.

"Umm, I'm not really sure. I still really need to like, study and stuff. Plus, when Dina told me about it, I didn't want to just assume that I wa-"

"I just assumed you would be going," Ellie clarified, her words coming out a little too quickly. "I mean, we all did."

You pretended to think about it for a moment, but you already knew that you would give in.

Attending some special event lecture wasn't exactly your ideal Sunday evening. You spent enough hours of your week crammed into a lecture hall already, fidgeting in your seat and watching the seconds tick by on a clock while simultaneously rushing to take notes. Besides, you really did have to study. And you didn't even know what the event was for, or what the lecture was about.

But Ellie would be there. And your other friends. And you always did have some weird thing about missing out. Even if it was just a lecture.

"I'll go," You said decidedly, barely catching Ellie's gaze before she pulled her eyes away from your own.

As your apartment building came into view, you found your steps quickening. The walk had been nice, but you knew that you were both sick of carrying the bags by now.

Your apartment was one that belonged to the university. Since it was a campus apartment building, it wasn't quite as great as the others around town. They were essentially glorified dorms. But financial aid had paid for the majority of it, so you wouldn't complain. Or, just not often, at least.

"Cool," Ellie mumbled, her posture relaxing a little.

In an instant, Ellie's hand is reaching out to the bag that you're holding as soon as a small tear forms at the bottom of the brown paper.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　

"We need to leave soon."

"I know."

"We really need to leave soon."

"I know," Ellie grumbled, a soft huff escaping her. She turned over in your bed, eyeing you with an expression that could only be described as a slight glare.

You met her eyes from where you were sat at your desk, twisted around in your chair to look at her. Ellie was laying in your bed, with her head on your pillow and your throw blanket wrapped haphazardly around her. It wasn't a new sight in the slightest, and neither was the uncomfortable feeling that it prompted in the pit of your stomach.

You confused it with annoyance, sometimes. Or discomfort.

Even so, it was normal for the two of you to share a sleeping space, or to feel just as at home in the other person's bed. After all, you had been best friends for years now.

There had only been a brief period when it had been weird, only because Ellie had made it so.

It had been junior year of highschool. Ellie had dated a girl for a couple of months, and promptly stopped sharing the bed with you during sleepovers. It had been annoying at the time, and completely ridiculous. You tended to get defensive about it, insisting that it was always normal for the two of you to share a bed.

Your arguments were unwavering, because why was it suddenly strange for two best friends to share a bed? Ellie would only grumble in response, insisting that it was different.

Their relationship didn't last long. The usual sleepover routine promptly resumed after.

"You literally only come over to nap," you accused, turning back towards your desk to glance in your mirror.

"Shut up. That's not true," Ellie huffs defensively. She sits up as if to prove her point, shoving your favorite stuffed animal away from her. You catch the action in your mirror, an automatic frown pulling your lips downward.

"What else am I supposed to do? You take forever anyway, Jesus," Ellie continued, and the action of mumbling her defenses under her breath seems to be more for herself than for your sake.

"You could get ready, too," you suggest, only because you know that it would annoy her further.

"I am ready?" Ellie's eyebrows knit together, her gaze fixed upon your reflection in the mirror. She looks confused instead of irritated, and you feel just a little guilty. If you were closer to her, you would attempt to swipe away her slight frown with your thumb.

"I'm kidding," you soften, because it was impossible not to around your best friend. Your eyes meet hers in the mirror, and the smile that you offer her is small. It's still hot outside, but Ellie is wearing a gray hoodie that you're almost certain she will never let go of.

"Are you gonna be too warm?" Your gaze flicks around the items cluttering your desk before you shift in your chair again, giving Ellie a once over.

Ellie shakes her head, rolling her eyes despite the way in which the corners of her lips faintly twitch upwards. "I'll be fine. Those lecture halls are always cold as shit, anyway."

Ellie's response raises a good point, so you're quickly moving away from your desk and towards your closet instead. Ellie opens her mouth to speak, but the sound of a text tone coming from your phone interrupts her.

"Check it please," you instruct in a mutter, rifling through your cardigans and hoodies.

Ellie automatically obliges, pulling herself away from your bed and carefully moving towards your desk to retrieve your phone. "Dina wants to know if we're meeting up at the event or before... Why the hell is she texting you?"

"Why wouldn't she be texting me?" Your response is immediate as you frown at a sweatshirt. It's faded and worn, but that almost made it better. You had gotten it as a souvenir from a planetarium trip with Ellie and Joel.

Ellie registers the change in your tone instantly, glancing at you instead of at your phone. "No, I mean- Did you even tell her that you were going?"

"You said everyone assumed-"

"But you never confirmed-"

"She probably just knows we're together." You turned to face Ellie, shooting her a pointed look while holding the sweatshirt against your chest.

Apparently, Ellie wasn't great about answering texts. That wasn't your experience, but you had heard Jesse and Dina complain about it enough times to assume. "Have you even bothered to check your phone?"

"Shit," Ellie mumbled, reaching to fish her phone out from the pocket of her jeans. She hadn't checked her phone in a few hours, probably. The look that crosses Ellie's features though, indicated that Dina hadn't even bothered to reach out to her first.

Your lips quirked upwards as you watched her, rolling your eyes. "Just tell her we'll meet them there." You turn back towards your closet, contemplating your options.

Ellie's gaze lingers on you for a moment before she shakes her head, turning her attention back to your phone. Her own phone is replaced back into her pocket before she slides into your desk chair, grabbing your phone carefully in her grasp. The screen lights up, flashing Ellie with a picture of your lock screen.

The picture was just a little blurry. Dina had been the one to take it. You all had gone to a concert about a year ago, which gives reason to the dark background of the picture. You were grinning wildly, Ellie's arm slung around your shoulders as she wrinkled her nose at the camera.

Ellie simply looked at the photo for a moment, before remembering why she was even holding your phone in the first place. You hear Ellie swear under her breath, but you don't bother to look this time.

It was muscle memory as Ellie entered your password, unlocking your phone. She navigated her way to your messages with Dina, her fingers pausing briefly on the screen before she typed.

you

we'll meet you there

Ellie thinks for a moment, her lips twitching briefly as she added an additional text, an obvious indicator to Dina that it was not you that was responding, but Ellie.

you

dick

Your phone sounds again as Ellie is still holding it, the response from Dina being immediate.

dina ✩

you never answer your phone!!!

Ellie scoffs, but can't suppress the grin that appears on her lips at Dina instantly knowing that it was her. Ellie's next response is a quick one.

you

🖕

dina ✩

🫶

"What are you doing?" Ellie questioned, tearing her eyes away from your phone as you draw her attention once more.

You paused momentarily, holding the strap of your bag in your hand. "I'm gonna take my notes," You admitted, chucking the sweatshirt at Ellie before stepping towards your desk. "I wasn't joking. I like... Really need to study."

Ellie clumsily caught the sweatshirt with her free hand, snorting at your response. "Bullshit."

"It's not," you denied, rolling your eyes. Ellie's gaze followed your hands as you rifled through binders and books on your desk, fingers dancing around cosmetic products that were also currently littering your desk.

Ellie gently sat your phone down, reaching for a bottle of nail polish. The color was familiar, as it was the one you were currently wearing. You had painted them just a few days ago. Ellie knew because she had been with you, and the nail of her pinky finger was painted the same color to prove it.

Ellie never really painted her nails by her own volition, but she usually let you paint them whenever you had asked. The color was a bit glittery this time, and Ellie opted for a pinky.

"So should I say that we're gonna be late, or?" Ellie questioned, her eyebrows raising slightly as she continued to watch you.

"We're not. I'm ready, see?" You pull a textbook away from the pile, waving it at Ellie. She swatted at the book, rolling her eyes in response. It was a habit she never seemed to shake, one that you seemed to mirror quite often.

It's a cue when you shove your textbook into your bag, and Ellie pushed out an exhale. "Yeah yeah, I see," she mumbles, standing up from the desk chair.

The sweatshirt is placed back into your hands after you hoist the strap of your bag onto your shoulder, your smile nearly impossible to bite back at Ellie's mumbling.

"Let's go though, before we actually are late. Seriously, Ellie. You take forever to get ready." Your tone is dry but the amusement at your own joke is evident by your expression.

Ellie practically scowls, reaching out to swat at you once more. "You're the worst, you know that?"

Ellie's half hearted movement is easily dodged, and you couldn't decide between feigning offense or giving her a hard time.

"You love me," you decided to say, and that seemingly shuts Ellie up.

Ellie eyed you for a moment, but her response lacks any weight. "Whatever. Don't forget your dumb key again."

"Oh my G- That was one time," you defended, leaving Ellie to trail after you as you turned on your heel, an indication of your exit.

"Yeah, one time too many." Ellie's voice lowered slightly as you both stepped into the hallway, turning around the corner and heading for the elevator. "You called me at almost like, two in the morning."

You nearly winced at Ellie's words, an awkward grimace-like-smile appearing on your face. She was right, anyway. But it had only been one time.

It was towards the end of the spring semester last year. Of course, you hadn't remembered your key until it was too late, arriving at your door after a night out with Dina without any way to get inside.

Instinctively, you had called Ellie. It had been late and you were humiliated, not wanting to bother anyone in your building until morning. Ellie had shown up for you in under fifteen minutes, not even pretending to be annoyed because she could tell by your voice on the phone that you had felt awful.

The impromptu sleepover had been nice, though. Carefully spaced apart in Ellie's bed, the two of you had scrolled through your photos and videos dating back to the first year that you had met until you had eventually fallen asleep, phones dropping limply against the blankets.

"Shut up," you mumbled weakly, face warming slightly at the memory of your embarrassment. "We had fun that night."

"Yeah, we did," Ellie relents with a grin.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　

It had taken nearly twenty minutes to walk to the building that the event was being held in. By the time you had actually made it, the sky was growing dark.

You weren't entirely familiar with the building. You knew that most of Dina's classes were held here though, so you could only assume that the event had something to do with that. It would make sense, considering the whole extra credit ordeal.

You were slightly anxious that the two of you actually were going to be late, but the sight of a crowd in the lobby instantly eased your worries.

You spotted Jesse first, due to his height.

"There." You nudged Ellie's arm with your own, causing her to follow your gaze. Ellie nodded and so you grasped the sleeve of her hoodie, leading her towards your friends.

Dina soon came into view, as well as someone else that you didn't recognize.

"You guys are the best," Dina gushed instantly, throwing her arms around yourself and Ellie in greeting.

"You didn't say that to me when I got here," Jesse frowned, raising an eyebrow at Dina once she pulled away.

"Oh please." Dina rolls her eyes, but it's lighthearted. "You're the best for driving me," she tells her boyfriend. Jesse laughs at her easy response, shaking his head before bumping his fist against Ellie's shoulder in greeting.

Ellie wrinkled her nose, jerking her shoulder away from Jesse. It was crazy how such tiny things could manage to transport you back through time.

It almost felt like the beat of your heart faltered once Ellie met your gaze, her expression instantly changing into an amused smile instead.

She had these mannerisms that were so Ellie, unchanging despite the time that had passed. You had tried to describe it to her before, but she just didn't get it.

Even so, the way that she looked at you now, as though you were both a part of some inside joke or something, threw you back to freshman year of high school.

That had been the year that the two of you had met.

Since Jackson was a relatively small town, having a new kid start in your class wasn't exactly a frequent thing. Whenever it did happen, it always ended the same way. Within a week, the new kid would always end up being integrated into an already existing group, the number of friends associated with each other being more than you would certainly ever have in a lifetime.

It was a consistent track record, so you almost didn't think anything of it when an unfamiliar girl was assigned to sit next to you in biology.

You had been feeling pretty bleak about starting high school. The friends that you had been closest to throughout middle school had changed over the summer. There was nothing wrong with the concept in general, but it hadn't been a good type of change.

Starting freshman year with little to no friends didn't exactly give you the most optimistic start.

But then, entered Ellie.

Auburn hair, shuffling feet, and a book bag adorned with space themed pins.

You had told yourself it was your anxiety, the way in which your cheeks had burned when Ellie had been instructed to take the empty seat next to you. Admittedly, you had been a little shy, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead without sparing her a glance. But then, you were worried about seeming rude. On the other hand, the probability of a potential new friend was slim. You knew how these things usually went.

It was stupid, really, the thing that made you even speak to her in the first place. But you were grateful for it.

While reaching for a fallen pencil under the table, your eyes had drifted to Ellie's shoes, a pair of red Converse. It's not like it was an uncommon choice, but something about it had caused you to feel a flicker of camaraderie. You had been wearing Converse too, only in black.

As you straightened up in your chair, pencil in hand, you found the words leaving your mouth before you could think it over.

"I like your shoes," you had said, seemingly catching Ellie slightly off guard.

She had only blinked at you for a moment before glancing down at her shoes, which led her to notice your own. "Oh, hey. I like yours too," Ellie had responded.

You didn't normally just start conversations like that, but Ellie wouldn't have known any better at the time.

Hushed conversations at your shared table in the back of the science classroom turned into seeking each other out in the cafeteria, which turned into begging for sleepovers on the weekend.

You learned a lot about the girl that had moved from Boston to Jackson, and she had learned a lot about you, too.

The two of you were quickly inseparable.

You would scrounge up whatever coins you could find, hauling them to the arcade at the nearest mall. Ellie had begged Joel for a bike for Christmas, purely so she could ride around town with you. You would press bandaids on each other's knees, scraped up from whenever you laughed entirely too hard and closed your eyes while steering, or from Ellie trying to knock you off of your bike as a joke, causing her to internally panic when she had actually succeeded.

The entirety of your friendship was captured in photo strips and homemade birthday cards. The first time you had ever used the photo booth at the arcade, all of the photos came out looking nearly identical because you couldn't stop grinning to make any other expression or pose. For the final photo, you had managed to throw up a peace sign, prompting Ellie to stick up her middle finger at the camera.

Luckily, the photo had been snapped before you gasped, your eyes widening at Ellie. It wasn't a big deal in the slightest, but your parents were... Strict. Your sleepovers typically happened at Ellie and Joel's.

You had whined at Ellie, complaining that there was no way that you could hang up the photos in your room now. Ellie tore the bottom photo off in response, keeping the middle finger picture for herself and leaving you with the rest. You had both hung them up in your rooms.

Joel was essentially another parent to you. He adored you, evident in the way in which he had called you sweetheart, prompting a bewildered expression from Ellie and a delayed moment of her howling with laughter. But really, he adored the way in which Ellie had so quickly found a friend after the move, and how her face always lit up whenever she talked about you. He didn't even mind that she seemed to spend more time on her phone, always knowing that it was you that she was texting.

Despite how comfortable you always found it to be at Ellie and Joel's house, there wasn't the exact level of comfortability at your own. There were just a few things that your parents didn't know about Ellie. But that was okay. Anything to keep up the sleepovers, to keep up your parents allowing Ellie to join you on weekend trips and vacations.

When Ellie's birthday had rolled around in the spring, the pressure was on. It's not like you had much money to even spend at that age, but in the span of a few months, Ellie had quickly become the most important person in your life. You wanted to do something nice for her, even if your realistic capabilities didn't exactly match your personal standards.

The gift ended up being a small pack of space pins, new ones to add to her collection. A few of them were designed to look like different planets, while one of them looked like a little rocket. In addition to the pins, you had made Ellie a birthday card, the colored construction paper being filled with sappy paragraphs of friendship, memories, and promises.

Years later, Ellie obviously no longer used the same bag from freshman year of high school. She still had the pins, though, and they were attached to the bag that she used for school now.

Jesse's voice gained your attention, and Ellie ignored the twinge of disappointment that she felt when your smile was pulled away from her, and instead directed towards the stranger that Jesse was now introducing the both of you to.

Ellie attempted to listen, focusing her attention on the stranger, Connor. She had heard Jesse briefly mention him before in passing, but it never seemed like they were actually friends. They had met the previous year, and shared a class together now. That was the extent of Ellie's knowledge.

"Hey," Ellie mumbled with a slight nod, admittedly more focused on the way in which you were fidgeting with the strap of your bag that was over your shoulder.

"Are you good?" Dina questioned, raising her eyebrows in amusement as she watched you at Ellie's side.

You nodded, just barely getting to respond before suddenly Connor was addressing you.

"Where are you coming from?" Connor asked, focusing his eyes on you.

"What?" You were a little caught off guard, not grasping the meaning of his question.

"Where are you coming from?"

"Oh. Um, my apartment?" You blinked at him, before realizing his curiosity must've been piqued by your bag. "Oh. No, I just like... Need to study," you responded, your words fumbled and awkward.

"Dedicated to your classes, I respect that," Connor responded, his smile growing slightly.

Ellie resisted the urge to scoff. Dedicated to your classes? Yeah, maybe. Knowing that you'd have a stomach ache due to anxiety all night if you didn't at least attempt to study? That was more likely.

You mumbled something in response, a forced laugh exiting your lips as Jesse and Dina genuinely laughed. They knew you well enough, anyway. They knew your effort was practically a futile one.

When you looked at Ellie, she made a face that indicated that she wanted to roll her eyes, but was holding back. It almost made you laugh, too.

The light conversations continued as the five of you made your way into the auditorium once the doors had finally opened. The room was actually pretty full, and Ellie couldn't help but wonder how many people were actually interested in the event, and how many had shown up because they shared a major with Dina and were also offered extra credit.

"I've heard this speaker before, actually. He's really good. Even if the content matter isn't the most... Interesting, he makes it engaging, at least," Connor said as you had walked through the rows of seats.

When Connor talked, it felt as though he was performing instead of participating in the conversation. It was almost unsettling, how his expression never faltered. Or maybe he was fine. Maybe Ellie was just tired and being judgmental.

Jesse and Dina had agreed to sit in the back, so that’s where you all had gone.

“When? Did you listen to him speak before, I mean?”

Ellie’s head nearly snapped in your direction as you posed your question, her eyebrows drawing together. She didn’t really know why she was surprised that you were participating in the conversation, but she was.

“It’s a yearly thing, right?” Jesse answers on behalf of Connor, glancing at him to confirm the answer. Connor nodded, and then you did, too.

“Is it the same thing every time?” Your voice sounds again, another question as you had glanced between Jesse and Connor.

“A… Sort of variation of it, I guess? But I swear, you won’t hate it. If you can spare a few seconds throughout your studying,” Connor joked, his eyebrow twitching upwards as he met your gaze.

The corners of your lips faintly twitched before you tilted your head to look at Ellie, making instant eye contact. The action, however small, soothed whatever weird thoughts had started floating around Ellie’s head within the last two minutes.

"Even if it's the most boring hour of my life, it's worth the damn extra credit," Dina concluded, causing a snort of laughter from Jesse.

"That's my intellectual," Jesse teased, earning a laugh from you and a groan from Ellie. Dina lightly shoved at his arm, but let him lace his fingers with her own anyway.

The interaction managed to hold Ellie's attention for a moment, until she felt you move away from her side.

The group of five had been standing in the aisle, lingering by a group of seats. You had moved to sit down though, evidently more seriously concerned with glancing over your textbook than Ellie had actually assumed. Ellie was going to turn back to Dina and Jesse and make some smart remark, until she noticed Connor moving to sit down, too.

Ellie's eyebrows practically furrowed as her eyes followed Connor's movements. It looked like he was intending on sitting down next to you, which didn't make sense. Why would he sit next to someone he had just met, like, five minutes ago? Jesse was right there, why wouldn't Connor wait to sit next to him? Or go find his own damn seat, somewhere else?

Ellie watched for a split second, tuning out the rest of Jesse and Dina's banter. No, yeah. Connor was definitely trying to sit next to you. Which didn't make sense. Right? Who does that?

"What are you studying for, anyway?" Connor was casually moving towards your seat, looking over you curiously.

"Uh, I was supposed to have an exam at the end of last week but the professor ended up being sick so... Now I have it tomorrow and I'm totally- Oh, sorry. It's for my-"

Ellie's feet are carrying her, rushed and fumbling as she moves through the aisle. She nearly tripped over the seats, passing Connor and immediately settling into the seat next to you. You cut off your own words as Ellie sat next to you, a smile replacing your previous expression.

"You got it," Ellie assured you softly, pretending Connor wasn't still looking at you.

"Yeah, right. You know I'm shit at exams. I always have been," you complained, chewing anxiously at your bottom lip. People were still filing into the auditorium, the seats filling up surprisingly quickly.

"Yeah, you have been," Ellie agreed, grinning when your jaw dropped at her. "But. You haven't managed to fail anything, either. Yet."

"Ellie," you groaned softly, exasperated and amused all at once. Ellie could tell.

"Bad test taker?" Connor muses, and Ellie's expression faltered. Jesus.

"Anxious test taker," you correct lightly.

Connor sat down then, in the seat next to Ellie. She almost feels as though she briefly goes rigid, and nearly wanted to whirl around to Jesse and tell him to get his friend. She also wants to tell you that you don't have to keep answering his questions, based on the way in which you're twisting your fingers in your lap and your gaze is flicking around.

"Understandable," Connor replied, and Ellie sat back in her chair. Understandable. What time was this thing supposed to start, anyway?

Jesse and Dina sat down then, with Jesse next to Connor and Dina at the end. The seating arrangement felt weird. It was uncomfortable, and Ellie began to fidget with her fingers in her lap. It was normally always just the four of them, but now there was some Connor separating them. Ellie tried to catch Dina or maybe Jesse's eyes, but they weren't looking, too caught up in their own conversation.

"What do you study?" Connor was talking past Ellie, directing his words at you.

Ellie took a small breath while you answered, mentally scolding herself for being so fucking weird. This was not a big deal. It was really, literally fine. Ellie was just tired, that's why she was feeling off. She was just tired. And the fact that a conversation was taking place over her wasn't helping.

"What do you study?" Ellie's gaze flickered in your direction as you spoke, before fixing back upon her Converse.

"B-"

You quickly cut Connor off, an assumptious expression appearing on your features. "Business?"

Ellie could tell even by your tone that you were trying not to roll your eyes.

Connor laughed, shaking his head. He leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at you, past Ellie. "Biology, actually."

"Oh. Huh. That's cool."

You looked surprised. Pleasantly surprised, maybe, if Ellie was willing to admit it to herself.

You stayed quiet though, because the auditorium lights started to dim, prompting the talking throughout the room to grow hushed.

Showing up had been a favor for Dina, so Ellie didn't feel too guilty about allowing her thoughts to wander. She tried, though, to focus on the lecture, because she didn't exactly like the direction in which her thoughts were wandering in.

Ellie focused partly on the speaker, and partly on the way in which you were sharing the armrest of the auditorium chair with her, your bare arm pressed against the sleeve of her hoodie. It was cold in the room, like Ellie had predicated, but your sweatshirt remained in your lap, under your textbook.

The contact was small and casual, nothing out of the ordinary. Still, Ellie's gaze flickered between the stage and your arm next to hers. Even from the brief contact, Ellie wondered if her hoodie would smell like your perfume later. Usually, her clothes always did.

You were seemingly focused on the speaker, though your textbook remained open on your lap. Occasionally you would glance down for a few moments, your fingers tracing over the paragraphs before you would look up once more. Ellie wasn't watching you, necessarily, but she could see you from out of the corner of her eye. Besides, she knew your habits.

It was about twenty minutes before Connor shifted in his seat, causing Ellie to stiffen. He leaned in close to Ellie's seat, but she knew instantly that it was so he could get closer to you.

"Do you have a pen? Or a pencil, or something?" Connor's voice was low and quiet, and Ellie attempted to stare straight ahead at the stage, as though he wasn't bordering a little too closely into her personal space.

You hesitated for only a second before leaning over to rummage through your bag, wordlessly passing a mechanical pencil around Ellie, handing it to Connor. Ellie spares a glance at you, noting the obvious confusion in your expression. Connor's arm is carefully reaching over then, grasping the corner of your textbook and pulling it off of your lap and towards himself.

Your eyebrows raised and your lips parted, almost as though you're going to mumble words in protest. You faltered at the sight of Connor scribbling something on one of the pages, any potential words failing you.

Jesse and Dina were completely oblivious. Ellie forced her gaze away, swallowing harshly.

When your textbook was returned to your lap, yourself and Ellie both looked down at the new markings on the page. Ellie's eyebrows slowly drew together at the sight of it.

A phone number. Connor had written his phone number.

It was bold. Stupidly annoying, and overbearing, Ellie thought. She felt a little too warm, suddenly, and maybe it wasn't as cold in the auditorium as she had originally thought. She briefly contemplated shedding her hoodie, but she didn't want to draw any attention to herself by moving around.

Ellie watched as you stared down at the written phone number. The exhale you released was shaky, and Ellie felt freakish for noticing the detail.

She couldn't tell, however, if you were flattered or annoyed. You always did tend to get weird whenever a guy showed any sort of interest in you. Refused to talk about it, like you were embarrassed or something. Rarely ever followed up on it, too.

You were always like that. It made Ellie paranoid. Paranoid that the feelings she had been harboring for longer than she would like to admit were obvious, paranoid that one of these days, you were going to give her some pathetic speech in an attempt to let her down easy.

Still, Ellie couldn't help the way in which her gaze drifted to Connor. Her eyes flickered over his features as she bit the inside of her cheek. You had dated before, sure. But the relationships were always few and far between, and they never really lasted long.

Ellie just figured you were avoidant. Or picky. Maybe both.

Was he the type of guy you would even be into?

Ellie swore under her breath, her eyes dragging back to focus upon the stage, upon the not really sure whatever the hell this guy was going on about but they had all shown up to support Dina's effort for extra credit lecture.

The hour felt slow with Connor in the seat next to Ellie, his phone number now etched onto the page of your textbook. Ellie wanted to erase it. Instead, she anchored her thoughts on the feeling of your arms pressed together.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　

The sky was fully dark by the time that the event had ended, and Ellie walked you back to your apartment. She didn't need to, but she always did. She was a good friend like that.

Your face felt a little warm, the knowledge of Connor's phone number on the page causing your textbook to feel more weighted in your bag.

As September progressed, it continued to grow colder at night. The wind pushed leaves across the sidewalk, the sound comforting during the day but bordering on eerie once it was night. You were wearing your sweatshirt now.

"You gonna text him?" Ellie asked, nearly wincing as the words left her lips. They sounded so awkward. Despite all of your years of friendship, the two of you had never seemed to quite get a grip on talking about relationships, or girls or boys or whatever. It always felt a little unnatural, which didn't necessarily suit your dynamic.

"Who? Connor?"

"Yeah. Connor."

"Why would I text him?" You held the door open for Ellie, the two of you stepping into your apartment building. It wasn't even very late, but it was quiet. Your steps seemed to echo throughout the hallway.

"Because he gave you his phone number?" Ellie snorted, rolling her eyes as she jabbed the button for the elevator.

"I don't know why he did that," you mumbled.

You really didn't know why he would do that. Well, you could assume. But it still didn't make sense. It made you feel a little gross, for some reason, even though he had been perfectly polite. And the fact that it made you feel gross, made you feel guilty in turn.

"Besides. I'm like... Too busy. With class, and work. And... Hanging out with you," you added, stepping into the elevator after Ellie.

"You are so full of it," Ellie grinned, rolling her eyes.

"Shut up. It's our last year, we need to soak it in before it's over. Like, make memories and stuff."

"Last ye- Jesus. You're already thinking about that?"

"It's almost over," you pointed out, shooting Ellie a sideways glance.

"It's September. Holy shit. You're already worried about that?"

"Ellie-"

"I know," Ellie relented instantly, evidently wanting to be spared the sentimental, nostalgic spiel for the night. Besides, she did somewhat have a point. Maybe you were jumping the gun, a little. You couldn't exactly help it, though. You were sentimental to your core, rooted and grown with nostalgia for as long as you could remember.

"But you have plenty of memories with me. You do realize that, right?"

It was your turn to roll your eyes now, and you purposely bumped into Ellie as you exited from the elevator, stepping onto your floor.

"Whatever. I don't care. I don't want to text him, alright? I just... don't." You felt a little sick to your stomach, and you couldn't figure out if it was because you were trying to justify it to Ellie or to yourself.

"But wh-"

"If you're so concerned about it, why don't you text him?" You interrupted, essentially joking in response but your tone had come out just a little too defensive.

"Ha. Yeah right," Ellie mumbled, slowing to a stop as you reached your door.

"I'm glad I went tonight," You said then, attempting to change the subject.

You catch Ellie's quick expression, and you can only assume that she's instantly wondering if you will text Connor after all. "I love getting to hang out with you," you clarified, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. "And Dina. And Jesse."

Ellie shook her head, just barely managing to conceal her grin. "God, you're a sap. You're no better than you were when you were fifteen, you know that?"

"Don't care. Look, are you gonna stay?"

"Stay? I don't have anything with me. Plus, I thought you were supposed to be studying tonight."

You pretended not to be disappointed, but you were. Honestly, you were a sap. Especially when it came to Ellie. You couldn't help how much you loved being around her. When you were younger, your parents warned you about dedicating all of your time to only just one friend, but it had only continued to prove to be worth it. You were completely enamored with Ellie.

You told yourself it was platonic. You always told yourself it was platonic.

Only your journal knew otherwise.

"Fine. Go, since you can't wait to get away from me." Your words were dry but you grinned at Ellie, fumbling with your key to unlock the door.

"Yeah yeah, whatever." Ellie stepped away once your door was unlocked, retrieving her own keys from her pocket. "Good luck tomorrow, though. Lunch after?"

"Yeah, definitely," you breathed out, grateful to have something to look forward to following your exam. "Text me when you get back safe. Love you," you called after Ellie once she was halfway down the hallway.

Ellie gave you a brief thumbs up in response.

Upon entering your apartment, you flipped on your lights and kicked off your shoes, carefully tucking them next to the door. After slinging the strap of your bag over a chair, you were already reaching into your pocket for your phone.

you

so you're really not staying

ellie <3

???

ellie <3

if I leave my car here overnight again I'll get another ticket

you

just wanted to hang out

ellie <3

clingy

you

i know you are

you

i can see you in the parking lot 😁

ellie <3

🤨

ellie <3

On my way! back up

ellie <3

fuck

ellie <3

On my way!

ellie <3

omw jfc pack a bag

you

<<33 gimme 5 min

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　

[ tags : ]

@mmmil3na @elliescoolerwife @fortune777 @boobdrug @spamfromali @seraphicsentences @muthafuckingstargirl @bready101

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou x reader #ellie tlou x female reader #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #ellie williams college au

482 notes · View notes

torchickentacos · 3 months ago

Note

you- you bought a fetal hog from barnes and noble?????

Okay SO! Long post ahead. Storytime. A little set-up for this saga: first off, this story centers around bio 102 lab class. Second, my college has a little on-campus supplies store which just so happens to be run by Barnes and Noble. It's basically a B&N but with overpriced college-color lanyards and shitty coffee and stuff too. and pigs. SO.

Imagine. It's the beginning of my semester a semester or two ago (it all runs together, idfk). This all began in late August and ends at the dissection in October, if I recall. Now, I've taken a lab class before, I know how it works, but I've never done a dissection. I've worked with live animals in an educational setting through vetsci classes back in a high school accreditation program/courses, but I've never had to work with preserved animals, so I didn't know the ~standard procedure~ of how you would prep/find materials for a dissection. I saw 'dissections' on the syllabus and assumed they'd just provide the dissectee to you. You know. Because that's the most rational assumption. You'd think that's how that would work, that they'd just put it on the table in front of you.

...Then I read further down the syllabus and saw that students were expected to buy their own fetal pigs (out of pocket, might I add. Like, our little trio at the lab table pooled our poor college kid money until we had 80 bucks, but I'm getting ahead of myself). It was very specifically specified on the materials list, alongside buying a lab coat and a book and lab guides etc, that we would be buying a fetal pig.

So naturally I was like 'well, that doesn't sound right, but what do I know'. Reread it more closely to make sure, and yep, it's asking me to buy a pig fetus. Not covered by my class fees. What the fuck.

Out of equal parts confusion and curiousity, I then asked tumblr, like "Hey, um, is it normal for your lab to ask you to buy your own fetal pig???" Here were the responses on that.

So that was a fairly unanimous 'no', lol.

At this point, I was like, 'okay, I probably just give them the fee and they take it out of the freezer on the day of the dissection. Right?' No. Wrong. I spent a couple weeks trying to figure out how to source my own pig fetus before our professor FINALLY told us a few classes in, about a month before the dissection, that we would need to go walk over to the school bookstore and buy it there, at BARNES AND NOBLE, all the way across campus, and bring it to lab the week before the dissection so that she can put them in the freezer and have them ready for us.

So I ended up doing just that. Several weeks later, I woke up at like seven in the morning- THIS WAS A MORNING CLASS TOO which by the way, any new college students, don't do that to yourself- anyways I woke up early, got ready, got to campus, and walked into the Barnes and Noble to the cashier lady and was like "Hi. Um. I'm sorry but do you have any fetal pigs?" and thankfully she knew exactly what I was talking about lmfao, and she went and got me one and I paid with the pooled money. And I walked back across campus. With my little vacuum-sealed pig fetus in tow (which, by the way, bigger and heavier than I was expecting it to be. I was expecting maybe a squirrel sized thing but it was roughly the weight of a small pumpkin and, like, hand-to-elbow long, but I have short arms).

And, you know, I've gotten into some situations in my life (the recent accidental acquisition of a ton of sauce comes to mind) but I really think that walking across campus with a bagged pig at like eight in the fucking morning has to be in the top five experiences I've ever had. It's really high up there. Brisk autumn wind biting through my jacket, the leaves are barely hanging on, the sky was the kind of bright blue that contrasts with the auburns and umbers of the dying greenery, just an absolutely gorgeous fall morning and I'm experiencing it with a dead pig in a plastic bag as I walk down the sidewalk.

It was pretty interesting to dissect, though. My lab table named her Peppa (we also had a goldfish named Darcy, who, thankfully, got to be alive and unharmed for his experiments).

#tay's tag

183 notes · View notes

glowettee · 4 months ago

Note

I need help asap! So it’s exam season we all know and I keep on asking my teachers for a list of what I need for the test like a list to go home and study and they said no like what is their problem and I have no idea what to do😭please help Mindy not to sound desperate but your like my idol so you would know what to do right 😭

✧˖° my guide to studying when your teacher won’t give you a study guide

hi honey, i love you sooo much <3 thank you for your sweet wordsss, i'm alwaysss, alwaysss here for you, feel free to message me personally or give me more asks in my tumblr inbox! i'll even help with specific subjects.

okay, angel. first of all, i hear you. the frustration is real. teachers saying "just study everything :)" like we don’t have other classes, responsibilities, and, i don’t know, lives?? but listen. this is not a dead end. this is just an opportunity to prove that you can outsmart the system and study better than they ever expected. you’re not desperate, you’re strategic. and i have a plan for you.

step 1: reverse-engineer the test ✧˖°

if they won’t tell you, we’ll figure it out ourselves. here’s how:

➼ look at past tests & quizzes: what kind of questions do they ask? multiple choice? short answer? do they repeat topics? most teachers have a pattern. find it. ➼ scan your syllabus: even if it’s vague, the syllabus outlines what the class prioritizes. highlight major units or chapters. ➼ revisit homework & classwork: if they spent three days drilling a topic, assume it’s important. if a concept was barely mentioned, it’s probably not a focus. ➼ check online study guides: sometimes other students post study guides for similar classes online. search your course name + study guide. you might get lucky.

step 2: ask strategic questions ✧˖°

okay, so they won’t give you a study guide. but what if they accidentally reveal what’s on the test through very calculated questions?

instead of "what’s on the test?", try: ➼ "Would you say Unit 3 is as important as Unit 4?" (forces them to compare importance) ➼ "Should I focus more on definitions or application-based questions?" (gives insight into question type) ➼ "Would it be smart to review [insert topic] in detail?" (watch their reaction, they might hint at its relevance) ➼ "Is there anything I should specifically know how to apply?" (if they hesitate, it’s probably a big exam topic)

play it cool. teachers love acting like they’re withholding top-secret info, but they also love hearing themselves talk. guide the conversation and let them give things away.

step 3: crowdsource the study guide ✧˖°

if your teacher won’t make one, you will!! but you won’t do it alone.

➼ group chat strategy: text your smartest classmates and propose making a study doc together. ➼ class notes audit: everyone checks their notes for key topics they remember being emphasized. ➼ compare tests from other classes: if another teacher teaches the same course, their students might have hints.

you’re basically forming an underground academic intelligence network. the government should honestly hire you.

step 4: predict the questions ✧˖°

teachers aren’t as unpredictable as they think. most reuse question styles from past years. so let’s outthink them.

➼ scan the textbook’s review questions – many teachers pull questions straight from these. ➼ turn subheadings into questions – if a textbook section is called “Causes of the French Revolution,” turn it into: “What were the causes of the French Revolution?”➼ spot repeated terms – if a word/concept appears in your notes/textbook over and over, bet money it’s on the test.

step 5: prioritize the 80/20 rule ✧˖°

80% of the test will come from 20% of the material. instead of trying to memorize everything, (i'm guilty of this) target the most testable topics.

➼ concepts that connect to multiple lessons = high priority ➼ big themes or formulas your teacher emphasized = high priority ➼ random minor details with no context = low priority

this is how you actutallyyyy study smarter, not harder.

step 6: try active recall ✧˖°

highlighting? rereading? sweetie, no. your brain needs active studying. i know you've probably heard this in every 'study' video, blog, article etc, etc.. however, this really works. even when i create my own study methods it all connects to active recall <3

➼ flashcards, but reverse: instead of term → definition, write the definition and force yourself to recall the term. ➼ blurting technique: grab a blank sheet and dump everything you remember. then check what you missed. ➼ teach it to an imaginary class: if you can explain it, you actually understand it.

these methods force your brain to retrieve info, which is the key to remembering it under stress.

step 7: adapt your study style to the test format ✧˖°

different tests require different study techniques.

➼ multiple choice: focus on eliminating wrong answers. make “why is this wrong?” your key question. ➼ short answer: practice summarizing concepts in 1-2 sentences! brevity matters. ➼ essay tests: prep key arguments and supporting facts in advance. don’t memorize full essays. memorize structured points.

step 8: last-minute study hacks ✧˖°

running out of time? try these:

➼ listen to a recording of key concepts before bed, your brain absorbs info in your sleep. ➼ write down the toughest concepts before the test. dumping info on a paper beforehand eases recall under pressure. ➼ do a “cheat sheet” exercise. write what you would bring as a cheat sheet (but don’t actually bring it). the act of writing it out solidifies memory.

🖇 mindy’s personal tips ✧˖°

✨ don’t panic. adapt. undetermined students say, “i can’t.” A+ students say, “how can i?” you are an A+ student.✨ treat it like a game. teachers want to gatekeep? fine. you’ll outsmart them instead. ✨ trust your brain. if you’ve prepped strategically, you will recall what you need. confidence is half the battle.

📝 homework: apply these NOW ✧˖°

i loveeee giving you all homework! i made a little checklist for you to start right now <3

☐ start a study guide (even if it’s just bullet points) ☐ test out the “strategic question” technique with your teacher ☐ identify three high-priority topics to focus on tonight ☐ practice active recall (explain a concept to yourself out loud) ☐ reply below or message me: what’s your biggest exam struggle?

final note: you are not helpless. you are not at the mercy of your teacher’s vague instructions. you are capable, smart, and strategic. you’ve got this. and i’ve got you. i know you will do well on your exams, just belive in yourself and all that matters is if you pass, you don't need a 100/100 on your exam to be an A+ student. just trust yourself <3

💌 now go ace that test! <3 ilyy

xoxo mindy

196 notes · View notes

milkoomi · 6 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹ ᰔ it-girl school tips ᝰ.ᐟ

a new semester is around the corner for a lot of us, and i’m seeing so many blog posts about study/school tips, and i thought i’d share a few of my own that i’ve began to implement into my own school routine that helped me succeed during the fall semester!

just to preface: i took 2, almost 3, gap years after my first year at a university. i realized i was so burnt out after high school and my mental health wasn’t where i needed it to be, so i took a very much needed break! i started back up in school earlier last year in the spring, and i am flourishing! i’ve reconnected with my love and passion for my education and i’ve eased myself back into a comfortable, but effective, routine that’s helped me succeed!

let’s begin !!

ᝰ.ᐟ find/create a good study environment

having a cozy, comfortable, and nice place to get your studying done will make your sessions so much more enjoyable! you’ll feel more motivated to get work done in a space that you feel good in! so whether it be your own space, your favorite café, or even your school’s library, having a good environment to focus on your schoolwork will increase your productivity and make you feel good about studying!

a darling mutual of mine created this post that has helpful tips on creating your desired study space - @glowettee ♡︎ i also highly recommend her page for other tips related to studying, personal growth, & just becoming that girl!

ᝰ.ᐟ make use of a planner

planners are essential in maintaining organization throughout the semester/school year! whether it’s a digital or physical planner, find one that’s appealing to you! find a planner that suits your aesthetic, or your desired aesthetic, and make good use of it. it’ll help you keep track of what days & times you have a certain class, important due dates, and planning out your homework schedule!

if you have a pretty plain planner, decorate it! use fun or aesthetically pleasing stickers and use fun colored pens & highlighters; just make it super personable to you!

ᝰ.ᐟ organize, organize, organize

make sure any and all paperwork for all of your courses are organized! i personally love using accordion folders because they have tabs that you can label for each class or each week of a class! having some kind of organization method will keep you and your schoolwork in check!

how to maintain organization:

as your semester progresses, it gets pretty easy to let your organization slip through the cracks and turn into a mess.

create an organized binder to store older papers from your courses! this will be useful when midterms or finals come around and you need to look back at old worksheets, handouts, etc. you can have a big binder that’s divided by different tabs dedicated to each class you’re taking or you can get different binders for each class and organize that way!

throw out anything that no longer serves you! amongst all the papers, notes, packets, there’s bound to be things that you will no longer need. toss them out, shred them, just get rid of them! the more papers you have stocked up in folders or binders, the less room you’ll have to keep track of the real important stuff

track each week of the semester! keep that syllabus handy so you can keep track of what’s going on for each week in your classes. when you reach the point of midterms, a long weekend, or even a break (like spring break) find some time to look at the past weeks & the weeks ahead and reorganize and just reset your organization of papers, notes, etc.

ᝰ.ᐟ create a checklist for your assignments

as your classes pile up, so will your homework, and it starts to get overwhelming when you start thinking about everything you have to complete for the week. creating a checklist for what needs to get done will allow you to prioritize the most important assignments, help you practice time management, and also feel satisfaction as you check off each assignment!

this helped me immensely throughout the semester. majority of my classes were 8 week courses, so everything was pretty fast paced and due dates came up a lot sooner than i thought. whenever i made a checklist for everything i needed to do, it eased a lot of my stress because i allowed myself to break down each class and the corresponding assignments & it made me realize that i didn’t have too much to do (or at least i tricked my brain into thinking that)

i made my checklist literally through my notes app on my phone, and it was so satisfying to add the little green checkmark emoji after each assignment!

ᝰ.ᐟ don’t be afraid to ask questions

any time i struggled in a class and i was too afraid/embarrassed to ask a question, i ended up doing poorly in that class and it made studying and completing assignments so much more challenging for me. so don’t be afraid to ask questions! your teachers/professors/instructors are there to help you! they’re there to answer any and all questions you might have! asking questions also just helps you understand the material better and get any clarification you might need!

the more questions you ask, the better informed you are, and the more likely you’ll succeed!

ᝰ.ᐟ use school supplies you love

having those aesthetically pleasing school supplies actually gave me so much more motivation to get work done! using stuff that you’re excited to use during your semester will make doing schoolwork & studying so much more enjoyable for you!

ᝰ.ᐟ set the mood for your study sessions

listen to a good study playlist, light a candle, set up some cozy lighting, grab your favorite drink, and just set a good, calming mood for yourself while you study! i love having lofi play softly in the background while i’m studying, and since i do most of my studying at home, i make the lighting in my room nice and dim and get my desk lamp set up. i’ll also have a cup of coffee, tea, or water near by that i can sip on!

ᝰ.ᐟ take breaks

burn-out is extremely real and you’ll quickly feel it when you spend majority of your time studying and giving yourself way less time to rest and relax.

for longer study sessions, take 20 min. breaks after each hour! i remember taking an english course when i first started college and one of the books we were required to read was one on studying tips! (i really wish i remembered what it was called, i unfortunately misplaced it) one of the things i remembered from that book was the 20 minute rule. this time slot allows you an ample amount of time to rest your mind and take a break! you can rest your eyes, scroll through your phone, stand up/stretch and grab a snack, or just step away from your study area for 20 minutes!

set a timer! let’s say you wanna work on homework for an hour & a half, set a timer and just do all the work that you can within that time. once your timer goes off, stop doing what you’re doing and set another timer with the same amount of time to go do something you enjoy or get yourself to relax!

i can’t stress this enough: please take breaks. your mental/emotional well-being should always be your top priority! you can’t do your best in school if you, yourself, are not doing the best.

𝜗𝜚 final notes 𝜗𝜚

being that girl in school is only possible when you put your best foot forward. stay on top of your self care, keep yourself organized, and come up with a routine! a good routine will get you great results!

i wish you all a great start of your upcoming semester and i know that every single one of you will flourish during it too!

live and love, babe.

sincerely, juno ⭑.ᐟ

#milkoomis #girlblogger #girlblogging #it girl #that girl #it girl tips #becoming that girl #studyblr #study motivation #school #school advice #study tips #study movitation #self improvement #study blog #student #student life #girl blog aesthetic

208 notes · View notes

phykios · 4 months ago

Text

Academic Dishonesty for Fun and Profit [read on ao3] 15k, rated G

Does Percy like his job?

Of course.

Well, mostly.

Kind of.

See, the thing is…

Percy is on his computer, which is half the problem.

There were a lot of things he could have been doing right now. Like grading, or finishing next semester’s syllabus, or responding to the avalanche of emails from anxiety-ridden freshmen and overbearing admins. Or grading. Gods, he has a lot of grading to do. Why hadn’t he listened to Paul when he said there was so much grading!

But to be fair, he is, technically, actually working right now, proctoring his Latin 3 exam. Never mind that he can definitely hear the kids in the front row whispering the answers to each other. Absently, he notes that Jamie has made leaps and bounds since her first Latin class—she’s the one supplying the answers this time around, rather than Junie.

But to be frank, the Minotaur could parade through the exam room in his tighty-whities and Percy wouldn’t care. Or even notice. He’s too busy refreshing his email over and over again, tapping Riptide against the wooden table.

Fucking ADHD.

He can’t focus on anything else, except for the fact that the mid-April soft deadline has long since passed, and he still hasn’t heard anything. Which could mean nothing. These things take time. Or it could mean he was rejected. Which would suck, of course, but it would also make things a lot simpler in terms of his immediate future. But there’s been no change to his application status since last December. So here he is. Not paying attention to the final. Refreshing his email.

Quickly flipping over to the Mythomagic subreddit, he refreshes that page, too. Nothing new.

He refreshes his email again. No news.

“Professor?”

Only years of battle training keeps him from jumping out of his seat. “Mm?”

Sierra, one of his straight-As, is standing before him, brandishing her exam. “I’m finished,” she announces, proudly.

He can see that. What, does she want a medal? “Great,” he says, “you can leave it on my desk and head out.”

“Actually, could I ask you a question?”

“...Sure.” He set down his pen, cautiously. “What’s up?”

She beams. “I was just wondering when you were going to post our last weekly quiz grades.”

Internally, he groans. “I'm working on it—promise.”

“Totally!” she chirps, “but have you gotten to mine yet? I was just wondering how—”

“I’m sure you did fine,” Percy interrupts, gently. Behind her, another student drops off his paper, and, blessedly, leaves without comment. “I’ll try and get the last of the quiz grades up in the next few days. Sounds good?”

Sierra nods, clearly disappointed. “Sure thing.”

But she doesn’t leave.

Percy rolls his tongue behind his teeth, counts to ten. “Was there anything else?”

“Yeah, so, a couple weeks ago, you mentioned the possibility of some extra credit? I’ve been reading Cicero, and I thought that maybe I could…”

But what Sierra was imagining she might do with Cicero, Percy will never know. Because, looking out of the corner of his eye, he sees that his email has just refreshed. And the subject reads “Application Update.”

His heart starts racing.

“...And so I have about three pages of an essay already written comparing him and Catullus and contemporary views on homo—”

Percy lifts a finger, and she falls silent, her jaw closing with an audible clack. “Sorry,” he says, tongue numb in his mouth. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I just… gotta read this real quick.”

Fingers trembling, he moves his mouse, the cursor hovering shakily over the unread email. The email preview isn’t very long, a simple, “Thank you for your application to the…” which tells him literally nothing. He has to open it. All he has to do is press down, and open the email.

But his thumb won’t respond. The email remains unbolded, unread.

Just click already, he internally chides his thumb.

His thumb does not click.

Oh, for the love of—“Sierra?”

“Yeah?”

“I will give you one point of extra credit right now if you open this email for me.”

She blinks. “Seriously?”

“Two if you read it out to me.”

“Okay!”

Percy scoots out of the way, pressing his eyes into the palms of his hands. He might actually be sick.

He barely has a chance to hope that he didn’t leave anything embarrassing open on his computer, before her soft voice quotes, “Thank you for your application for the Campbell Fellowship for Bronze Age Research at the American Society of Underwater Archaeology. Attached is a letter about the status of your application.”

His heart is beating so loud, he’s surprised she can’t hear it. “Is that it?”

“Well, there’s also the letter.”

With his face covered, she can’t see him roll his eyes. “Can you read the letter as well, please?” Undergrads. Di immortales.

There’s a beat where Percy thinks he might actually explode, and then, her voice barely audible over the blood racing in his ears, he hears her read: “We are pleased to inform you that—”

“Wait.”

Pleased?

He stands. “I got in?”

“Uh—”

Perhaps a tad rudely, he yanks the computer out of her hands, bringing it up to his face. For once in his life, his dyslexia doesn’t act up, entirely cooperative as he reads for himself, in neat, tidy, Times New Roman: We are pleased to inform you that the ASUA has awarded you the Campbell Fellowship for Bronze Age Research for the upcoming academic year.

He gapes.

“Professor?” Sierra asks, shyly.

He’s in.

He’s in!

“I got it!” He shouts. Every head in the exam room shoots up, staring at him.

“You got it?” echoes Sierra.

Brandishing his computer, he can only gesture to the screen, excitement bubbling up in him like a Coke about to explode. “I got the fellowship!”

Fifteen pairs of eyes blink at him, uncomprehendingly.

“Uh, I’ll be right back.” Inelegantly, he plops his computer back down on the desk, snatching up his phone. “Give me—give me five minutes. Stay put.”

Bounding up the steps of the lecture hall, he already has the phone to his ear, dial tone ringing, and he barely makes it out of the room before his wife picks up.

“Percy?”

Now, Percy’s wife is a legitimate genius. She has known him almost her entire life, and in that time, she’s become a master at picking up the little nuances of his voice, the change in tone indicating the little undercurrents of emotion, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. She also knows that he knows that calling her in the middle of the workday is generally not helpful, as she’s usually in a meeting or deep in the zone, and taking her out of it is bound to mess up her flow for the rest of the day.

But of course, Annabeth is a genius. She knows him inside and out. And she knows he wouldn’t call if it weren’t extremely important.

“Annabeth—”

She doesn’t even let him finish. “You got in?”

He grins. “I got in!”

Over the phone, she gasps. “He got in!” Through the tinny connection, he hears her office cheering.

And in the empty hallway, he jumps for joy, punching his fist in the air.

***

Because his wife is brilliant, Percy doesn’t even realize that their walking date ends at the Greek Embassy until the three of them turn the corner. It’s just one of her many talents, making sure that Percy gets to his appointment on time.

Percy wouldn’t exactly call it the perfect weather for a walking date. Gray clouds blanket the sky, enveloping the tips of skyscrapers in mist, and through the alleyways, the wind howls, whipping at their jackets, sending Percy’s messy hair into further disarray. Even Annabeth, who has recently taken to keeping her curls in a short bob with a rotating collection of headbands so that they don’t get in my gods-damned eyes so I can see what I’m working on, isn’t faring much better. Still, he’s out with his wife and daughter, enjoying a leisurely walk down the streets of New York, and it’s hard to be in a bad mood with that kind of positive energy around. “Alright,” he announces, slowing to a stop outside the consulate. “Here we are.”

Automatically, Annabeth looks up, appraising the exterior, and Percy merely grins, awaiting her judgment.

She frowns. “That’s the embassy?”

Percy nods. “Uh huh.”

“But it’s so… nothing.”

He shrugs, readjusting his backpack, gripping the strap before it slides off his shoulder onto the wet pavement. In his other hand is his eldest daughter’s, squeezing it tight as she twirls around, her sneakers making little whirlpools beneath her feet. “That’s what I thought.”

Now, technically, it is a Tuesday, and Junie should have been in Pre-K, wowing all her teachers and outperforming all the other kids by a mile. But, well… turns out the genes run a little bit deeper than just looks. The teacher had not been exactly sure how Junie had managed to flood the classroom via the little sink in the corner, but it seemed pretty clear that she had. She hadn’t been expelled, exactly, but it had been suggested she seek education and enrichment somewhere else. Honestly, Percy and Annabeth were a little charmed by it. Apples and trees and all of that. But they did worry that it heralded things to come.

“I mean, there’s nothing,” Annabeth says again, craning her neck upwards. “No decoration, no sculpture… There’s nothing there!”

“Nothing but pilasters.”

She gags.

“At least the one in Boston is next to the bar from Cheers.”

She blinks at him, uncomprehending, and Percy makes a note to himself.

“So how long do you think this will take?” she asks.

“Dunno.”

“Because if it’s not that long we can just wait out here for you.”

He shakes his head, kissing her on the cheek. “Don’t waste the rest of your lunch break on me.” Besides, his back itches in the way that means it’s probably going to rain soon. “I’ll pick up Lucie from my mom’s place, and I’ll have dinner ready by the time you get home.”

Percy is long-since immune to the domesticity of such a statement. Or at least he thought he was, because the way Annabeth grins at him, leaning forward to capture his lips in a stronger kiss, makes him want to do a little jig with Junie, right here on the sidewalk.

His daughter certainly seems to agree, if the way she spins faster is any indication.

Annabeth slides her own bag off her shoulder, and pulls out a bulky file folder, handing it to him. “One last check?”

“Hit me.”

“Award letter?”

“Check,” he says, thumbing through the pages.

“Proof of insurance?”

“Check.”

“Background check?”

“With fingerprints, and without allegations of underage terrorism.” That had been a fun and nerve-wracking experience, getting his fingerprints taken. He had been sweating bullets for a week, expecting his brief career in monument-related arson to have the FBI kicking his door down.

“Visa application?”

“Plus immunization forms, birth certificate with apostille, and two hundred dollars cash.”

“Passport?”

He blinks. “I thought you had it.”

Annabeth snaps her gaze to him, eyes blazing. “Are you serious?”

“Kidding!” Reaching into the folder, he pulls out his shiny new passport, flapping it in the air. “Kidding.”

She swats at him. “Seaweed brain…”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, kissing her again. “It’s all good, promise.”

“Don’t be an idiot in front of the ambassadors, or whoever it is you meet in there, okay? Save your dumbassery for something less high-stakes.”

Scoffing, he slips the passport back into the folder. “Excuse you, my dumbassery is only reserved for the lowest of low-stakes operations.”

“Just go and get your stupid visa.”

Percy crouches down. “See you soon, Honey Dew,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Go have fun with mommy!”

Junie’s only response is to kick water in his direction.

Yes, he stands and watches them leave, smothering a laugh, even as it begins to drizzle on him, until they turn the corner.

After checking in with the security guard at the door, he is directed to sit in the hallway, on a low, uncomfortable wooden bench. The floor is not marble, but it has the same kind of glossy shine to it, in a black and white checkered pattern that makes his eyes hurt. Tapping his foot, he casts his gaze around for something to focus on, and finds very little but blank walls, dim, yellow lights, and a fake marble statue in the corner of the winged, headless Nike (he knows that one on sight—Cabin 17 had made their own replica with an intact-head and placed it on their cabin roof after a series of Hermes-related pranks gone awry).

Directly across from him, mounted on the wall, is a large, nearly-square painting. From his vantage point on the bench, Percy can make out a brown landscape, a blue, cloudy sky, and… not much else. There are lines of white blobs, dots of red and green and blue, and it takes Percy an embarrassingly long time to realize that they are people. Okay, the blue blobs are cannons, and the white are soldiers, he presumes. The subject begins to take shape, clues falling into place before his eyes.

Percy is, after all, quite familiar with sieges.

He checks his watch. He made sure to arrive five minutes before his appointment, but it’s been fifteen minutes, and so far no one has come to collect him.

Returning his attention to the painting, for lack of anything else to do, he stands, leaving his folder on the bench, and walks over for a better look. He can see much more clearly this close, can much more easily make out the lines of attackers and defenders. The white-robed people, armed with curved swords, are defending some kind of castle on a hill, with walls and towers and… columns.

He frowns, tilting his head.

In the center, towards the top of the canvas, is undoubtedly a temple of some kind. He counts eleven columns, gleaming white, in a row, with a gaping hole in the middle, filled instead with a circular building with a terracotta roof. Beneath the temple, on the slope, are even more columns, and a wall unevenly dotted with arched openings.

There is something eerily familiar about the image that he just can’t quite place.

What the hell is it?

But he doesn’t have too much more time to dwell on it. “Mr. Jackson?”

An older woman with a shock of white hair strides towards him, her heels (her very tall heels, dang) clacking against the not-marble.

“Yes. Ms. Georgopoulou?”

She shakes his hand, firm despite her age. Her wrists have so many bangles, maybe it’s a covert kind of weight training. “Yes,” she nods. “Please, follow me.”

He takes a step to follow, before remembering that he left all his shit on the bench.

Swiping it from the bench, he turns, grinning sheepishly, only to see that she is already halfway down the hallway. Percy has to actually jog to catch up with her.

Several turns and one staircase later, Percy is in her office, seated on a leather chair that has seen better days, all but twiddling his thumbs while she painstakingly types in his application information. Which seems kind of a waste of time to him. On Paul’s recommendation, Percy had filled out his application on the computer, as he did not want to subject some poor admin worker to his terrible handwriting. If she’s just going to retype everything, why don’t they make the whole system digital?

Ms. Georgopoulou types slowly, precisely, her bracelets occasionally scraping against the ancient-looking keyboard. Every so often, she will gaze at him over the thick, brown rim of her glasses, appraisingly.

He stretches his mouth in a not-quite smile, feeling, once again, like a little kid who’s been sent to the principal’s office, waiting for the inevitable scolding or dressing down or disappointed sigh at his “antics.”

Squinting, she takes another look at his passport. “Ah!” Then she beams, years shedding from her face. “Perseus?”

He pauses. Only monsters call him by his first name.

Surreptitiously, he slips his hand into his pocket, fingering his pen, tensing his legs just in case he has to make a run for it. Wouldn’t be the first time an old lady turned into a demon, but boy does he wish it happened less often. It’s not even surprising at this point anymore. “Yes?”

But then, she does something maybe even scarier than spit venom at him.

She starts speaking at him in Greek.

He’s sure he looks like a dumbass, sitting there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Um,” he starts. “Uh, I don’t—I don’t speak Greek.”

Which is true. He technically speaks ancient Greek because of magic genetic fuckery. But modern Greek? It’s about as foreign to him as Korean. Except he’s actually picked up some Korean just from the restaurant down the block from his mom’s first apartment. So really, it’s about as foreign to him as, like, Martian would be, or something.

Ms. Georgopoulou hmms at him, a wordless judgement, and goes back to her typing.

It feels like an eternity before she talks to him again. “You have somewhere to say?”

Percy nods, grateful for English. “I’ll be living in, uh, Piraeus.” Though he imagines he’ll mostly be living on his boat, or whatever island he ends up closest to for however long it takes to re-survey whatever part of the ocean he’ll be in.

More typing. She flips through Percy’s sheaf of papers, frowning. “Where is your proof of insurance?”

For a heartbeat, he panics.

Oh gods, did he forget the insurance?

He snatches them out of her hands, his own trembling as he thumbs through them. There’s no way he forgot the insurance. He and Annabeth double-checked, triple-checked—

“Here we go!” Percy brandishes the lucky paper, relief so intense it almost makes him dizzy. “Got my insurance right here.”

Thankfully for his nerves, the meeting wraps up fairly quickly after that. Percy hands over the cash for the visa fee (no card, no check, cash only, because of course), and is summarily shown the door, letting him know that he will be notified about the status of his visa application in no less than fifteen days.

More waiting. Joy.

Still, Ms. Georgopoulou is nice enough to lead him back out of the labyrinth of the consulate, rather than let him embarrass himself further by getting lost. Walking once again through the hallway with the painting and the checkered floor, he spies that same painting out of the corner of his vision, the one with the siege and the temple and all the little blobby figures—and it hits him, all at once.

“Oh!” he exclaims, stopping dead in his tracks. “It’s the Acropolis!” Because what else would it be?

Ms. Georgopoulou eyes him, oddly. “It is,” she agrees, with a tone that she probably uses on her grandkids. Her dumb grandkids. “See?”

She gestures to the label, and Percy has to squint to read the tiny letters.

The Siege of the Acropolis, reads the caption, once he manages to make the letters fall into place. Painting by Panagiotis Zografos, under the guidance of Yannis Makriyannis.

So he’s off to a great start.

***

Frederick Chase takes them all out for dinner the evening his visa arrives—by which he means all of them, including his mom, Paul, Estelle, and Junie and Lucie. They get a big corner booth in the back of a fancy, Japanese-Spanish fusion restaurant that one of Percy’s grad student colleagues had recommended, for which Percy is infinitely grateful, as Frederick had suggested a Greek restaurant at first, before Annabeth commented that Percy would soon be eating his weight in Greek food, and would probably prefer something else for the time being.

Some concern had been expressed about the littles one finding something to eat, but Estelle had taken to the chicken katsu with aplomb, and Junie had eaten enough of the tempura green beans that Percy wasn’t too sure there’d be room for dessert.

She sits in Percy’s lap now, painting water trails with her straw on the wood of the table, while his mom holds Lucie so Annabeth can run to the bathroom. Frederick, on his third glass of wine and more animated than Percy can ever remember seeing him, is regaling them all with stories from his own research trips, a handful of which had taken him to the Mediterranean.

“Let’s see,” he begins, counting off his fingers. “I’ve been to… Sardinia, Malta, Samos, Samothrace, Lemnos—oh, Lemnos!” The wine in his glass almost sloshes over the rim, and Paul has to move out of the way of his elbow. “Lemnos was wonderful. Such a lovely, remote island with all these incredible volcanic formations, and did you know that ANZAC used the island as a staging ground for the Gallipoli campaign?”

“Oh, really?” Asks his mom, genuinely interested.

“That’s what I was there for—I wanted to see whether the Axis had used the geography in the same, or set up their bases and commands in roughly the same places, as part of a broader investigation into how the Axis built off leftover infrastructure outside of Germany. In any case, I had a letter from the Ministry of Culture, I had all my permits, I even had the Deputy Ambassador notify the local Air Force base when I would be arriving.” He pauses to take a sip of wine. “All I needed was one historical map from the 1910s—just one—but the local commander would not let me look at it!”

Paul gasps, a little theatrical. The wine must be hitting him, too. “No!”

“Oh, yes. The man would not budge. Kept citing national security concerns. I told him, in not so many words mind you, but I told him that I had come all this way to see this darn map, and that the Greco-Turkish war had been over for almost a hundred years at that point, and not only was there no reason to keep the contents of the map classified, but satellite technology made the whole thing moot anyway, so what was the harm in letting me take a look?”

Chuckling, Percy spears the last of his potatoes, popping it into his mouth. He’s heard this story before, heard all about how Frederick managed to convince the stodgy Greek Air Force commander to let him study the map by promising him a citation in his article.

“So,” he goes on, “I am arguing with this man for what feels like hours, until finally he’s called away for something or other, and that’s when I realize.” Frederick leans in, a savage glint in his eye that Percy instantly recognizes as Annabeth’s war games face. “I don’t know what they were doing with it, I don’t know why it was there, but there, on his desk, was the map—and there, in the corner, was a copier.”

“Wait,” says Sally. Percy takes a drink of water. “Did you—”

“Make an illegal copy of a classified map from 1917 and smuggle it back to Virginia? Of course.”

Percy spittakes so hard it nearly comes out on his daughter’s head. Estelle thumps his back while he coughs, spots appearing in his eyes.

“Alright there, Percy?”

“Yeah,” he wheezes, “I just never heard that version before.”

Frederick blinks, cocking his head. He looks so much like his daughter it’s actually scary. “You haven’t?”

“You told me you managed to convince him by promising to put him in your article!”

“I did?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.” He flushes slightly, sheepishly dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Well, I, ah, must have given you the, um, undergrad version.” At Sally and Paul’s concerned look, he rushes to assure them, “Don’t worry, it was declassified the next year!”

Looking plenty worried, his mom shifts her concern from Frederick to Lucie, a grin creasing across her face. “Aw, sweetheart,” she coos, “looks like someone needs a change.”

Suppressing the last few coughs, Percy shifts Junie to Frederick, who is more than happy to take his granddaughter from him. “I got it,” he says, standing. “If the waiter comes back, make sure to order me some matcha brownies, yeah?”

Luckily, they’re already in the back, so it doesn’t take too long for Percy, kiddo and new diaper in hand, to make his way to the bathroom, and summarily run into Annabeth, who is just coming out of the women’s room, flicking her hands clean of water. “Oh!” She laughs, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Come here often?”

She grins, then shifts her attention away. Not that Percy is upset by that. “Hi sweetie,” she coos, wiggling her fingers. Lucie laughs, and Percy falls in love all over again. “Everything okay?”

“Just time for a diaper change.”

Annabeth steps aside, with a grand sweep of her arm. “Be my guest.”

The bathroom does not have stalls, and Percy breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not his fault that men’s rooms don’t generally have changing tables, and it’s nice not to get weird looks while taking care of his daughter. Or when Annabeth comes up behind him, and wraps her arms around him, hugging his torso, face buried in his shoulder blades. Like she is right now.

“I love you,” she mumbles into his back.

“I love you, too.” He cleans and changes Lucie with all the speed and grace of someone who’s done this a million times, and as he looks at his daughter’s face, feels the warmth of his wife pressed up against his back, the muffled noise of the restaurant and all of New York city in the distance, the sounds of the city as familiar as a lullaby, he is struck with an almost painful pang of longing. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Annabeth tightens her arms around him. “It’s only for a few weeks. We’ll be there before you know it.”

“I can’t remember the last time we’ve been apart for so long.”

“Apart from being kidnapped by a rogue goddess?”

“Yeah, exactly. I can’t remember it.”

She snorts.

Picking up his clean kid, he bounces her in his arms, and is rewarded with a giggle. She’s just about old enough to transition out of diapers. She’s growing up so fast. “It just feels so real, now,” he says, quietly. “The visa, the plane ticket… I’m really going.”

“You are.” She comes around to his side, her hand never leaving his arm. “You’re going to go to Greece for twelve months, dazzle the crap out of the other archaeologists with your million shipwreck discoveries, and not have to deal with any grading or any undergrads the whole time. And we’ll be right there with you, the whole time.”

“Almost the whole time.”

“Almost,” she conceded.

“I just—I don’t want to waste this opportunity. I’m not…”

“What? Not smart enough?”

He shrugs.

In response, she rolls her eyes, then gently cuffs him upside the head. “Ow!”

“Percy,” she says, dead serious. “Do you know how many people apply for things like this?”

“I dunno… a few?”

“Try at least thirty per cycle. These are really prestigious grants. People apply from all over the world, in all stages of their careers. And you, seaweed brain,” she pokes him with her finger. “Beat out the competition.”

He feels the grin stretch across his face, slowly. “I did, didn’t I?”

“We did.” She kisses him. “Half of that proposal is mine.”

“The better half.”

“Of course.”

“Your name should be on this visa.”

“And it would be, if I could breathe underwater.”

“I can’t wait for you all to join me,” he says, eyes going misty.

Annabeth kisses him again. “We’ll be right behind you.”

They’re in the bathroom so long, dessert has already come and gone, but his mom manages to snag a matcha brownie for him before Paul gobbles them all up. Frederick leads them all in one last toast, to Percy’s great academic finds or whatever, but the true highlight of the night is when Annabeth nudges Junie, who, with a gasp of almost-forgetfulness, pulls out the little thing he’d seen her working at for the last few weeks, proudly presenting it to him.

“I made this for you, daddy,” Junie announces to the table. “I hope you like it!”

In her hands is a friendship bracelet, patterned with the Greek wave in blue and light green. Some of the waves are uneven, the crests a bit clunky, but in the center, Junie had woven an evil eye symbol in white.

“I love it,” he croaks. “Thank you so much.”

“Mommy helped with the mati, but I picked the colors.” She points at the band. “Blue is for the ocean. The green is for honey dew!”

He cannot stand it—he hugs his daughter, and doesn’t stop himself from crying.

***

Percy, who in the last seventy-two hours, has suffered air travel, jetlag, a mattress as soft as a concrete slab, the Athenian metro system, and one really, really steep hill, now faces his final challenge of the day. Swallowing his fear, he runs a hand through his sweaty hair, and steps up to the front desk of the library.

"Ah, signomi," he stammers, the word strange and unfamiliar in his mouth. The syllables are pretty close to ancient Greek, but the way they fit together is just… weird. "I have an appointment with, um, Aristides?"

The older lady at the front desk peers up at him over the rim of her glasses, her wrinkled hands resting on the pages of a yellowed book. With her red-dyed hair, large frames (are those Chanel?), enormous jewelry, and heavy eyeshadow, she reminds Percy of every school librarian he's ever had.

She leans in, hand to her ear, one eyebrow cocked. "Eh?"

"Aristides?" he repeats, a little louder. It echoes throughout the main hall of the library, and he does his best not to wince.

"Ah, Aristides!" She perks up, babbling at him in Greek. "Edaxi," she says, "one moment, please," before rising from her seat, and floating across the hall, where she disappears behind a large, wooden door.

Unsure if he should sit at one of the tables, Percy elects to stand, hands gripping the strap of his backpack, tapping his heel against the floor. An older patron in the corner of the room, his table piled high with books almost tall enough to wall him off from the world, glares at him.

It's a beautiful little library. The attached museum had been a beautiful little thing, too, and if it weren’t the middle of the night on the east coast, he would have called her up himself, and shown her around via video.

He channels her now as he looks around, observing. The outside had been all neoclassical, almost beating you over the head with it, with perfect, fluted ionic columns, tapering gently at the top. Inside, beautiful, grand, wooden bookshelves surround the room, their contents locked behind glass. Some of them he can read instantly, of course—the library has a hefty collection of ancient Greek literature after all—but the rest swims in front of his eyes, scratchy gold lettering blurring together with blue and red leather. Wandering over to something that won't make his head hurt, he stops in front of a glass display of a book, open to a delicately printed page of text.

It’s in Greek—ancient Greek, thank the gods—and to his delight, it’s the first few lines of the Iliad. Instantly, his shoulders unwind, and he relaxes enough to lean down and take a closer look, quietly mouthing the familiar words to himself. Percy doesn’t even bother with the label, instead tracing his eyes over the floral linework in the header illustration. He sees ram heads, fish, and pumpkins in the little cornucopia, and some kind of gorgon mask in the big, illuminated “Mu” that begins the poem. His master’s thesis had been a new translation of the Aeneid, but during that process he had come to appreciate the art of old, fancy editions of epic poems. It was kind of cool to see a physical, non-magical link to his past. He might be living proof of the Olympian gods, but plenty of mortals had dedicated their lives to carrying that legacy forward on faith and passion alone. And now Percy will carry it forward, too, without using his sword this time. It’s pretty cool, if you think about it.

A quiet voice behind him breaks the spell. "Mr. Jackson?"

Percy turns, and is greeted by a well-dressed man, probably in his early 40s. He looks as Greek as Greek can be, with a great beak of a nose and thick, wavy, salt and pepper hair. “Percy,” he insists, reaching out to shake his hand. “Thanks so much for meeting with me, Mr. Yiannopoulos.”

“Please,” he returns, in a perfect American accent. “Call me Ari. Come on, let’s talk in my office.”

His office is huge, definitely bigger than Percy’s apartment back home, and covered wall-to-wall with books, in so many languages that it makes his head spin. As Percy closes the door behind them, Ari sheds his suit jacket, tossing it over a spare chair squashed between two teetering piles of books. He gets the sense that this guy and Frederick would get along famously.

“You get settled in alright, Praetor? No problems with the apartment?”

Percy sets down his backpack on the 70s-era linoleum floor. The things he’s picked up from Annabeth still astound him. “Yeah, it’s fine. But getting here was a journey, let me tell you.”

“I’d bet,” says Ari, evenly.

“That hill is killer.”

“They’re building a new metro station in the neighborhood, but it won’t open for another few years probably.”

“How do you stand it?”

Ari shrugs, sitting down behind his desk. “Practice, mostly. But I live on campus here.”

“Heh, must be nice.” Percy sits in the chair opposite him, zipping open his backpack and rummaging around for his documents folder… until something occurs to him, and he suddenly shoots his head up. “Did you just call me ‘Praetor’?”

“Took you long enough.”

He blinks. “You’re a Roman?”

“Yep.” Ari rolls up his sleeve, revealing the familiar, stark harp symbol, with twelve lines beneath it, signifying twelve years of service. “Third generation legacy.”

Something in his brain might be broken. Or maybe it's jetlag. “You’re a Roman… but you work for the Greek government?”

Ari raises his brow right back. “And you’re a Greek, but you teach Latin.”

That does not at all clear anything up for him. “Did you know who I was when I applied?”

He shakes his head. “I only learned you were coming after the review committee circulated the applicants. I saw your name, and I had to basically beg my supervisor to let me be your liaison.”

“Okay… Why?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Percy doesn’t think he looks particularly glad. “Because, Praetor, you,” Ari glares at him, as sharp and pointed as the finger he’s thrusting into Percy’s face, “have a bad habit of attracting attention.”

Percy frowns. “Wait… Is this about the Gateway Arch? That was, like, fifteen years ago—”

“The Arch, Mount St Helens, the sinkhole in Rome,” he counts off his fingers. “Do you even know how much paperwork I had to do when you and your friends collapsed the Necromanteion in Epirus? Oh, and then you all decided that the best course of action would be to march on Athens and stage a battle on the Acropolis!” Ari slams his hand down on his wooden desk. “The Acropolis is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the entire world! We had to close the site for days! My bosses were about to have me crucified!”

Percy would scoff, but Ari is a Roman. He knows exactly what he’s talking about vis-a-vis crucifixion. “Well,” Percy counters, “my bosses were going to have me—and also you—obliterated if I hadn’t gone there.”

Ari glares again, a wolf stare so perfectly intimidating it could only have been taught by Lupa. It probably works on the skittish undergrads and beleaguered government employees he has to deal with on a daily basis. But Percy has also trained at Lupa’s knee. He’s faced the Titan king and the goddess of Earth. He has stared down Athena while hiding underneath a pastry cart—and has seen the exact same look on his two year old when she doesn’t want to be put down for a nap.

Sensing, perhaps, that he is outmatched, Ari blinks first. “Fine,” he grinds out, “but I’m giving you an assistant.”

“What? I don’t need—”

“Oh, yes you do. A grant this big comes with serious scrutiny, which will fall on my shoulders if you decide to trash another priceless heritage site.” He turns to his computer, quickly typing something out. “I’m sending you his resume right now. You are not to leave him behind or waste his time with useless data entry.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, he knows his way around a boat.”

Percy gapes, his whole day suddenly upended. In all his time preparing for the fellowship, he had not expected that he’d have a permanent hanger-on. Especially one he knows nothing about! “You can’t just saddle me with some mortal assistant and call it a day!”

Ari levels him with another look. “Don’t be stupid—I’m sending you a legionnaire.”

“A kid?”

“Yep.” Ari finishes typing with a final clack that brokers no argument, before swivelling back to face him. “You can pick him up from the port when you head out Thursday morning. He’ll be waiting for you at Terminal B.” From a desk drawer, he pulls out a folder, sliding it across to Percy. “I’ve booked you two tickets for an overnight ferry to Crete. You’ll have one day to settle in Heraklion before you start your first survey. Any questions?”

Flabbergasted beyond speech, Percy can only take the folder.

“Great.” He stands up, and goes over to open the door to his office. “I’ll be checking in with you next week. Have a safe trip, Praetor.”

***

“How’s the kid?” Annabeth asks.

Percy groans, dropping his head back.

Over the Iris Message, Annabeth snorts. “That bad?”

“No,” Percy admits. “He’s actually been really helpful.”

“Then what is it?”

In truth, there isn’t a lot to complain about Arthur Taylor. A son of the Roman god Portunes, Arthur had spent the better part of his childhood sailing around the world with his mortal dad, before they settled in San Francisco when he was fourteen. After two years in New Rome High School, he had tested out of most of the classes, and was given permission by the Senate to take his senior year off for a long term Legion assignment—which, apparently, just so happened to be babysitting Percy.

Still, he’s a good kid. He’s an excellent sailor, knows how to operate the very expensive diving equipment that Percy had to rent for appearances’ sake, and, to be quite honest, keeps Percy from going insane by giving him someone to talk to.

There is just one slight problem.

“He keeps calling me ‘Mr. Jackson’!”

Annabeth, the heartless woman that she is, just laughs at him.

“I’m serious!” He whines. “It’s weird!”

“You know that I’m Mrs. Jackson, right?” She flashes the ring at him for good measure, like he’d ever forget one of the best days of his life. “What’s so bad about that?”

“It makes me feel so old.”

“I’m older than you.”

“And you’re aging beautifully.”

“Ha ha,” she deadpans. Then she yawns.

Percy frowns. “It’s not that late over there.” It’s only 8 AM here, and Annabeth seriously lives up to the night owl stereotype.

“No, but I haven’t really been sleeping well for a few days,” she admits. “Taking care of all three of us is hard work.”

A pang goes through him, cutting through the gentle morning sun filtering through the window. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Sally’s pitched in a few times, and my dad has started sending me those fancy microwave meals.” She shrugs a shoulder, her t-shirt sliding down and showing some skin. Percy tries not to stare like a teenager. “We’ve been getting by just fine.”

“I know.” And he does. Annabeth wouldn’t let a little something like her inability to cook stop her from being the best mom ever. “I just miss you guys so much.”

Smiling softly, she leans forward, and he copies the movement. “We’ll be there next week,” she reminds him, “which means we’ll see you in just three weeks.”

“What if I just cut my survey short and met you in Athens?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time. Besides, yesterday you told me you were onto something?”

Was it only yesterday? Gods, Percy’s sense of time is shredded out here. They’ve only been surveying for a little over two weeks, but it simultaneously feels like forever and no time at all. The only way Percy can really mark the passage of time is by his twice daily IMs back home. “Maybe,” he hedges. “I talked to some sharks the other day, and they said I should try and find this nymph who’s lived in this part of the bay since the twelfth century.”

“Any luck yet?”

“Not yet, but they said she liked to scare the tourists sailing back and forth from Chrysi.”

“Is that daddy?” Junie waddles into view, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“Baby, you’re up so late!” Annabeth hoists their oldest into her lap, so she can get a better view. “What’s the matter?”

“Hafta go potty,” she mumbles. “Heard talking. Hi, daddy.”

“Hi, Honey Dew,” he says, almost tearing up. He misses his family so fucking much. “Are you being good for mommy?”

She nods, her eyes still droopy. “Miss you.”

“I miss you, too, kiddo. But I’ll get to see you in just a few weeks! And then we’ll have our big boat adventure!”

Smiling, she snuggles into Annabeth, burying her face in her t-shirt. “Adventure,” she repeats, dreamily.

“Come on, let’s go potty so you can go back to bed.” Annabeth took their daughter’s hand, waving at Percy from thousands of miles away. “Bye, daddy! Have fun on your survey!”

“Good night, baby!”

“Night night,” his daughter says, clumsily flopping her arm.

“Night, Percy,” says Annabeth. “Talk to you in the morning.”

“Sleep well.”

Annabeth blows him a kiss through the IM, and he catches it, rubbing it on his cheek, before swiping a hand through the image of her sticking her tongue out at him.

Good timing—from above, he hears Arthur ring the horn to signal they’ve arrived. Percy emerges from below onto the deck, shading his eyes against the bright morning sun. “Morning, Captain!” Arthur calls from the wheel. “We’re coming up on site 23B.”

“Excellent.” That’s the other great thing about Arthur. Aside from all of his other skills, he is also a whiz at deciphering their legacy data. “How’s the weather looking?”

“Another perfect day.”

They are currently cruising off the southern coast of Crete, cruising easily over the most perfect, bluest ocean Percy has ever seen in his life, beneath a bright, clear sky. It’s hard for the weather to not be perfect here.

“Alright,” Percy says, “if that’s the case, do you think you can head back to Ierapetra and pick up some more supplies?” Their little galley kitchen may be powerful, but it’s still pretty small, and they need to restock every few days.

“Sure thing,” says Arthur. “Any requests?”

“Just clear out their entire stock of peach juice for me.” It may not be blue, but it is delicious.

Arthur opens his mouth, as if to say something else, but then closes it, ducking his head, embarrassed.

“What is it?”

“Um,” Arthur hedges, hands gripping the wheel, “would it be okay if I took some time to go check something out in town?”

Percy frowns. “Sure. Is everything okay?” They haven’t been accosted by monsters yet, but he figures it’s only a matter of time. “Do you need backup?”

“What? Oh,” Arthur flushes. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to sight-see a bit.”

“Sight-see?”

He nods. “There’s this house—supposedly, in 1798, Napoleon docked in town, incognito, for a single night, before he headed on to Egypt for the Mediterranean campaign.”

The kid’s been all over the world, has docked in every continent except Antarctica, but he’s practically bouncing to go check out some random house that maybe has a connection to the Napoleonic wars. Grinning, Percy makes a note to introduce Arthur to Dr. Chase at some point. “Sure,” he says. “Have fun.”

Arthur beams. “Thank you, Mr. Jackson!” And he looks so excited, Percy can’t even bring himself to be annoyed with the whole “Mr. Jackson” thing.

And if Percy decides to give the boat a little push after he dives in so that Arthur can get to shore faster… Well, there are multiple benefits to this decision. Arthur gets to shore faster, and Percy gets to have some time to himself.

Hey, just because having the kid around keeps him from going crazy doesn’t mean he doesn’t need some Percy-time.

Percy lets himself sink further down, enveloped by the warm, crystal clear blue water. Eyes closed, he tilts his head up towards the surface, breathing out a stream of bubbles, his t-shirt gently wafting in the calm undercurrents. A school of something swims past him, tickling his arms and face like a soft breeze.

Yeah. This is the life.

For a few solid hours, he just lets himself be moved around by the will of the ocean. He moves in something approaching a circle, simply drifting around the island of Chrysi. Dappled sunlight drapes like lace over the rocky seafloor and patches of seagrass, while parades of colorful fish stop in their tracks to look for a second at the weird obstacle in their migration path, before continuing on around him. Eventually, the current takes him by the waist and draws him further from shore, into the deepening dark of the sea. Beneath him, he can sense the slowly sharpening descent of the ocean floor, stretching further and further, past the hunting grounds of squids and octopus until, he knows, some hundreds of meters further south, the ground suddenly gives way to a steep, sudden cliff. And what lies beyond, no one knows.

Which is crazy to Percy. He’s seen the surveys, read the topographical maps, and even asked his dad, but despite the seventy or so years of dedicated surveying and the literal thousands of years of nautical travel and trade, there are still, somehow, unknowns in the Mediterranean. There are creatures down here even his father doesn’t know. There is magic here older than the gods themselves.

And there is also a nereid staring at Percy from behind a tall rock.

He yelps, tripping on himself. Yes, tripping underwater. It happens, and it’s just as silly as tripping on land. “Ahem. Hello?”

The nereid pokes her head out further. She’s pretty in the way that all nereids are pretty, by virtue of being an immortal in a pantheon full of pretty people, but there’s something distinctly different about her. Her skin is pale, her hair somehow sticking to her face, like she had just emerged from underwater… despite still being underwater.

Percy chances a swim closer. She doesn’t immediately run away, but she still seems pretty shaken up by the appearance of a sudden stranger. “Hey. Uh, I’m Percy. What’s your name?”

Her eyes widen, and she squeaks, blushing blue to the roots of her glossy, black hair. “My lord!” She bows, nearly tumbling into a full front flip, her long, skinny tail flipping against the rock with a thump so loud, Percy can feel the vibrations.

Oh good. She knows who he is. “Hi.”

“Hello! Good morning! Um, afternoon? My lord!”

The water ripples out from around her, shaking so hard she’s starting to cause her own localized whirlpool. “Percy is fine. Please.”

The nereid nods, sharply. “Lord Percy!”

Well, that’s about as far as he’s going to get.

She stares at him, starry-eyed, but still nervous. Also, she doesn’t look like she’s about to make off with him and drag him to her undersea lair, so that’s a plus. “So… what’s your name?”

“Eunice, Lord Percy!”

“Great—wait. Eunice?”

“Yes!”

Eunice. Huh. Well, he’s heard weirder. “Eunice. You live around here?”

She nods, her hair whipping in the current.

“I’m looking for—”

“For shipwrecks! Yes! Your father told us!”

“Right.” Oh he’s well aware. He’s had random nereids accosting him all summer to tell him about the incredibly fascinating sunken lobster fishing boats off the coast of Maine they had found, and how about they go check them out together, just the two of them? “Well, actually, I was talking to Kostas the other day—”

“The squid?”

“The shark.”

She nods. “I know him well! We are good friends!”

That had not been Kostas’ version of events. “He said you might know something about a bronze age wreck around here?” Specificity is important, he’s learned. There are so many shipwrecks around Crete, mostly from the last forty years, and specificity means he’s not wasting time chasing Cold War-era fishing vessels.

In lieu of an answer, instead she turns and bolts into the deep, almost smacking Percy in the face with her tail.

He stares after her.

Then, just as quickly as she left, she swims back, beckoning with one webbed hand. “Please, Lord Percy! Follow me!” And then she shoots off once more.

O… kay.

With only some trepidation, he swims after her.

She’s fast, and the further they go, the more she blends into the environment, but the sea puts his senses into overdrive. He can easily follow her bubble trail, weaving in and out of spiky rock formations, inching ever closer to—where else—the edge of that underwater cliff. Because of course. “Hey, Eunice,” he calls out. “Where are we going?”

“We seek the edge of the Minoan Crown, my lord!” She sends back. Which means absolutely nothing to him.

But it’s not like he can get lost, so, onwards and upwards. Or downwards, as the case may be.

The water grows colder, blacker, heavier. Pressure curls around his ankles and wrists like weights, but Eunice is not stopping, so Percy swims through the water as thick and heavy as molasses. He can still breathe down here, but something about the water is just… different. Awkward. Like it almost doesn’t fit in his lungs. More disconcertingly, he feels like he can barely see, the darkness is so impenetrable.

“Nearly there!” Eunice calls cheerfully. Percy wipes his brow, suddenly sweaty.

“Nearly there” turns out to be something of an overestimation, but eventually, she makes a right turn, and comes to a hard stop, Percy nearly barreling into her.

“Here, prince,” she says, approaching a dark shape in the dark(er) water. “Look.”

This deep, in this thick, complete darkness, he’s essentially blind. Still, he can sense that they are in an underwater cave, some five thousand or so meters beneath the surface. He has an impression of spiky stalagmites and packed sand. Cautious, he swims closer. His eyes essentially useless, he closes them, reaching out with his feelings instead.

The water here is still, unnaturally so. There is no life, no movement, aside from the gentle wave of Eunice’s hair. A cold hand brushes against his arm, and his eyes snap open as he jerks away in shock—not at the touch, but at the fact that he can suddenly see.

Eunice is softly glowing. Her skin, already so pale, is translucent, enough that he can see her bones, but now he can also see the bioluminescent spines protruding from her forearms, casting the cave in an eerie, almost ultraviolet light. “Be at ease,” she says, her voice lower, suddenly confident. “I shall be your light.”

It’s not great. He’d rather have a flashlight. But it’s more than enough to see the smooth, wooden curve of the keel which rises up out of the packed sand of the cave floor, about six inches from his face. He places a hand on a plank, running his palm over the whorls and grain of a piece of wood which had somehow, miraculously, survived all this time.

“Whoa,” he breathes, a stream of bubbles escaping his mouth. How has the wood not completely disintegrated by now?

“You must take care, my lord.” Eunice waves a hand, redirecting the current. “This cave has never known the anemoi, and a hero’s breath is a dangerous thing.”

He frowns, and then it clicks. “This cave is anoxic,” he says. “There’s no oxygen down here.” And no oxygen means no wood-eating organisms. No wonder the keel is so intact.

She tilts her head at the unfamiliar word, frowning delicately, a personality change equal parts eerie and sudden.

“Nevermind.”

With his portable nereid spotlight in tow, he swims around the exposed body of the ship, his astonishment growing with every look. Not only is the keel intact, but so is the deck, as is the single exposed mast, rising up into the black water, a thick length of rope—rope!—attached to the top. Turning and swimming down, he examines the spot where the ship emerges from its sediment casing. If the wood and the rope had survived this long, what else might there be? A sail? Some paint? What if the ship’s cargo survived, too?

“Eunice,” he says, remembering to pull his face away. “How long has this thing been down here?”

She shrugs. “I cannot say for certain, for I had not yet come into being when this vessel came to rest in this cave, its passengers long since drowned.”

The question is out of his mouth before he has time to register that it might be a little bit rude. “How old are you?”

But she doesn’t seem to mind. Eunice smiles, her mouth full of long, sharp teeth, glinting in the light of her spines, and Percy shivers. He vastly prefers the awkward, nervous Eunice from earlier. “I am old enough to have guided the Argo safely through the clashing rocks, to have been challenged by Cassiopeia, and to have mourned the swift-footed son of Thetis, pouring honey and ambrosia over the silver casket of the greatest of warriors.”

So, about as old as the Trojan War, then.

Which means this ship is even older.

He places his hand on the wood, and closes his eyes again, focusing, a trick he’s picked up from Leo.

Machines have stories, and so do ships. How they’re made, how they work, how they’re broken. Percy just has to be willing to listen.

“It’s not a cargo ship,” he says, mostly to himself. “It was a warship.” He can hear it, the furious beat of drums, the rhythmic grunt of oarsmen, the sharpening of blades and the readying of bows. The wood, hewn from a cedar tree, is warm beneath his touch, even here in the freezing cold dark. “And it was sailing north.”

“North?”

“It was… running away from something.” Limping away from battle. The captain had cut his losses, and had ordered his men to retreat. “There was a storm.” No doubt his father and uncle had been fighting again, this sad little warship caught in the middle of an explosive family dispute they had no part in. Percy hears the crashing of thunder, the howling wind, the mighty crack of a mast as it splits apart. “And then it sank.”

An all-too common occurrence. But where did it come from?

Percy frowns, stretching his senses further.

He sees round shields and horned helmets, and people exhausted by constant war. There is the spicy, floral red lotus, and the earthy, woody papyrus. A mighty river floods in an endless cycle, giving life in a barren desert. And in him is a spirit that covets this bounty, a feeling of envy so hot and sudden, it almost knocks Percy off his feet.

He has to—he has to write all this down. If this is what he thinks this is, then this could be the find of a generation. Maybe several generations. Frantically patting his pockets, he pulls out Riptide, converting it to normal pen mode, before he stops, and smacks his forehead, groaning.

Di immortales, he left his notebook with Arthur on the ship!

***

“Absolutely not!”

“Ari—”

“No!”

“Ari, this could be huge.”

“You’re talking about causing an earthquake!”

“A small one!”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“How else am I supposed to get it out of the cave?”

“Arthur, tell me you think this is a bad idea.”

“Um…”

“Iuppiter dique te omnes perdant, Percy, you’ve gone and corrupted him.”

“Look, it’s not Minoan or Mycenaean, it’s not Egyptian—it’s unlike any other ship I’ve ever seen before. The cave is anoxic, so the wood is so well-preserved, and Eunice says that it’s been there since before she was, so we’re talking 12th century, at minimum.”

“CE?”

“BCE.”

“...And it’s not Mycenaean?”

“Mr. Jackson thinks it could belong to the Sea Peoples!”

“Arthur—!”

“Sorry!”

“...The Sea Peoples. Really?”

“I mean… yeah. I think so.”

“...Let me make some calls.”

***

Calls are made. And Percy waits.

Luckily, he has a really, really nice way to pass the time.

Annabeth, naked as the day she was born, lounges on the cabin bed, stretching her arms over her head, before she flops over onto her back, limp and boneless. Percy, drinks in hand and equally naked, has to force himself to set the bottle down on the little table, rather than drop the damn thing and jump her all over again. “Water or wine?” he asks, shamelessly leering.

She shamelessly leers back. “Water, then wine,” she responds, already reaching for a glass. “I need to rehydrate.”

Originally, the plan had been for Percy to go back to Athens to meet his family after they arrived. However, given the potentially paradigm-changing archaeological treasure stuck in the Hellenic Trench, Ari and Percy had both decided it would probably be best for Percy to stay put, and have his family come to him, rather than the other way around. Which is fine by him. They can explore Athens as a family any time, but the perfect weather off the coast of Crete will only last for so long.

The tourists have begun to dissipate as the summer season gives way to a warm fall, so Percy, Annabeth, and the girls have the beaches and seas more or less to the locals and themselves. Junie is utterly enchanted by the Flying Dolphin, and has decided that her new favorite game is hiding in the various nooks and crannies aboard ship, then popping out to surprise him, giving her daddy a heart attack in the process. Lucie takes a little more time to adjust, laid low by a minor ear infection, made worse by the rocking of the boat. The only way to calm her, they quickly learn, is for Percy to hold her while they go for a dive, suspended in a little air bubble, her little eyes wide as she takes it all in.

Percy, Annabeth, and their family spend their days diving, fishing, making friends with the elderly women who come out every morning at sunrise for their daily swim, relaxing on the beach, and eating their way through the multiple gelato shops which line the promenade. Aside from a few hiccups, having this time with his family has been an absolute, perfect paradise.

Percy is pretty sure he and Annabeth are guaranteed a spot in Elysium. Whenever they end up there, he hopes it’s exactly like this.

Especially this part.

After about a week and a half, Frederick, sensing that Percy and Annabeth were in desperate need of a little alone time, had graciously volunteered to take Arthur and the girls inland on a tour of Minoan ruins. Percy had essentially been put on shore leave while Ari did his bureaucratic, six degrees of New Rome separation thing to make sure Percy’s plan isn’t completely idiotic, and maybe even viable, and Frederick was already chomping at the bit to see some old rocks which had once been palaces, so it didn’t take much effort to convince Arthur to go along with them.

So, with the kids away and work on hold for the time being, Percy and Annabeth are engaging in some truly excellent sex.

Like, a whole lot of it.

Dehydration is a very real possibility for both of them.

“Tell me you have more of that cheese,” she says, after downing a glass and a half of water.

“We finished off the graviera this morning. I’ll tell Arthur to pick up some more on his way back.”

She pouts. “You mean to tell me that I’ll be cheeseless for two more days?”

“Unless you want to get dressed and go get some yourself.”

“Honestly, I’m considering it.” She lifts one leg, grasping her knee and pulling it closer, stretching out a cramp—and giving Percy one hell of a view. “I’m going to need some snacks if you’re going to keep making me come like that.”

He grins. It had been explosive. “Hit your limit already?”

“Not even close.” Percy settles onto the bed next to her, wine glass in hand, and she lifts herself to kiss him, slipping the glass out of his grasp. “But seriously, we should probably eat. I think we were fucking all through lunch.”

“You hungry?”

“Give me like half an hour. You’re not?”

Percy frowns. He… really isn’t. “I’m fine.”

Annabeth hums, thoughtful. “How much do you eat out here?”

“The normal amount, I think.” Usually, he’ll have some yogurt and granola for breakfast, some cheese and salted fish for lunch, and whatever fresh fruit and cheese they had on hand for dinner. There’s an abundance of fresh fish, too, and catching some for a quick grill is comically easy out here. Arthur is largely in charge of grocery shopping, and he certainly doesn’t complain about the food, but he also seemingly has an endless supply of oregano flavored chips. Hopefully Percy isn’t accidentally starving him.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” With her free hand, she trails a finger up his chest, her nail ghosting over browned skin and white scar tissue, leaving a pleasantly tingly feeling in its wake. “Ocean life seems to agree with you.”

“It certainly beats grading.”

“Mmhmm.” Her fingers move further north, from his shoulder to his neck to the back of his head. “Your hair is getting long.”

On reflex, he runs a hand through it, pushing it back from his face. “I can cut it.”

“Don’t.” She tangles her fingers in it, tugging, and smirks at his quiet gasp. “I like it.”

Thoughts of lunch are pushed to the wayside in favor of… other pursuits.

It’s only much later, as the rim of the sun just barely kisses the horizon, that Annabeth puts her foot down. “We have to eat something.”

“I can just catch us some fish,” he protests.

But Annabeth shakes her head, pulling on her underwear. “I haven’t been on solid ground for forty-eight hours. I want to walk around the old town, eat my weight in stuffed peppers, and then get another twelve of those giant sfakianopita, so that the next time we have a two day sex binge, I’ll have something more substantial to snack on instead of just cheese and nuts.”

“You can snack on my nuts,” he mutters, and is rewarded by Annabeth throwing his shirt at his head.

Still, solid ground is a solid idea. As much as he enjoys living aboard the Flying Dolphin, she is one small ship. Ierapetra isn’t exactly the big city, but compared to his cramped quarters, it might as well be as bustling as Manhattan. To his chagrin, Percy hasn’t actually spent much time in town, rarely venturing further inland than the corner shop on the boardwalk.

Annabeth laughs as he points it out. “Only you, seaweed brain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your first instinct is to go for the bodega.” She laughs again, bright and bubbly, her curls bouncing in the evening breeze. “Guess you really can’t take the city out of the boy.”

Hand in hand, they wander the streets, Annabeth pointing out every architectural feature that tickles her fancy. She had used the flight to blast through an audiobook about Ottoman architecture, and she takes great delight in putting her newfound knowledge to the test. Almost as much delight as Percy takes in listening to her.

“So why is this one square?” he asks, as they are admiring the remains of a mosque with its tower broken off. “I thought mosques were supposed to be rounder.”

“It depends. Lots of mosques have unique layouts because of geographical limitations. This one is interesting, though. Look at the walls—see how they’re sticking out?”

Percy nods.

“And the tiled roof. This mosque is missing the qubba.”

“The what?”

“The dome.” She needs both hands to explain, and Percy tries not to pout at the loss. “Representing the vault of heaven. It’s not a requirement, but it’s still unusual for a mosque not to have at least one dome.”

“You know,” he says, “I have noticed that all the churches here have domes.”

Annabeth smiles, proudly. “They’re definitely related. Most dome architecture can be traced back to the 6th century, and the construction of the Hagia Sophia.”

“There weren’t domes before?”

“There definitely were,” she says. “Remember the Pantheon in Rome?”

“I was a little busy fighting some nymphs that day.”

“It’s basically a giant circle imposed on top of a big square. It’s the world’s biggest dome made of unreinforced concrete. But that means it’s also very heavy, and it needs a lot of internal support, which shrinks the available internal space. The Hagia Sophia, on the other hand, is so amazing because the architects basically invented an entirely new way to construct and support the dome. Instead of putting a sphere on a cube, the Hagia Sophia has pendentives in the corners to help bear the weight of the dome. They also reduced the weight of the dome by cutting windows into the bottom, which lets in a ton of natural light, and supposedly it makes it look like the dome is floating.” She sighs, happily. “I’d love to see it one day.”

Percy is already mentally composing his vacation request. “I’m sure I can get Ari to get us some time off after we officially discover the paradigm-shifting archaeological marvel.”

Annabeth takes his hand again, almost glowing. “I’d really like that.”

With renewed energy, they finish their ramble, settling down at the first restaurant they see once they emerge from the maze of streets back onto the beach. True to her wishes, Annabeth manages to eat her weight in stuffed peppers, while Percy devours almost an entire grilled octopus, using his fries to mop up every last morsel. They share a couple bottles of wine, and endless plates of fried cheese, as the sky turns from purple to blue, the twinkling lights of the cruise ships off the port like stars.

Percy has his arm around her waist as they walk back to the boat. He’s a little tipsy, and Annabeth is very sturdy. Still, he manages not to trip as they slow their roll, coming to a halt in front of the very annoyed looking young woman who waits for them at the dock, tapping her foot next to a giant package.

She doesn’t look like a local. Percy’s spent enough time with the frequent fishers that he can easily pick them out of a lineup. But she does look mad. “Um… can we help you?”

The woman sighs, tossing the sweaty strands of brown hair which have escaped her tight ponytail. “Percy Jackson?”

“Who wants to know?” Annabeth adjusts his grip on her waist, giving her more room to draw her knife.

“I need your signature for a delivery.”

Percy is pretty sure he would remember making an order big and important enough to need a signature. “Sure…?”

She hands him a clipboard and a pen. Then she stares at him when he does nothing. “Are you going to sign?”

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m a little confused.” Annabeth snorts. “Who is this from again?”

“Mr. Yiannopoulos commissioned the equipment from New Rome on your behalf.”

Oh. Now that he looks, he actually does see the Senate insignia on the top of the delivery form.

“What is it?”

The woman eyes Annabeth suspiciously. “And you are?”

“Annabeth Jackson.”

“Hero and Architect of Olympus,” Percy adds.

Turns out, that was the trick. The woman’s jaw drops open, her eyes widening. “You’re—you’re Annabeth Chase?” she gasps.

“That’s me.”

Percy chuckles, clumsily signing the form. The novelty of Annabeth having fans has long since worn off, but not the delight of seeing other people recognize her brilliance.

After an autograph and a selfie for Drusilla, who apologizes profusely for her attitude, Praetor, she had just been told to wait by the Flying Dolphin for an unknown amount of time, and you know how the Senate doesn’t always give all the pertinent details, Annabeth is giving her directions to their favorite gelato spot while Percy crouches by the package. “So, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” says Drusilla, still starry-eyed. “I only picked it up in Miami.”

Percy frowns. “Is that a card?”

Sure enough, there’s a Hallmark greeting card taped to a corner, nearly hidden beneath all the customs stickers. Tongue between his teeth, he gently pries it off, cleanly slicing it open with Drusilla’s pen. On the cover is a drawing of a dragon, lighting birthday candles with his breath.

“Who’s it from?”

“To Percy,” he reads the chicken scrawl inside. “Got a special request from NRU engineering to help make you a little present. As payment, I expect ten percent of every underwater treasure chest you find. (Babies are expensive!) Love, Leo.”

“What does it mean?”

“Who’s Leo?” Drusilla wonders.

Percy stands, grinning. “It means that Plan Earthquake is a-go.”

***

Plan Earthquake is pretty much exactly what it sounds like it would be.

The Aegean Sea plate is surprisingly active for how small it is, and seismic activity is pretty common in this part of the world. If, say, for instance, there were to be a minor earthquake originating from the Hellenic subduction zone, maybe it could potentially dislodge any archaeological detritus from where it was trapped in an anoxic cave almost six thousand meters below sea level, sending it floating closer to the surface, where it could then subsequently be discovered by some passing ship surveying the area for wrecks.

You know, possibly.

But first they need to get it out of the rock.

Unfortunately, Leo’s magic winch did not come with jackhammers, so Percy is warming up for the big act by gently shaking the packed sand apart. Eunice is helping, too, redirecting the currents to help clear away the loose chunks of rock. Annabeth is on standby on the surface, monitoring the seismological chatter, while Arthur mans the ship, and keeps an eye out for sea monsters.

“How you doing, hon?” Annabeth says into his bluetooth earbuds.

Percy shakes out his hands, jumping up and down. “Fine,” he confirms. “Think we’re almost ready to fire up the winch. How’s it looking up there?”

“All clear,” she confirms, after a beat. “Arthur says we’re alone out here. No ships, no uninvited guests.”

They should be. There’s no reason for tourist ships to come this far south of the coast, nor for shipping out of Cairo to come this far north. Also, the monsters have been leaving them alone for the most part. Hopefully they’ll stay away, instead of dropping in in the middle of Plan Earthquake and making things interesting. Percy breathes in, stretching out his arms. “Alright. Give me another hour.”

It’s long, grueling work, but bit by bit, they uncover the wreck, freeing inch after inch of preserved wood. To his delight, he finds that he was right—the packed sediment did preserve the paint. There’s no way it will survive contact with oxygenated water, and there’s no way he could explain away any pictures, so he commits each color to memory, all the beautiful ruddy reds and browns, and the gold and white geometric designs on the prow. It’s truly a masterpiece of construction, shell-first with mortise and tenon joints, sleek and sturdy and beautiful.

Though, he thinks as he starts attaching cables to the boat, maybe a little too sleek. Hopefully it’s sturdy enough to withstand the pulling.

“Eunice,” he calls, “you ready?” She’s not his first choice for an assistant, but he figures even she can’t screw up pressing a button.

She frowns at the machine, the image odd on her delicate face. If he didn’t know better, he would say she was afraid of it. “Prince, explain again, what would you have me do?”

Okay, nevermind. “You know what, just swap with me.”

“My lord?”

“Just keep the boat from shaking too bad, and try and slip water between the wood and the rock to help wiggle it out. I’ll man the winch.”

The winch is automatic, but Percy still has to keep his attention divided more than he’d like between the cable and the boat and the rock, making sure nothing goes catastrophically wrong. It’s slow going, and sometimes they have to pause the winch to maneuver around a particularly stubborn piece of earth, but between Eunice and Percy, they manage to slide the hull out of the packed stone. Percy winces a t every groan and every ding of rock against the wood, but that’s okay. No wreck is perfect.

A particularly spiky shard of rock scratches a deep line across the gold paint, and Percy kind of wants to cry about it.

Then, the winch abruptly stops, the mechanics whining in protest. The cables pull taut, and the wood screams.

It’s over in a second, but to Percy, it might as well be slow motion.

The keel can apparently no longer stand being dragged over the rough earth. Percy watches in horror as a catastrophic looking crack races across the wood, shooting up from bottom to top. The internal pegs on the mortise and tenon joints must have been more corroded than he thought, because as soon as they touch water, they disintegrate, and the ship pulls itself apart.

Percy swears.

“Are you okay? Percy!”

“I’m fine—it’s the ship!”

Eunice races over to the machine, overcoming her fear of technology to slam on the brakes.

“What happened?”

The port side of the hull has split in two, sharp splinters of wood floating in the water, and based on the creaking, the starboard side is just about on the brink, the force of the winch leaving it hovering in an awkward bend, listing to the right. The ship’s cargo has spilled out onto the rock, coins and ingots glinting in the soft light of Eunice’s bioluminescent skin.

“It broke,” he says, not at all able to keep the horror out of his voice.

“How?”

“I broke it.” A life-changing find that could upend the entire field of archaeology, and Percy goes and breaks it. He swims closer to investigate, running his fingers over the exposed wood.

“Talk to me.”

“The pegs must have been in worse shape than I thought.” Hopefully Percy can salvage at least one of them for further study. “The hull cracked towards the stern, and the joints just came apart.”

She swears. “How bad?”

“It’s not great.” The front half, suspended in the water, seems to have emerged mostly unscathed, but as for the stern, it is deeply, firmly wedged within the earth. “The stern is stuck, and I’m not sure I can get it out.”

“So, what now?”

Percy blows out a breath. “There’s nothing for it—we’ll have to keep going and excavate what we can.”

And break the other half of the ship in the process.

A lot of bad things had happened to Percy in his life. This doesn’t make the top ten, but it definitely makes the top twenty. Right in between getting kicked out of Goode and getting electrocuted by Thalia.

He takes a moment to mourn the loss of a beautifully made vessel, his hand over his heart, before waving back to Eunice. “Alright,” he calls. “Fire it up.”

Of course, he has to amend his list after he watches the winch rip apart the other side of the hull. This hurts way more than a lightning bolt to the chest.

But Percy’s been a soldier longer than he’s been an archaeologist, so he can get his job done, and grieve at the same time.

He takes a deep breath, calls on the power deep within him, and cracks a fault line.

It’s over, quicker and easier than blowing up Mount St. Helens, and less than forty minutes later he’s back on the ship, sitting too close to his wife in the galley, feeling sorry for himself.

“It’s really okay, babe.”

He groans, dropping his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I Schliemanned it!”

Arthur pokes his head in. “How are we looking on the scanners, Mrs. Jackson?”

Annabeth really likes Arthur. More specifically, Percy thinks she really likes it when he calls her by her family name. So he’s not surprised at her warm tone with him. “Minimal tsunami risk across the coast. Thanks for the save earlier.”

He blushes, mumbling. “It was nothing.”

She had sworn up and down to Percy that she had never been in any real danger. Percy did not believe Annabeth Ingrid Jackson about measures of danger (she feels the same about him, so it works out.) But his earthquake had rocked their boat more than a little bit. Annabeth hadn’t gotten far. And probably wouldn’t have made it over the side. But Arthur, all about safe harbor, had managed to grab her before anything too catastrophic occurred.

He slides in across from the now, tapping his feet against the base of the galley table. “So, what now?”

Percy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Now we wait. We’ll come back at some point in the spring, officially discover what’s left of the ship, and get it ready for surveying.”

“What’s left of it?” he wonders.

“I had to leave like a fifth of the wreck in the cave.” A whole fifth, including hull, keel, deck, and cargo. Annabeth rubs his back, and another wave of misery crashes over him. He can’t believe someone paid him over a quarter of a million dollars to come all this way and destroy the first priceless artifact he finds.

Arthur frowns, thoughtful. “Isn’t that a good thing, though?”

Percy lifts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, intact shipwrecks are super rare, even for stuff sunk in the last fifty years.”

“The Uluburun was mostly intact.”

“Mostly,” Arthur points out. “And it wasn’t stuck in a cave. What are the odds of a three thousand year old ship surviving being ripped out of a rockbed by an earthquake?”

“He’s right,” Annabeth says. “Honestly, the fact that it’s broken will probably add to its authenticity.”

Percy hums, noncommittally. They’re probably right. But he still feels bad about it. Bad enough that he feels like an hours-long swim to clear his head.

Annabeth is waiting for him when he climbs up on deck around midnight. Just Annabeth.

“Where’s Arthur?”

“Arthur went to bed,” she says. “I ended his watch for him.”

“You’re not the captain.��

“There was a power vacuum, on account of the captain going swimming with the fishes.”

He kisses her, the last dregs of his bad mood floating out to sea. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.”

They hold each other, swaying to the gentle motion of the waves, under a dark sky littered with stars, and Percy has a strange, distinct feeling that they’d done this before. Maybe in another life. Maybe in his dreams. But something about this moment, so peaceful and beautiful, feels eternal, immutable, like a cornerstone of the universe.

“Guess what?” she murmurs into his collarbone.

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant again.”

He goes warm, from the tips of his toes up to his chest and his cheeks. “Really?”

“I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner, given how excited you get on the water.”

Then he blushes for an entirely different reason.

“Sorry.”

“So not a problem.” She kisses him again. “So, so not a problem.”

***

Percy takes a sip of lukewarm water. It gets hot in Greece in early March, and this room, even with all the windows and doors open, is still pretty stuffy. “Excavation is currently underway at the Chrysi site, and is expected to continue through June, before resuming this coming September. By then, we should have completed both the trilateral and photogrammetric surveys of the site, and may be ready to begin excavating the cargo and other material for preservation.” He clicks to the final slide, a picture Arthur had taken of him, Annabeth, and the girls on the deck of the Flying Dolphin, and the audience politely coos, applauding while holding cups of hot tea.

Which makes sense, since this is a tea talk, something that apparently exists. But why do they all drink hot tea for these things? It’s over sixty degrees fahrenheit outside!

“Thank you so much,” says the moderator, an older woman with straight, white hair, who speaks fluent Greek in the most Jersey-ish accent he had ever heard in his life. “Really, really intriguing stuff. Shall we open the floor for questions?”

The audience is made up mostly of young grads, dutifully scribbling away in their notebooks, with some older academics scattered among them. They sit on couches and armchairs and rickety-looking wooden seats, lined up in rows, and the unlucky ones who didn’t get a seat either are relegated to the porch outside the salon, leaning against the door, or squished three to a person on the piano bench in the back.

A girl in the front row with dark, curly hair and a flannel shirt raises her hand. She doesn’t look that much older than him. Actually, she might be a few years younger. That’s kind of a sobering thought. “Thank you so much for such an interesting talk. My question is, you have all these different types of data, between the legacy data and the weather patterns—how do you keep it all organized?”

“With difficulty.” His audience chuckles. “For something with this many moving parts, I have to do it manually. However, drawing my own maps gives me the freedom to adapt on the fly.” And add data that would be, uh, inconsistent with mortal abilities. “Plus, my wife helps me keep everything straight.”

Annabeth flashes him a thumbs up from her front row seat. Junie flashes him two, and Lucie kicks her feet, distracted by the amphora on the bookshelf next to her. He hopes that Annabeth, at six months pregnant, still has her reflexes ready if Lucie tries to make the bookshelf baby’s first lava rock wall.

From the back of the room, a thin, reedy man with round glasses and a scruffy black beard raises his hand. “How do you choose your areas to survey? What made you pick Crete?”

The fish tell him. “I have specialties in deep-sea diving and open water sailing,” well, that’s one way of putting it, “so, the Aegean is just a little too shallow for my tastes. Plus, there’s been so much maritime traffic in the Levantine Sea since, well, forever, it seemed like a natural place to start.”

To the left of the first girl, another girl raises her hand, her sleeve falling to show off her amazing red figure pottery tattoo. “Thank you so much for sharing. The colors are just so bright and so strong, do you know, or do you have any theories as to why it hasn’t degraded?”

He and Annabeth have spent days hammering out the details Percy would fudge, drilling the answers so often they become automatic, but he’s still proud of himself for not tripping over his words when he answers, “It’s unclear as of right now. There’s still a ton of tests that need to be run, but my best guess would be that, after it sank, the ship ended up in some kind of anoxic environment, maybe like the Bannock Basin, that was able to preserve most of the organic matter.” He ducks his head, full of false modesty. “Of course, that’s just a theory.”

Annabeth smirks at him from the corner of his eye, and he really has to fight back the answering one which threatens to spread across his face.

The tea talk wraps up in due time, and the chairs and couches are summarily put back into place as the audience all moves out onto the porch, carrying plates of crackers and cheese and tall, thin bottles of ouzo. Percy hangs behind, lingering at the podium, entertaining the stragglers who come up with questions and “more of a comment, really” and whatever else, leaning against the wooden mantle now that the project screen which covered it has been retracted back into the ceiling. Annabeth has more or less let the kids roam the now-empty salon to their hearts’ content, allowing them to check out the art and artifacts with strict instructions to Junie not to touch, so she can hold court with Percy. He’s grateful, always, for her steady support.

“So you think it’s more of a warship,” says an older man, with a shock of white hair but the energy of a college student.

Percy nods. “At first glance, other than weaponry, the cargo looked like it was mostly looted material—jewelry, precious stones, that kind of thing.”

“I saw, those raw sapphires? What an amazing find!”

Next to him, Annabeth surreptitiously covers her brand new sapphire bracelet with her other hand.

“Where are you headed next? My wife and I have spent pretty much our whole careers excavating in Crete, so if you’re headed back that way in June, we’d love to take you two out to lunch.”

Annabeth’s eyes light up, a calculating spark. “Your wife is an archaeologist, too?”

He nods, proudly gesturing to a silvery haired woman, chatting in Greek with the moderator, her hand over her mouth as she laughs. “I study Bronze Age Crete, she does Hellenistic, and together, we’ve been excavating at Mochlos for, gosh, I don’t even remember how long.” Catching Annabeth’s expression, he asks her, “But you’re not an archaeologist, yeah?”

“Unfortunately,” she shrugs, ruefully. “I’m an architect.”

“Somebody has to bring in the bacon.”

The man laughs. “Well hey, it’s handy to have an architect out in the field! And to get to bring your kids with you, too…” He shakes his head, his gaze, like a magnet, turning back to his own wife. “I don’t have to tell you how special it is to have someone you love doing this work with you.”

Annabeth takes his hand, squeezing, but Percy has no qualms about public displays of affection, so he does not hesitate to sling his arm around her shoulders and kiss her on the cheek, loud and sloppy. She shoves him, laughing, and as he hears Junie and Lucie start playing around on the old piano in the corner of the salon, on this beautiful warm spring day in Athens, Percy can’t remember if he’s ever been happier.

***

They decide to extend their trip past the end of May. Estelle had been put out all year that she wasn’t able to live with her big brother on a boat and explore the Mediterranean for ancient shipwrecks instead of having to go to school, ugh, so Sally and Paul agree that they are all in dire need of some island time. Percy had to return the Dolphin at the end of his fellowship, and while he was sorry to see it go, the Amalia is a little bit nicer. The man he rented it from said it belonged to his yiayia, and he had brought it with him when he moved from Poros to the mainland. Where the Dolphin was all business, the Amalia is all homey, quiet pleasure. The man, Kostas (Percy had snorted, and Annabeth had had to kick him) had done his best to remove all personal traces to make her fit for rental, but Percy can still sense the love in every inch, from stem to stern. He runs his hand up the mast, and he’s nearly bowled over by the strong rush of emotions practically radiating from her—love, sorrow, and a pride so strong it makes his heart hurt.

As nice as she is, she still won’t hold all nine of them—the family plus Arthur, who is well on his way to becoming Sally Jackson’s third child—so Percy is spending more time on shore this one month than he has all year. He’s had to move out of the Piraeus apartment, too, but Paul got an amazing deal on a vacation rental apartment in Kolonaki, so Percy wakes up every morning to the sight of the Acropolis from his balcony, sipping on a nice, cold glass of peach juice.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s pretty nice. There’s not a lot to complain about.

But he’s very excited to get back out on the water for one last ride.

Just him and the love of his life.

He had no destination in mind, just somewhere far enough from shore to see if they could catch a glimpse of some dolphin pods. Annabeth, just about ready to pop, is lounging on the sun-drenched deck while Percy takes a call in the galley. “How do you feel about Nat Geo?” Ari asks in lieu of a greeting.

“Like in general?”

“Have you ever had media training?”

“...No?”

“Well, you’re going to.” Through the IM, Ari is happier than Percy’s ever seen him, his features smoothed out into a broad, happy grin. “The permit application just landed on my desk. I’m fielding requests from all over to get a glimpse of the Chrysi wreck.”

“I thought my problem was that I attracted too much attention.”

“You keep making life-changing discoveries like this, Praetor, and you can attract all the attention you can handle.”

“Hope so,” says Percy, “because Eunice told me that she heard from her sister that there’s another Bronze Age ship floating around Ithaca that needs discovering.”

He squints, suddenly suspicious. “You’re not planning another earthquake, are you?”

“Not currently, but who knows. There are a lot of subduction zones around Greece. Lots of places for ships to get stuck.”

But Ari just sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat, though his smile has come back. “Whatever, fine, whatever you need. Make your little earthquakes.”

Then, from above deck, an earth-shattering scream rips through the peaceful afternoon.

“PERCYYYYYYY!!!”

“Whoops, that’s my cue,” says Percy. “Gotta run, send me the Nat Geo details later!”

Swiping his hand through the image, he dashes up to the deck, expecting to find a pod of dolphins waiting in the water below.

Instead, he has to pivot, hard, and get down to work bringing his third daughter into the world.

The dolphins return later in the evening to meet the new little sea princess, then graciously offer to escort them back to shore, where his family (and a doctor) gather at the docks, ready and eager to meet their newest relative, little Thalassa Amalia Jackson.

“Thalassa?” Sally asks, holding the tiny thing, her voice soft with wonder.

“Annabeth’s idea, actually,” says Percy, hovering as the doctor checks his wife over. “Born amid ships.”

“And made amid ships, I suspect.”

Percy blushes, scratching his neck. “Guilty.”

“I also get to name the next one,” says Annabeth, exhausted but proud and healthy

“You can name every single one of them.” A deal like that shouldn’t be made lightly, but Percy doesn’t care. He’d give her the world if she asked for it. A name is nothing. “Except Olivia.”

But Annabeth just grins. “No take-backs!”

#based on a series of true stories and characters #my fic #pjo fic #percabeth #classics percy returns #the shipwreck hunting fic #my god this thing took so many forms #special thanks to no2ticonderoga and darkmagyk for letting me borrow arthur i promise to return him safely

87 notes · View notes