#computer quiz with answers

[alurlssrinbled]

|| motherfucker--

[rashmislearningplanet]

Class 6 : Cyber Olympiad Quiz | PART - 1 | 24 Important Questions | Oswaal Books | Computer Quiz

[queers4years]

this user is a slut for data

[occamstfs]

Roommates’ Trivial Tiff

Pretty standard nerdy asshole to himbo TF, who doesn't love some cosmic justice ! -Occam

“You just don’t understand what it’s like dude. You have no idea how hard all this stuff is for me.” Brock was struggling to get through to his roommate, someone he has time and time again been more than cordial with. In response Harvey scoffs and rolls his eyes refusing to engage and instead doubling down, “I’m sure it’s real difficult with all your paid tutors and your-” 

“You’re not even listening bro! You like to think you’re so elevated, like you have all the answers but you don’t even try to understand what anyone else is going through.” Harvey grimaces and briefly tosses about whether or not this is true but stubbornly neglects to internalize the criticism, “Uhh, I do too?” Brock bites his tongue to prevent just blowing up at his roommate and instead he tries a different angle, “Oh yeah? If that’s the case then, bet you know a lot about me huh? Since we’ve been roommates for a year now,” pausing as he narrows his eyes briefly at Harvey, “and ostensibly we’re friends right?”

Harvey struggles not to display his ever present irritation as he retorts, “Of course we are, uh, dude.” Brock does a better job hiding his intentions as he issues a challenge, “so if we were to say, quiz each other you think you’d come up on top lil dude?” With this gauntlet laid there is little recourse in Harvey’s mind but to accept it, there are few times he enjoys showing off so much as in a trivia contest. So what he might have a less than pristine record of respecting oafs like his roommate, he is certainly not to lose in any battle of the wits regardless of topic or stipulations there may be.

Brock puts out his hand and states the stakes, “You can of course bow out whenever, but uh, how about every question the winner takes something from the loser?” Harvey was resolved to win before hearing the terms and is now spitefully even more eager now as he eyes Brock’s side of the room looking for whatever his prize is sure to be.

Without any further clarification Brock promptly launches into the game, “I guess we’ll start real easy yeah? Only fair.” Harvey feels resentment start to brew as he feels he’s being talked down to as Brock goes on, “For starters then, What’s my major?” Harvey audibly gulps and feels his face blanche as he scrambles to find such an incredibly simple answer. This is such an obvious and pressing piece of information it would be impossible not to have it on deck.

Seeing the hesitation Brock laughs incredulously, “God dude are you kidding? How could you not know this, I-” He shifts his jaw waiting for the second shoe to drop as it is suddenly clear he is about to clean house, this asshole is going to learn respect by hook or by crook. Harvey’s eyes that were just hungrily looking through Brock’s possessions now retread their path, searching for the answer, his eyes linger on some sports bandages and protein powder and he kicks himself for forgetting. “Well duh dude, you’re doing a sports medicine or a trainer degree or whatever. Sorry that I forgot what the proper name is, it’s not exactly high in the list of things I need to know.”

Brock stares down at the clueless nerd before him and slowly shakes his head. “Not even close Harv. It’s-” Before he can finish though Harvey stands and shouts, “Don’t fucking call me that! I bet you don’t know mine either!” This leaves Brock aghast, he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, “Of course I fucking do! You never shut up about it! I’m lucky if my headphones can block out you whining about homework while also constantly talking yourself up! It’s so, fucking, annoying!”

Hurt by this despite his typical apathy to others Harvey starts up once more, “Okay but you didn’t say-” “Computer Engineering.” Harvey blushes in shame, not over his disrespect but of getting the question wrong. Suddenly there’s a hum in the room and the shadows in the corner grow darker and Brock looks around, “Well I suppose that question really tees me up on what to take huh? I’ll take your major.”

“Wha?” caught on the other foot Harvey blinks and sees that his textbooks and assignments are suddenly piled on Brock’s desk. He feels anxiety rise in his chest unsure of what has happened though confident this must be a prank or something. “No no no that can’t be right? What is happening?” He then returns to look at his roommate once more, a scowl plastered on his face as Brock who, despite his impressive stature always aims to present as kind and gentle, cannot help but smirk as he feels he has gotten one over on this jerk.

He stretches, exposing his midriff and flexing  his arms behind his head, perhaps to try and allure or intimidate Harvey, he’s not sure, but Harvey is not going to just take this sitting down.Though at the present, he is too uncomfortable to even vocalize his discomfort as he stands there trying not to shake. Instead Brock begins once more, “Urgh kinda see what all that complaining was about now Harv, kinda got a lot on my plate now hah!”

Harvey stares daggers at his roommate, “Brock I don’t know what kind of nonsense is going through your dumbass ox brain. But it’s not funny, I’m sure you’re used to bullying little g-”

“Excuse me? I’m a bully!? I know you’re not saying that, I go out of my way to be kind, even to little chip on their shoulder assholes like you. I just,” Brock takes a deep breath and flexes his jaw before he continues. “It doesn’t matter actually. I trust you have a vested interest in trying again though right? Surely you want your major back?”

At the moment Harvey is caught between the idea that this is some kind of Christmas Carol-ass dream where he’s supposed to learn a lesson or once more that this is just a prank by Brock. Amenable as he’s always been, Harvey's convinced that behind this lunkhead is the vitriol of the typical jerk jock. In this impossible chance that this is reality though, he can’t just give up his major. He needs it to be an, uh? God what was, no what is his major anyway? 

Harvey looks around in shock as he suddenly can’t bring his current course schedule to his mind, but he was literally in class this morning right? He feels his coursework draining from his mind as fear and rage begin to rise in his frail body. Images of lecture halls and professors flash through his mind before they just as swiftly dissipate, somewhere within him deeper than memory he feels that he was studying something with numbers. Mathematics, physics, engineering, something he was good at. He is determined to get that back as he speaks up finally, “What is the next question.”

Brock smiles and toys around in his head, confident that he will end up on top. “How about you pick this one, give you a fighting chance.” Harvey purses his lips and struggles to produce a question that he knows the answer to that his roommate will not. Oh duh, he’ll just ask him a math question, easy! Certainly not the aim of the game but Harvey just needed to get his life back. “What’s a derivative.” 

“Kinda not in the spirit of the game dude but whatever. I took calc you know. It’s the rate of change in response to a variable. Now since you’re still being an ass how about I lob one back? How about you derivative 𝑓(𝑥)= 2cos⁡(𝑥)−6sec⁡(𝑥)+3?” Harvey is flat stunned, this is some entry level shit but he cannot for the life of him bring the information to mind. He’s just as sharp as he always has been but anything beyond rudimentary trig is continuing to trickle out of his mind. He meekly chuckles out, “uh easy, it’s f(x) equals, uh tan-”

There’s a blaring in his head as both men are aware of his immediate slip up. Energy once more rises in the air as Brock looks down almost pitifully at his roommate this time. “Now I am sorry for this Harvey but, oof that course load! Like you so relish to say, I am just not that bright hm?” Harvey shakes his head as he realizes the horror about to occur. Brock looks a little uncomfortable as he continues, “After failing to pull your little gotcha, I think I’ll just go ahead and have your intelligence.” 

Both men are instantly struck with headaches the likes of which neither could endure under normal circumstances. As soon as the pain arrives though it is converted into a deep profane pleasure. Pins and needles fill Brock’s mind as it becomes heavy. Ideas and understanding fill his mind as a euphoric warmth flows through him. Harvey had enjoyed learning without truly lifting a finger, he had flourished and gained knowledge through no effort on his part but simple absorption. Brock is overcome with the ease at which he will now flow through life. Equally is he overcome by the ecstasy within his body as it only continues to heighten.

Opposite him Harvey clutches at his head as now not only do his learned experiences at university vanish, but all of his capabilities as a student and academic. Even the pleading within his mind slows down as he feels his ability to swiftly process information breaks down. Harvey turns from the man across from him as Brock’s hands feel up and down his musculature in rapturous delight, just in time to see whatever books and tomes he had collected as trophies begin to fade into the aether along with his memories of reading them. He looks down at his hands in confusion and horror, even with his unaddled mind at full steam he could not make sense of what has befallen him. He knows this is not right.

He is unable to find any answers, though as he searches his brain he begins to find a pleasant warmth in the vacuum where there once was knowledge. While his mind has been emptied, the bulge in his crotch demands his attention, which shall likely be a constant issue now that his mind shall evermore be less than preoccupied. He feels his mouth start to fill with drool as he looks down at his cock as it almost feels larger than it should be. He almost laughs at the idea that from now on he may fully be thinking with his cock. He opens his mouth allowing drool to spill out which shocks him back to sense and he turns around to demand that Brock return this all to sense immediately.

Brock for his part is reclined in a chair just rubbing his cock over his shorts almost forgetting about what they had been doing not seconds earlier. He laughs as he sees the expression on Harvey’s face, “Woah dude sorry about that, got lost in my own mind for a second there! No wonder you had, or have rather, such an attitude problem. It all just came so easy to you didn’t it? I mean we could keep going if you want, what else do you have to lose yeah?” Harvey wipes the drool from his face and takes stock, he can still read, he is pretty confident he still passed high school, he remembers his life before whatever hell is currently happening as well as whatever this new reality is. He nods his head and pushes his erection down as it continues to rise upon seeing his roommate’s cocky repose. He answers, “let’s keep going. Your question right?”

Harvey can’t help but trace Brock’s traps as he shrugs, “If you insist lil bro. What’s my middle name?” He knows this one for sure, he would bring it out to tease his roommate as needed. Brock slams his arm down in excitement and shouts, “fucking Laurel!” then he recalls this is only half the battle, Brock must also get his wrong, “what’s mine?” Brock smirks once more and laughs as he stretches to scratch his back, his roommate hungrily staring, “you don’t have one dude”

The energy rushing between the two men is drastically different this time. Unlike the pleasurable prickles of knowledge or the soothing burn of loss there is a direct, deeper connection between the two. Brock’s grin grows wider as understands, “Oh I getcha, question’s a tie so we share the spoils Harv. Only fair that since you’ve the mind of a what, meathead? May as well have the body of one.”

Harvey watches as his roommate takes off his shirt, he feels a warmth in his chest as he stares directly at Brock’s pecs. His breath catches as he watches his roommate flex them and he feels a nervous energy begin to surge within his own. He’s never had pecs before but he feels his chest pushing, growing, into his shirt. He sees his nipples harden and grow too large to ever hide as his chest expands. His swallows to stop from drooling once more as he sees Brock pose and flex his massive biceps, forcing a burning delight down the whole of Harvey’s arms. He matches the pose of the powerful man he has spoken nothing but ill of and flexes, sweat immediately staining through his shirt as the energy and strain heats his body beyond reason.

At the same time both men drop into a crunch, there is a loud tear as the pants of both men tear as they reach the lowest point in the crunch as Harvey’s ass bursts larger and his thighs swell with strength well enough to carry his increasingly top heavy torso. Not only is Harvey to gain the muscle of a tight jock, but the masculinity expected. The cock he has been til now proud enough of pulses with his heartbeat, with each pump it gorges larger, veins thick as the ones surging down his biceps force his cock thicker and further down his strained shorts. He tears at his pants to free his bulge as his balls bloat to the size of eggs, they pull tight ass they’re exposed to the air and all the soreness, strain, and pain of his still growing body becomes agonizing delight.

Harvey’s eyes water as he struggles to even stay cogent with the pleasure and power coursing through him. He smells his new musk breaking through his senses. Through the burning bedlam across his body he feels a soothing burn as hair begins to sprout and thicken where every man should make clear his masculinity. His pubes thicken and curl beyond his waistline and his pits grow wild and begin to spread to make it clear they, nor his musk, can ever be contained.

He lies, sits, writhes, flexes, exists in nothing but pleasure for some time, no longer concerned for his lost intelligence, beyond the care of his education. His hands, larger and painted with still thickening hair, press tight against his body as he feels the new contours of his body. Each new valley and mountain is a testament to the ecstasy he shall now prioritize above all. Until his roommate’s voice breaks through the haze, “Fuck bro you’re really feeling yourself huh?” Harvey’s eyes open to see Brock’s arrogant sneer has only grown worse as he has contendly watch Harvey lavish his new corpus.

Harvey meets it with a scowl and Brock tilts his head, “Want to do one last question then, bro?” His smile grows tight as he tries not to laugh as the appellation of bro has become the paramount definition of this once genius. Harvey just nods his head, still understandably disoriented as he lies in a pool of his own sweat and pre that remains dripping directly onto the floor. Brock motions for him to ask whatever the presumably final question is but is met with a grunt and a wave of the hand. Brock grimaces slightly, “if you insist bud,” he grimaces slightly as he looks down at the man. Asshole he may have be, may still be even, surely there’s something Brock could do to fix even that. He leans to whisper the question in Harvey’s ear, “what color are my eyes.” 

Between grunts, Harvey strains to look at his roommate only to find them obviously closed. His body contorts with pain and pleasure as he feels the throes of defeat and one final lose begin to seize him. He groans out through clenched teeth as his jaw widens and his brows thicken as changes already begin to work upon his mind, “don’t… know…” Brock nods and sits next to his roommate laying Harvey’s head on his lap. At the point it would be a kindness for the man to forget his life before, and that is exactly what he is to do. 

Brock removes the memories and identity of the sour nerd that made life perpetually unpleasant not only for him, but anyone unlucky enough to grace his presence. His breathing speeds up as his body heat rises beyond imagination, sweat turning to steam in the cold dorm room as he shakes his head and clenches his fists. He writhes only briefly, each flex of his body a final protestation of Harvey as Brock erases even his name from his head. 

After a minute of this his body goes still before he opens his eyes blearily and groans. Still lying in Brock’s lap he stretches his arms, turning to smell his impossibly rank pits before turning it into a flex as he must do anytime he raises them. Brock watches this with trepidation, unsure of who exactly his roommate is to be now before suddenly a name surges into his mind, Bull. Perfect fodder for the jerk he once was and an apt name for the behemoth lying on his lap. Testing the waters Brock pats his chest to wake him up, “Morning Bull.”

He yawns and scratches at the same stubbled face he has always known and he sits up, “urgh got a massive headache bro, must have gone pretty hard to have a hangover this bad huhuh! Wanna go grab brekkie and hit up the gym?” Brock stifles a smirk and helps his roommate up to standing, slightly surprised to see him standing taller than himself before responding, “You got it big guy, how about you get some clothes on first though right?” Bull guffaws, looking down at his hairy sweat-drenched body as he throws an arm around his roommate, cock bobbing around in the open air, still chubbed up. “What would I do without you bro huhuh!” 

Brock looks to see all of Bull’s tops have changed to stringers and tanks. Where Harvey had nothing but pants Bull has piles of unwashed athletic shorts, one of which he promptly throws on, going commando. Seeing Brock watch him, Bull grabs at his crotch and juts at the door, “Come on bro! Faster we get a pump in faster we can get back here and have some fun dude.” 

With that Bull again throws his arm around Brock, once more smelling his b.o. as he almost deliberately spreads it on his roommate’s neck, like an animal marking its territory. The two then off to start their day, in Bull’s mind as they always have. Brock feels his crotch grow weightier as the amble down the hall, unsure if he’s made a horrible mistake in all this. Who is he to say what is too far in acts of cosmic retribution. Brock is certain at the end of the day he and Bull are at least to have quite a bit of fun.

[kokonoooi]

✧ cockwarming draken while you study :

cw: fem reader, cockwarming, draken teasing, dirty talk/praise, hair-pulling, backshots, spanking, big dick warning lolol

wc: 634

Imagine cockwarming Draken while you study. You're sitting on your bed with your laptop and books all around you and you're naked from the waist down as you try to focus on taking your notes, but it's hard because all you can think about is how deep his fat cock is nestled inside your warm hole.

He's got an arm wrapped around your waist, making sure that you don't move as he watches your screen over your shoulder while you type.

Experimentally, he gives you a little nudge just because he loves to see you fall apart for him so easily. He smirks and nips at your ear when you whine and your fingers fall from the keyboard and onto his thigh.

"Keep typing. Be a good girl for me. Gunna ace this test, aren't ya, baby?"

You're too dumb to talk so he grabs your jaw and squeezes, making you face him as he moves your head up and down in a nod.

"I know you are, because you're my smart girl, after all. Get to it, baby, so I can fuck this sweet pussy just how she needs to be fucked."

—-

“Focus.”

Draken growls into your ear as he kneels behind you, balls deep in your cunt.

You’re bent over your laptop taking a quiz, breasts dangling heavily beneath you and almost touching the keyboard from the mean arch that your boyfriend has you in.

“‘m focused, Ken…” Your voice wobbles as does your hand; your mouse shakily hovers over a wrong answer before you suck in a breath and correct it.

“That was a close call, but you caught it, baby. Look at you, you’re doing such a good job.”

He spanked your butt a couple of times then rubbed the supple flesh with his big hands.

“I-I’m done…” The quiz was now submitted: you scored 100%.

Draken’s grin grew wider, showcasing two rows of perfect white teeth that you could see reflected in your laptop screen.

“Good fucking girl.”

He moved over you to close the computer lid and slide it onto the floor, pushing himself even further against your womb before he eased about half of his length out.

“Put the rest of that shit on the floor,” Draken commanded, referring to your multiple books, pens, and highlighters.

You hurriedly brushed the items off the edge of the bed, some of the pens rolling across the hardwood while Draken grabbed your hair up into a makeshift ponytail and began fucking into you relentlessly.

“Ah ah ah ah! Ken!”

The bed squeaked and rocked, the headboard banging loudly against the wall that was sure to have your neighbors pissed at you, but how could you care when you were getting the best fucking reward? Literally.

Draken slowed down and eased himself in and out of you to let you hear the squelch of your wet pussy a few times before he was buried deep once again.

“Shit girl, your greedy pussy is squeezing me so fucking tight.”

Something in him snapped, and the next thing you knew, his entire weight was pressing down on you as he pulled your arms behind your back and held your wrists against your ass.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Draken pummeled your pussy with ferocity until the both of you were moaning each others’ names out and spiraling into mind-numbing orgasms.

Finally, you were released and your fatigued body collapsed into the soft mattress. 

You could still feel your legs twitching while simultaneously your cunt contracted, releasing a thick gush of Draken’s cum.

Soft pecks were then pressed into your sweaty back until you rolled over to face your handsome lover, eyes fluttering dangerously as the urge to sleep swept over you.

“Rest for now. When you wake up, we’ll be on to the next subject.”

[covenofagatha]

The Psychology of Love (Part 7)

The Bar

Your date with Morgan leads to an unexpected confession

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: brief smut, fingering

A/N: I'll just go ahead and apologize for the cliffhanger 😅

The bar seems pretty crowded already, despite it not even being that late. There’s a line to get in that stretches around the building, ending right before a small alley. You and Morgan get in line behind a couple who is being very handsy and you and Morgan share a knowing look. 

“I know I can’t say much considering how we first met,” she mutters and you snort at the memory of her fucking you in the hallway of a sorority house, “but this is just out in the open.” 

“At least save it for a corner inside,” you agree and Morgan laughs. “How was your quiz yesterday?” 

She looks touched that you remembered. “It wasn’t bad! I think I probably got a B at least. There were like two questions that I genuinely had no clue on. The professor definitely didn’t say anything about them. Although, there was one girl who walked out crying so I think I definitely did better than her.” 

You grin. “As long as you weren’t the worst one. I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone leave an exam in tears.” Not yet, anyway. You think Agatha’s tests might put a few of your classmates over the edge, if those reviews hold any truth at all. 

Morgan waves her hand dramatically. “I’ve seen it a few times. Especially in the stats classes I’ve taken.” 

“Oh, god, yes,” you groan, your body shuddering. “I hate statistics with a passion. I’d rather do straight up calculus.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she giggles, “but yes, I agree. Certainly a few tears after that class. A few of them were mine.” 

It’s easy to talk to her, a lot easier than you thought it would be. You wish, not for the first time, that you could just be into her. It would certainly save you a lot of trouble. And overthinking. 

“How was the presentation thing you had last night?” Morgan asks and the question almost knocks you off your central axis. 

You’re a good girl. 

Not much else had been on your mind since Agatha said that to you. She had to know what she was doing by calling you that, she had to. And there was the unspoken promise of waiting a few months for her.

You could. You can. 

No matter how hard it might be. 

“It was interesting,” you answer, trying to think of details from the actual speaker but all you can remember is how the wine on Agatha’s breath smelled, the way she looked at you, the way her pinkie grazed against yours in the car. 

Morgan is talking about the little psychology she knows from the general class everyone had to take in their first year, but all you can focus on is the heat spreading from your cheeks down your neck to your stomach. 

The second you had gotten back to your dorm last night, you’d done some googling. Wanda had lifted herself on her elbows to watch you as you typed quickly, bent over your computer, but you’d ignored her as you searched Westview student-professor relationship rules. 

The first link was to the Westview University policies and you clicked on it. Scanning the pages, you let out a sigh of relief. 

Faculty shall not have amorous relationships with students who are in their classes, or when academic work is supervised by a faculty member over a student, or when a faculty member has or is likely to have academic responsibility over a student.

When you’re out of her class, it would be fine. 

But if you have her for grad school, it could get into a gray area, and you’re not sure if that applies to being a research assistant for her either. 

You next checked the syllabus for her class. The final exam was on the first Friday of December. Thank god the semester is done early. What will happen after you turn it in and you’re no longer her student? 

The fantasy of her taking you out to dinner after implants itself in your mind. Her approving smile as she toasts you with another glass of wine. Maybe her foot resting against your shin because she loves to tease. 

And after, she’d take you to her car and press you against the outside of it. Whisper about how she’s been wanting to do this for the longest time and how you’ve been so good waiting for her. 

You’re a good girl. 

The line grows shorter and you’re almost to the entrance. Morgan is still talking about psychology and you try to tune back in. 

“—and I was thinking maybe I could double major in psychology, you know? Like, maybe it’d be helpful with political science. Especially if I wanted to go on and be a lawyer. But even for just being able to relate to the constituents when I run for office.” 

You hum. “I could see that being helpful.” 

She shrugs like it’s a toss-up. “But I decided to minor in communications. My advisor—and my dad—said it’s a good combination.” 

The line keeps moving and you pry off your phone case to grab your ID. You didn’t want to have to carry a wallet around so you stuck that and your credit card behind your case. Morgan’s pants have pockets, unlike your skirt, and while you could’ve asked her to hold your wallet, this seemed effective as well. 

The bouncer waves you both in and you step into the bar. Alfie’s just opened about a month ago and it’s clearly the place to be, even on a Wednesday night. 

It’s a neat place, you think. Very 1970s, as the theme of the bar is stated. The entire room is encased in a fluorescent orange light, reflected by a mirror-ball spinning on the ceiling, there’s a DJ booth in a corner with a record player on the table and vinyls hung on the walls all around him, the bar itself is in the middle of the room, shaped like a rectangle, with green marble countertops and stools. There’s bottles of alcohol on a shelf jutting from the load-bearing wall that connects the ends of the bar and cool glass panes run from the floor to the ceiling on it. Old music that you know from driving in your dad’s car with him pumps over the speakers. 

The main room flows into a smaller one, where there's already people in line for the bathrooms and then there’s a section with disco floor tiles and couches around it. Only a few people are on the floor but they look like they’re having the time of their life. 

“This is a cool place!” you yell to Morgan, who has to lean in to hear you over the song and the busy chatter. “Do you want a drink?” 

She looks over to the bar top, which is packed like sardines in a can. “I’ll go find us a table while you get us something? I’ll just have one of whatever you get.” 

You nod and try to push yourself between two people. You spot some people who look to be your age on the adjacent side also trying to flag the bartender down and you think you might be here awhile. 

A lone menu is laying on the counter about a foot away from you and you’re able to slide it over easily with the smooth marble. You hold it up and then away from your body, trying to make out the words in the bright light. They have cocktails, martinis, hard liquor, and wine. Chewing on your lip, you read the cocktail list a few times, trying to discern which would taste the best and which one Morgan would also like. 

Fingertips drums on the counter in front of you and you look up to see the bartender standing in front of you. She has long red hair and a tattoo of a snake on her neck that runs down into her black tank top. “Do you know what you want, love?” 

You take one last look at the menu. “Can I get two Pink Ladies?” Gin, lemon, grenadine, and orange bitters. Sounds like a good combination, at least better than some of the others. 

She nods and turns away to start to make them. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” a low voice drawls in your ear and the air around you fills with a familiar scent. 

“Professor,” you chuckle, tilting your body to let her slide up next to you. Agatha smirks. You can’t stop your eyes from wandering and taking in her outfit and your jaw goes slack. 

She’s wearing a black dress that falls down to just below her knees, high collar, and the long-sleeves are mesh and see-through. It’s tight, hugging her curves in all the right ways. Her hair is pulled back in a low pony-tail, her shorter strands hanging loose. Different earrings from last night hang from her earlobes but they match the rings on her fingers. Her lips are painted red and you try to not stare at them. Her heels are open-toed and you can see the maroon nail polish on her toes, complementing the same shade on her fingers. 

It’s a far cry from the casual blazer over the t-shirt and pants she was wearing in class earlier. You started learning about the Biological approach and it was definitely not as exciting as the Trait approach. It felt weird just strolling into the room after last night, just having to act like nothing happened. 

But there’s the same classic twinkle gleams in her icy-blue eyes as she looks at you now.

It feels like the atmosphere between you two has changed since last night—it's almost become more level. Like she’s no longer holding all the cards. 

“Drinking on a school night?” she asks in the husky voice that makes you shiver. 

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Didn’t seem to bother you last night.” 

Agatha’s brows raise at your retort before tossing her head back with a laugh. “Well, that’s because I was there to keep you in check. You know, make sure there weren’t any bad decisions being made.” 

If you had taken a chance and kissed her, would that have been a bad decision? Not that you ever would, unless she fully gave you permission, but you still wonder. 

“Well, you’re also here on a school night,” you point out and your breath catches when Agatha slides the menu out from under your fingertips, her knuckle brushing against yours. 

The bartender puts down two circular glasses with a liquid the color of watermelon pink and a lot of ice. She picks out two straws from the container and slides them into the drinks. You hand over your credit card. 

“Do you want to start a tab?” she asks and you sneak a peek over to Agatha before shaking your head. The bartender takes your card and goes to charge it as you pick up your drink and enclose your lips over the straw. 

Your professor watches intently as you take your first sip and flavor explodes on your tongue. It’s fruity and a bit sour but there’s only a hint of alcohol that you can taste. It’s not bad. 

Agatha taps the menu. “Which one did you get?” 

“The Pink Lady.” She hums and reads the description and you take a chance. You hold your drink out to her. “Want to try?”

She smiles slyly and leans over, lips sucking on the straw. Your mouth goes dry. She pulls back and hums, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Pretty good,” she decides while you stare at her. 

The bartender comes back with your card and jolts you out of your stupor. She looks at Agatha, who orders a whiskey soda. 

“Where’s your plus one?” Agatha asks, nodding to Morgan’s drink. “If those are both for you, I think I’d have to report you.” 

You snort at her teasing tone and scan the crowd for any sign of your date. “She’s around here somewhere.” You think you see a flash of dark hair from somewhere in the corner. 

When you turn back to Agatha, you see that her teeth are slightly gritted, but other than that, she’s the picture of composure. 

She doesn’t say anything, so you take a long sip, feeling the alcohol course through your veins, before you ask, “So, uh, what are you doing here?”

“A couple other professors and I thought we’d check this place out,” Agatha says, pointing behind you. You turn to see two men and a woman lift their hands in greetings. You recognize the other woman and one of the men from previous classes. “We do have lives outside of the university, you know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk and her eyes light up. “You’re not just in bed by eight o’clock in pajamas, reading the newspaper or something?” 

Agatha scoffs. “How old do you think I am?” 

You lean in closer, unable to stop from laughing, and motion around to the bar. “I mean, you were alive in the seventies, weren’t you?” 

Her mouth drops open in mock offense and you take your straw between your teeth, smiling at her from around it. She shakes her head like you’re really going to get it, and then warns, “You better be careful.” 

“Or what?” you challenge and the air changes. 

Instead of being playful, it becomes charged. Agatha’s eyes lock onto yours and the bar fades away—it’s just the two of you again. She bites her lip and you chew on the straw, both of you afraid to break the moment. 

Agatha takes a step toward you, one of her hands coming up to ghost over your cheek, and you don’t move a muscle. Her eyes dart over to look behind you and you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that three of her colleagues and your date are somewhere in this very room. At least she can check on her colleagues and make sure they’re not watching.

But it’s like the switch goes off in her head and she backs away. You immediately miss her warmth. She regards you, trying to figure out a comeback, but there’s nothing. 

“Here’s your whiskey, ma’am,” the bartender says, putting down a glass of dark liquid down before Agatha. “Do you want to start a tab?”

“Oh, no, I’m okay,” she says and pulls out her card. She takes a long sip and you stare at the liquid that beads on her lips when she puts the glass down and looks at you. “I’d offer you a sip but I’m not sure you could handle it.” 

Whiskey has never been your thing; it’s got way too strong of a taste, but you’ll be damned if you let her be right. And maybe you want to show her that you can handle more than she thinks. 

So you steal the glass from her hand, brushing your fingers against hers, and take a swig. Immediately, you want to spit it out but you swallow the whole thing and chase it with a gulp of your cocktail. 

Agatha looks impressed when you hand her back the glass. “Good girl,” she murmurs and a flush of heat tears through you. The bartender comes back with her check and your professor signs it without even looking down. 

She straightens up, holding her glass with her pinkie at the bottom and thumb tracing a line on the rim, and you know that she’s about to leave you. 

“For the record,” she starts and you watch her expectantly, “if I’m in bed by eight, I’m certainly not reading the newspaper.”

“Oh?” you rasp, a tingling in your veins. “What are you doing, then?” 

Agatha smirks knowingly. “Enjoy your night, hon.” 

She breezes past you, leaving you in a cloud of her perfume, the only real indication that she was there.

You pick up both drinks and glide through the crowd to find Morgan standing at a table tucked against the wall on her phone. She looks up when you put down her glass. 

“God, that took you forever,” she remarks, taking a long sip. She sighs happily. “This really is a busy place.” 

“Yeah, the bartender kept skipping me,” you lie, thinking it’s better not to tell her that the professor you have a massive crush on was holding you up. You can see Agatha through the people standing in the middle of the floor. She’s deep in conversation with the other professors, but every now and then, she’ll look over and you’ll make eye contact. 

Each time it happens, you feel a jolt run down your spine. 

Morgan peers at someone behind you. ���I think that kid’s in my class,” she says, pointing. You turn and it’s a group of boys. You think you’ve seen some of them around campus. 

“Do you want to go say hi?” you ask, not sure if that’s what she’s hinting at. 

She shrugs. “I’d rather dance.” 

“Oh—well, that can be arranged,” you say with a grin and you grab her hand and lead her to the dancefloor. A song that you don’t know is playing so you and Morgan just sway to the beat while still working on your drinks. 

Out of your periphery, you can see Agatha now openly staring at you. 

Emboldened, and maybe feeling the gin a little, you wrap a hand around Morgan’s lower back and pull her against you. She lets out a little noise but puts her free hand over your shoulder. The music picks up, the beat thumping in your veins, and you and Morgan start moving against each other. 

It’s a bit harder with the drinks in your hands and you’re careful not to spill them on each other as you start to grind on one another. It’s not really the right music for sensual dancing, but you two lose yourself in it. Your movements are over-exaggerated because you can feel Agatha’s eyes on you. 

Your hand intertwines in Morgan’s hair, your forehead resting against hers, and she leans down to take a sip of your own drink. It’s intimate and Agatha scowls. 

Morgan pulls back and spins around and you untangle your fingers from her hair and wrap that arm around her stomach. She rubs herself against you and you shoot Agatha a scandalizing wink, the ability to think twice about anything eluding you. 

Agatha swallows the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. 

Morgan turns back to you and you know what she’s going to do before she does it. 

Her lips meet yours in an open-mouth, sloppy kiss because you’re both a little tipsy now. You hardly feel anything, hardly notice anything except for the buzzing in your head and the heavy weight of Agatha’s glare. 

Agatha—

You break the kiss, strands of saliva still connecting you to Morgan, and look over to where you know your professor is. 

Just in time to see her slam her glass on the table, say something to her colleagues, and storm out of the bar. 

Fuck. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you tell Morgan, who nods and lets you go. You drop your glass on a random table, ignoring the calls of the people sitting there, and chase after her. You shoulder open the exit door and barely even feel the pain shooting through your arm. 

The line outside the bar has dwindled to about five people now and in the distance, you see Agatha. She turns the corner into the little alleyway that you and Morgan were standing by earlier and when you skid to a stop in front of it, Agatha is standing a few yards in front of you, back facing you, arms crossed over her chest. 

She’s waiting, like she knew you’d come after her. 

You clear your throat and take a step closer. “Are you okay?” You’re not sure what to expect—maybe a declaration of how she feels or maybe she was just feeling sick or overwhelmed—but when she turns around, she looks mad. 

Fire burns in her eyes and you feel cold fear dripping in your blood. 

“You’re not being very subtle,” she snarls, advancing toward you, but you stand your ground. Whatever you were expecting, or hoping for, was not this. You didn’t think she would be angry. 

“What are you talking about?” you ask, bewildered. 

Agatha scoffs, her face contorting into something wicked. She is a completely different person than when she came up to you at the bar but there’s something hot about her like this. You get it now—she’s jealous. 

You like when she’s jealous.  

“Parading around with someone who looks just like me? Dancing like that?” It strikes a nerve, she sees it in your eyes. She smirks. “Tell me that’s not what you’re doing.” 

“It’s not,” you say, but your voice wavers. 

She steps closer—close enough for you to smell the alcohol on her breath. It’s dark and heavy. Her perfume clouds your senses and your judgment, like it always does. 

Agatha leans in, her face right against your ear and if you turned your head even an inch to the side, your lips would touch hers.

But you can’t move. 

“Are you sure?” She draws out the sure, making it nothing more than a low hiss, and you fight the urge to shudder. 

Agatha pulls back and flicks your chin up with two fingers, a stretched grin making her look mean. You shake your head, refusing to meet her eyes because you’re not sure you’ll be able to stop yourself from doing something that you can’t. 

“You said we had to wait—” 

“Don’t,” she snaps, holding up her hand. She pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, eyes closing. 

What is going on? Why is she doing this?

“Professor,” you breathe, you implore. “Agatha.” 

It’s the first time you’ve ever said her name. 

It’s a break in the facade you two have been keeping up. The facade that she’s just your professor and you’re just her student. 

There’s no way you can go on pretending that anymore. 

Agatha drops her hand and looks at you, something dangerous and new written on her face. Her eyes are dark and they make a chill run through you when she claims you with them. 

“Tell me you think about me when you’re with her,” she urges, demands, and you’re almost afraid to venture into this otherwise unknown territory. 

What happens if you say yes? 

“You made that pointed comment about transference outside the pizza place that night,” you rasp. The unspoken words of you already know are brimming beneath the surface—who will uncover them first? 

Agatha remains determined and clucks her tongue. “I want to hear you say it.”

You chance a glance down at her mouth and her tongue peeks out to lick her lips. If you say yes, will she give you what you want? 

What you both want? 

Your heart is pounding louder than it ever has before, so loud you can barely hear yourself whisper, “Yes.” 

She finally looks satisfied. Agatha smugly nods to herself in victory, composure settling back over her face, and turns on her heel. Her hair flips over her shoulder, almost hitting you in the process. 

You watch her stroll away from you—should you call after her? beg her to stay?—and down the entire length of the sidewalk until she vanishes around the building. You stand by yourself for what feels like hours, just dumbfounded, until finally going back inside in a trance-like manner. Disappointment is cutting a hole into your stomach—you were so close to something. 

But then Agatha just walked away from you. 

And she knows now that you like her. That you want her. That you imagine you’re with her when you're with Morgan. 

She seemed only too delighted in that fact. 

The gleam in her eyes, the way she made you say it, like she needed to hear it. Like she didn’t already know how crazy she was driving you, or maybe she just wanted the satisfaction of confirming it.

But you got to her too, no matter how much she pretends to be in control. She was the one who got jealous and stormed out when you were dancing with Morgan. 

Morgan, who didn’t even notice you were gone. You find her now talking to the boy she pointed out earlier about their shared class and she barely looks up when you sidle next to her. Your body is on fire, your breathing is ragged, and there’s a throbbing between your legs that is consuming you. 

“Are you ready to go?” you whisper in her ear and she glances at you for a mere second. “Maybe we could go back to your place? 

At the suggestion in your tone, she perks up. “Ryan, I’ll see you tomorrow?” she says to the boy and he nods, looking a little dejected. 

You order an Uber as you’re pulling her out of the bar by the hand and it’s parked out front of the bar in a matter of minutes. You look around one last time for any sign of your professor, but she is gone. Did she text the teachers she was with that she had to run? Or did she just up and leave with no warning, just because of you? 

It was risky for her to appear so bothered, but it only makes the pulsing of your clit worse to know that she didn’t care. 

The drive back to Morgan’s apartment is only about twenty minutes, and it’s twenty minutes of you squirming in your seat and Morgan giving you a look every now and then. 

“You okay?” she finally asks quietly. The driver turns his head slightly to the side so he can make sure to hear your answer over the softly playing music. 

You nod. “Yeah, just excited to get back.” 

When the car pulls up in front of her dorm building, you throw the door open and get out, barely remembering to thank the driver. You’ll give him five stars later. Morgan struts to the lobby door, key fob in hand. 

She had been waiting outside when you picked her up earlier, so you linger behind her while she shoves open the door to the stairs. You take two-at-a-time to the third floor and she walks down the long carpeted hallway to the door at the end. 

“Are your roommates home?” you ask, voice cracking. 

Morgan slides her key into the lock. “Even if they are, we can just go to my room. This is one of the four-fours.” Four bedrooms and four bathrooms. God, how nice that must be. While you love sharing a room with Wanda, you do wish you had more space a lot of the time. 

Especially some private space. And your own bathroom? 

“You’re living the life,” you say in awe and Morgan huffs out a chuckle. 

The door opens into darkness, the only light coming from the moon in the window, and you carefully follow her to the second bedroom on the left. 

She flicks on the light and closes her bedroom door and you take it in. She has a full-sized bed with a mossy green duvet and white pillows, a leafy plant in a translucent purple vase on the nightstand, fairy lights and artificial vines hanging from the walls. You kick off your shoes and feel the soft, plush rug under your feet as you step over to look at the pictures on her walls. There’s a lot of her and her dad, her in town hall meetings, her with friends. 

“This is a really nice room,” you breathe. What does Agatha’s room look like? You’re picturing something modern, something upscale. Definitely a lot of psychology books. 

Morgan’s hands slide on your hips and you turn around to face her. Her eyes look more green than blue with her eyeliner. You hadn’t noticed that earlier. Her hair is mussed up from dancing at the bar, effortlessly pretty. You cup her cheeks and she smiles, pink lips contrasting with her perfect white teeth.

You pull her to you, mouths meeting in the middle, and you can taste the fruity drink you both had earlier. It’s a soft kiss at first, just tentative brushes against each other, but then you inhale through your nose and smell her perfume. 

It’s suddenly Agatha that you’re kissing and one of your hands trails down to her lower back to press her closer against you. The coffee and vanilla and spice—the scent seems darker, almost—swirls around your head and you moan. 

Tell me you think about me when you’re with her. 

She pushes up your shirt and you gasp at her fingertips on your bare skin. Heat seeps through to your stomach and you grip her closer. Her tongue languidly moves against yours, a stark contrast to the urgency pooling inside you. 

How much more of this can you take? 

You reach down and tear off your shirt and then hers, your lips immediately dropping down to nip at her collarbone. You feel her chest flare under your mouth and a thrill runs through you. 

Tell me that’s not what you’re doing.

Everything is happening so fast. Her scent and taste overwhelms you and you breathe hotly against her pale skin. Her fingers creep up your back and unclasp your bra. She glides it down your arms while you now suck at her cleavage and she gasps. 

You’re pulled up by your hair, her lips clash against yours, and you lose yourself in the kiss with your eyes still closed. 

Fingers play with the hem of your skirt and when her skin brushes against your lower stomach, there’s a tug from behind your navel to your cunt. Your hands push down her bra over her breasts and cup them, thumbs rolling her nipple. She moans. 

I want to hear you say it.

“Yes,” you gasp and she slides her hand down and underneath your skirt. You feel like you’re floating outside your own body, like this pleasure isn’t really yours. How strong was that drink? You can taste it on her breath still, the lemon and the grenadine and the orange bitters. The gin. 

Your chest heaves and you see Agatha smirking at you, taunting you with condescending praise about how needy you are for her. You are needy for her—you don’t think there’s anything you’ve ever wanted this much. 

She finds your clit over your underwear and presses on it and you keen loudly. Your sounds are swallowed by her mouth and you frantically moan for more. You grip onto her wrist, feeling the muscles tense as she moves to stroke her fingers over your clothed slit. 

“Please—fuck,��� you groan. 

She pushes the gusset of your panties over and skates her warm fingers through your swollen folds and you bite down on her lip to keep yourself from crying out. Her breath catches and she teases your entrance. Your walls are already clenching around nothing, your clit sensitive and aching, and her perfume is just making you wetter. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

You finally get what you want—her finger pushes slowly into you and your mouth drops open, panting against her lips. It’s good, so good, but you need so much more. 

A second finger enters you and your hips jerk. 

You’re a good girl. 

“Yes, fuck, yes—Agatha,” you breathe and immediately your muscles stiffen. You hear a slight choking sound and your eyelashes flutter open to see a pair of shocked green eyes. 

Not blue. 

Morgan stares back at you, hurt written all over her face. 

Part Eight

Taglist: @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 @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @filmedbyharkness @autbot @claramelooo @dandelions4us @agathaallalongg @jujuu23 @21cannibal @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @jeridandridge @hannibalcanniballz @chloeelou02x @hapuchika

[baisemains]

Elements of Desire

Chapter 1: Freaks & Geeks

single mom!sevika x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

contains: fluff! just a meet cute really, timebomb as a plot device, age gap technically (reader is early 30’s)

description: your newest student clashing with your brightest might be the best thing that ever happened to you.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

next // sevika masterlist

It was a normal Thursday morning and you were on your way to your chemistry classroom, already late to prep for your first class when your phone beeps. Hearing the tell-tale ring of Outlook, you know it’s something important so you pull it out of your pocket and see that the school secretary has emailed you.

‘New student being added to your first period, updating your roster now.’'

You internally groan, you’ve officially hit max occupancy for the year and it’s only the first week of October.

Taking a deep breath, you reach your classroom and quickly start to put your things in the corner behind your desk before your students start arriving.

Hearing footsteps, you look up and see one of your favorite students, Ekko, walking in.

“Hey dude, ready for today’s quiz?”

He smiles at you, both of you already knowing the answer. Ekko is the top student in your class by a mile, you’ve got no worries when it comes to him.

“Of course, teach, when have I ever let you down?”

You laugh and go back to pulling out your materials for the day.

The rest of your class files in within the next few minutes, and you’re just about to start the day’s lesson when there’s a gentle knock on the door.

Walking over, you open the door confused and see a blue haired girl standing there, nervously twiddling with the straps of her backpack.

“Hi, I’m Powder, they told me this was my first period…?”

You school your face and usher her inside, smiling as she stands at the front of the class, unsure of what to do.

“Everybody, this is Powder, our new student. Make sure you help her out if she needs it, alright?”

Murmurs of agreement float around the room as you turn to Powder.

“Follow me, I’m gonna introduce you to your lab partner.”

You walk her to the very back row of tables and stop next to Ekko’s station.

“Powder, meet Ekko. Ekko, meet Powder, your new partner.”

Ekko looks up from where he was writing in his notebook and furrows his eyebrows.

“…What do you mean, my new partner? I thought you said I could go without one this year.”

“I did, before the district filled up my class and left me no choice.”

“That’s not fair! A partner is just gonna slow me down, I’m gonna have to help her and do my work!”

Ekko starts to plead his case with you, but you hear Powder shuffle behind you and you’re not having it.

“Hey. I know it’s not an ideal situation, dude, but we’ve gotta work with what we’ve got. Give her a chance before you say anything else, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow at him and his shoulders slump, knowing you’re right. He never could really be mad at his favorite teacher.

“Okay, teach, my bad.”

He clears his stuff off of the chair next to him and you gesture for Powder to sit down.

“I’ll be right back with an assessment, okay? Let’s see where your chemistry skills are at.”

You leave the two of them and walk back to your desk to grab a general knowledge test so you can gauge where Powder sits in relation to the rest of your class. You hope she’s at least got the basics down or you’ll really feel bad for making her Ekko’s partner.

Heading over and giving it to her, you tell her to take as long as she needs while you hand out the planned quiz to everyone else.

While the kids are doing that, you sit at your desk and start grading assignments from last class. You’ve barely gotten through a handful when Powder walks up to your desk. Assuming she needs help, you look up at her and smile.

“What’s up Powder?”

Her eyes flicker between you and your computer as she chews on her lip.

“Um, I…finished my test.”

You blink at her. Glancing at your clock, it’s barely been fifteen minutes when it should’ve taken her at least thirty, and that’s comparing it to your brightest students.

Smiling softly to not make her so nervous, you put your hand out and ask to see it.

Scanning it over, you’re in shock. Every answer seems correct so far and all her work is accounted for. You wonder for a second if Ekko had helped her but quickly shot down that thought when you remember how reluctant he was to have a lab partner.

“Powder, this looks…perfect. Have you taken chemistry before?”

She lets out a shy smile as she answers.

“No, I just really like math.”

The gears in your head begin to turn as you realize you may have a star student on your hands.

“That’s great to hear! You think you’d feel comfortable taking today’s quiz? It covers the last couple units we’ve been working on.”

Her smile broadens at that.

“Yeah, that sounds okay.”

By the end of class, Powder’s successfully caught up to the rest of the kids and is starting to become an active participant, much to Ekko’s chagrin.

The next couple weeks of classes pass by quickly, and a new rivalry begins to bloom between Ekko and Powder.

At first, you thought it was just friendly competition between partners but you soon realize it’s more than that.

One day, you hear bickering from the back of the classroom and see Powder trying to reach for a test tube Ekko is holding.

The closer you get, the better you understand them when you hear Ekko yell, “I don’t need your help with this, you’re just gonna jinx me!”

As he says that, he leans back and begins to tilt the test tube directly over the boy standing at the next station.

Almost as if in slow motion, you immediately leap forward and push him out of the way as the liquid pours onto the ground and sizzles.

The entire class goes silent as you stand there staring at your two best students, feeling the smoke pour out of your ears.

The dam finally breaks as you loudly scold them both about safety guidelines and the hazards of the chemicals they’re dealing with.

They have the decency to look embarrassed and apologize to their classmate when you tell them that you’ll be contacting their parents.

Both of them look at you in horror and beg you not to, but your mind is already made up and you head to your desk to email their parents about a conference as soon as possible.

Ekko’s parents are able to meet that evening, a lovely couple that you met at Back To School Night, who apologize profusely for their son’s actions.

You tell them how you’re not going to go too hard on their son because he’s usually your best student and you know this isn’t typical behavior from him, although you do expect him to clean up his act.

Ekko sincerely apologizes and you nod, shooting him a quick smile to let him know you accept.

They thank you for your time and promise that he will no longer be a problem in class, whisking him out of the room with a large hand gripping the back of his neck.

The next night, you’re set to meet Powder’s mom as she was busy the previous one.

Having zero idea what to expect, her very curt reply to your email asking to meet didn’t leave you a whole lot to work with.

You just hope she’s not one of those parents who expect the teacher to be their kid’s only disciplinarian, you have enough of those already.

It’s nearing five o’ clock, the designated time for your meeting so you start organizing your desk a bit, not wanting anyone to think you’re a slob.

As you’re facing away from the entrance, you hear a gentle knock from the doorway and as you turn around to face your visitors, you wish you had googled the name from your email.

The last thing you’d imagined Powder’s mom to be was the hottest woman you’d ever seen, but you remind yourself she was still a parent you needed to talk to, so before you think about it too much, you wave them over.

“Please come in, both of you.”

Powder walks in first, sheepish with her hands behind her back.

Her mom follows, and your eyes trace over her face, having to look up the closer she gets.

You notice her thick eyebrows, slightly furrowed at the moment, framing her daunting grey eyes. Short black hair caresses her face, threatening to hide it from view. Her nose is prominent, and you decide how well it suits her. She also has a labret piercing, which draws your attention to her thick lips, currently situated into a closed half smile.

You don’t even realize you’re looking at her mouth until she starts talking.

“Sevika, Powder’s mom.”

Her large hand stretches out towards you and when you slip your hand into hers, it takes a good amount of effort to not shake it for longer than necessary.

It’s surprisingly soft, even with all of the calluses you can feel, and pleasantly warm. You wonder if she was wearing gloves to protect them from the chilly fall air outside or if she's just blessed with good genes.

Introducing yourself as well, you remove your hand from hers and drop it to your side, already feeling like you’re missing something.

Now looking between the two, you think that Powder is maybe adopted – or looks like her dad, you dreadfully think to yourself – because she doesn’t bear any resemblance to the Amazon in front of you.

Before you can say anything else, the woman in front of you takes a step back and nudges Powder’s shoulder before stuffing both of her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

“Go ahead, tell her.”

Your eyes flick up to Sevika, who’s smirking at her daughter and you quickly look back down before you catch her eye.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately, I never meant to let it go that far. I promise to lock in and be the student you deserve,” Powder declares with watery eyes, looking down at the floor when she’s done talking.

Pressing your lips together to contain your laugh, you close your eyes for a couple of seconds to gather yourself, finally opening them to see that Sevika is looking right at you.

Breaking the eye contact and clearing your throat, you look down at the girl in front of you and lay your hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you for apologizing Powder, it means a lot. I know you have what it takes to be an amazing student, you’ve been doing it this whole time. You just gotta quit the stuff with Ekko.”

She looks up at you at that, a defiant glint in her eye.

“You got it, teach,” she tells you through gritted teeth.

You giggle at her response, and then remember something else you wanted to bring up in this meeting, gesturing for both of them to sit at the station in the front row.

Grabbing a flyer from your desk, you walk back over and set it down in front of Sevika.

“So there’s a science fair coming up in the spring, and I think Powder should enter.”

Two pairs of eyes look up at you with matching lifted eyebrows, and for the first time tonight, you see a resemblance.

After laughing in your head, you continue on with your explanation.

“It’s open to all high schoolers in the state, and there’s a cash prize for the top three students; $10,000 for third, $25,000 for second, and $50,000 for first.”

Sevika’s eyes widen, letting her stoic mask slip for the first time tonight.

“The idea is to give them a head start on a college fund, but because the prize pool is so large, they require applications to even be able to conduct an actual project. They only accept the top 1,000 submissions, and then they cut it down to 100, but I really feel like Powder has a shot.”

You look between the two sitting in front you, gauging reactions.

Sevika chews the inside of her cheek as she glares at the flyer in front of her.

The first thing that enters her mind is just how life changing that money would be.

Powder's never wanted for anything, but it's also been a struggle to give her the best life Sevika feels she deserves, especially being a single mother.

'...50 grand for first place, huh?"

Sevika looks over the flyer skeptically for a few beats longer before passing it to Powder, who looks like she's about to faint from excitement.

You rub your hand on the back of your neck, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed for just throwing the idea out there like that.

Sevika's grey eyes flick back over to you after observing her daughter for a couple seconds.

"How much work is a project like this gonna require?"

Breathing an internal sigh of relief, you feel like you have a shot to convince her.

“It is gonna take up most of her free time, until the spring, I won’t lie, but if she can pull this off, it’ll all be worth it.”

Sevika lets out a scoff at that, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair.

"So I'm just supposed to let her spend months at your beck and call? No way, I-"

Powder suddenly slams her palm on the table before Sevika can protest further.

"Pleaseee, mom?”

Sevika looks down at her daughter, eyes narrowing at being cut off.

"This could seriously change my life, our life, and I promise it won't get in the way of my school work. I won't let you down.”

Sevika’s demeanor softens at that, seeing Powder’s determination reminds her of herself in a way.

After a few seconds of silence, Sevika turns back to where you’re standing and pierces you with a look.

“I’m not saying yes. I’ll think about it, but I do want you to send me more information about this thing.”

You nod fervently, grabbing the flyer and ripping a piece off the bottom to jot your number onto it.

Passing it to Sevika, you smile warmly.

“Of course, that sounds great. You’ll have my number if you need anything.”

She takes the slip, briefly touching your fingertips as she pulls it away, your cheeks heating up at the contact.

You look down at Powder, and she’s almost in tears with excitement.

Sevika rises from her chair and motions for Powder to follow as she stands in front of you.

“I’m serious about what I said. I want every bit of information you have on this, and then I’ll consider my answer.”

To punctuate her sentence, she sticks her hand out for another handshake, and this time, you grip her palm with the same energy she’s giving you, determined to show her that you’re serious about this.

“Of course, Sevika. You have my word.”

Her mouth twitches up into a small smile when you say her name, deciding she likes the way it sounds.

You notice her small gap for the first time, and feel a little swirl in your stomach.

“We’ll be in touch then, miss. Powder, let’s go babe, I gotta grab your sister and get dinner started.”

She drops your hand – slowly, you realize – and the two of them leave out the way they came, Powder clutching the flyer in hand and waving at you as they disappear from your sight.

Taking a seat in your desk chair, you start drafting up an email with more information about the science fair to Sevika, not wanting to waste any time.

It's almost an hour later when you're finally done detailing everything Sevika needs to know, and once you hit send, you lean back in your chair and finally let out the breath you'd been holding in.

The whole interaction left you feeling a bit frazzled, but not in a bad way.

You couldn't stop thinking about Sevika's face, the crinkle in her eyebrows whenever she looked at you, her eyes boring holes into your very soul.

Really, you can't help but be a bit frustrated at the fact you hadn't been able to stop staring at her the entire time, wondering what's wrong with you for thirsting over one of your students' moms.

With an annoyed groan, you rub your face to hopefully snap yourself out of it and pack up your things to leave for the night, thoughts occupied by this new character in your life.

[junrenjun]

love and lacrosse jackets

pe teacher!vernon x chemistry teacher!reader (fem)

genre: fluff

wc: 3k

warnings: reader is referred to as ms. (and other fem pronouns), reader wears vernon's clothes

a/n: this is not an understand series update and i apologize for that. however, here's a vernon teacher au with a little side of lacrosse and dad!seungcheol

You were suddenly thrown out of your thoughts by one of your students sighing and turning from her worksheet. “Ms. y/n, can I ask a question?” 

You knew this student, Maya, was likely trying to get out of doing her assignment. She was too smart for her own good. “Depends. Is it about the worksheet?” 

She paused for a second, turning her head slightly away in order to avoid your gaze. “...no.”

You continued. “Do you need to go to the bathroom or the nurse?”

Maya sighed and mumbled, “no.”

You turned back to your computer while giving your final response. “Then I think you know the answer. I would be happy to talk to you once you’ve balanced all those equations.” 

You should’ve known she wasn’t giving up that easily. If anything, she probably gave up halfway through the worksheet because she knew the answers and was just looking for something to entertain herself. “Mr. Chwe lets us ask him questions all the time.”

You snorted. “Mr. Chwe is a PE teacher Maya. You don’t have worksheets to do in his classes. Unfortunately, you do in chemistry. So please finish this or at least study for your quiz next week.” 

Maya was apparently taken aback by this. She was quick to defend herself, saying, “how do you know we don’t do worksheets in PE?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Maybe you should've been a college professor instead of a high school teacher. “I’m the girls lacrosse coach and he’s the boys coach. We spend a lot of time together and I’ve never once seen him make a worksheet.” 

An evil grin spread across Maya’s face. You internally groaned at this. That expression means she’s up to absolutely no good. She turned and tapped on her partner’s arm. Great, now she’s distracting other students too. “Henry, wouldn’t Ms. y/n and Mr. Chwe make a cute couple?” He grinned and started going off on a tangent about how funny it would be if the two lacrosse coaches were dating. 

This conversation really took a turn for the worse, didn’t it? There’s nothing you could do but groan, out loud this time, and put your head in your hands. Your neighboring teacher, Mr. Seokmin, really has impeccable timing though. He stuck his head through your door and grabbed your attention a few moments later. “Hey Ms. y/n, do you have a student that can run an errand for me real quick?”

Now was your chance. “Maya, since you seem to have no interest in balancing any more equations, why don’t you go help Mr. Seokmin?”

Before she could protest, the physics teacher grinned brightly at her before exclaiming, “perfect! Come on Maya, I need someone to help me carry these projects to the library.” Once she was finally out of the room, you breathed a sigh of relief. 

It didn’t last long though because your other students suddenly started giggling and murmuring amongst each other. Henry, who was still turned toward you, decided he needed to continue Maya’s antics in her absence. “You did say you and Mr. Chwe were close.” More giggles were heard. 

You’re not sure what you did to deserve this treatment from your 3rd hour honors class of all people, but clearly it was something. “Alright if you all don’t go back to your work I’m not offering any extra credit on this next quiz.” The rest of the hour passed in silence. 

“What’s with the long face?” Vernon thought the joking would cheer his best player up, but it just made Henry frown even more. 

After a few moments of silence, he finally answered, “I had a quiz in chemistry today. Don’t think I did too well on it.”

Vernon was quick to ask him which teacher he had. “Your favorite, Ms. y/n,” Henry responded. 

The PE teacher rolled his eyes at the comment but still clapped his hand on the player’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine, kid. She offers extra credit. But she also told me you and Maya were pestering her the other day instead of doing your work, so maybe you should put a little more effort into understanding the material next time.”

Henry grumbled, knowing nothing good would come of an argument. “Yeah, whatever you say Coach.” Then, he dropped his bag on the ground and ran out onto the field to start warming up.

Vernon felt someone approach him from behind. “See dude, even the kids can pick up on you and y/n’s chemistry. Haha, get it? Chemistry? Y/n teaches chemistry.” The head coach could barely restrain himself from flicking Mingyu in the forehead. He was a great assistant coach, but an incredibly annoying friend. 

“Why can’t I just be friends with a coworker and fellow lacrosse coach?” Vernon complained. Mingyu simply watched on as his friend continued. “Just because we’re both single doesn’t mean we should get together. I mean she’s really cool and works really well with the kids. And she’s an insane lacrosse player, an even better coach too. I think she could get the girls to state this year. I just think…” He’s cut off by Mingyu smacking his arm. 

For once, he’s grateful for the assistant coach’s intrusion, because he turns around to find you jogging up to him. Weird, he thought to himself, since you and the girls have a game today. You skid to a stop next to the two, and make eye contact with him. “You don’t happen to have an extra SVHS shirt do you? I think I forgot my coaching shirt at home today and I really don’t want Seungcheol getting on my ass for it.” 

Vernon’s world comes crashing down at that moment. Maybe he does have a teensy little crush on you. Because the thought of you wearing his clothes has him swooning. Mingyu, ever so helpful, snaps him out of the moment by clearing his throat to yell at the boys for messing around. Vernon blinks at you for a second before stammering out, “uh yeah I think so,” and reaching into his bag. He pulls out a gray quarter zip with the words “SVHS” and “Coach Chwe” embroidered on the chest. He debates hiding it from your sight and shoving it back in his bag to save you both the embarrassment, but he knows how strict Seungcheol is as an athletic director. 

He eventually tosses it to you, stuttering out something about good luck while watching you throw it over your head. Once it’s on you say, “I have the same one, so hopefully no one sees the difference. Thanks Chwe.” He can’t even process your words because his brain is simply malfunctioning seeing you in his clothes, especially ones that say his name. He’s no better than his high schoolers. Before he knows it, you’re turning on your heel and jogging back to the main field. 

Someone comes up behind him, filling Mingyu’s absence, since the assistant coach ran off to lead practice drills in the middle of Vernon’s little crisis. He hears the lacrosse captain snickering and then telling him, “damn Coach, you’ve got it bad. You’re redder than a tomato.”

Vernon simply cannot handle it any further. “Oscar, for heaven’s sake, please shut your mouth and go back to practice.” Oscar throws his hands up in mock defense, before grabbing the ball that rolled over to Vernon’s feet and running back onto the field.

You really need to give Vernon his coach’s jacket back. It didn’t help that you weren’t a morning person, and seemed to accidentally leave it at home whenever you left for work each day. It also maybe didn’t help that it smelled just like the boy’s lacrosse coach, who, admittedly, smelled pretty damn good. But, you couldn’t hoard Vernon’s things forever. You were lucky enough that you had gone a week without him mentioning the jacket at all, which you chalked up to him knowing you were busy.

Tomorrow, you told yourself. Tomorrow you would take the jacket back to school and give it to him. You even laid it out with your own jacket, which you were going to wear the next since you had a game anyways. That, however, was a mistake. Because in the morning, groggy from lack of sleep, you accidentally threw on Vernon’s jacket and shoved your own into your work bag. 

How no one told you until 3rd period, you’re not quite sure. Mainly because Seokmin had specifically complimented your outfit when you visited him before your first class. You thought maybe it was because you were wearing a new pair of pants. Clearly it was not and the physics teacher was using it as a means to tease you (and Vernon by proxy). If only you had known.

Maya stepped into your classroom extra peppy that day, which was already a recipe for disaster. The fact that she was the one to catch that you were wearing Mr. Chwe’s zip-up certainly did not help. A gasped “oh my god” stopped you in the middle of your lecture. You pointedly looked at the girl before asking, “Maya, is everything alright?”

The poor girl could barely contain her excitement, practically shaking in her seat. “You’re dating Mr. Chwe! I knew it!”

You were caught so off-guard that it took you a while to respond. “Maya, where did you even get that idea from? And you’re being disruptive, I’m trying to teach about equilibrium.” 

She stood from her seat and pointed at you, before excitedly exclaiming, “your jacket. You’re wearing Mr. Chwe’s jacket!” You looked down and, sure enough, Vernon’s name was plastered across the chest. To put it plainly, you were mortified. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ve embarrassed yourself even more when you don’t respond for a solid minute. 

Finally, when you’re done wallowing in pity in front of a bunch of 16 year olds, you make your way to your desk and pull out a hall pass. You hand it to Maya swiftly before telling her, “if you’re too invested in this to learn chemistry, go bother Mr. Chwe about it. It’s his planning period.” She gapes up at you before scrambling out of the room.

You turn back to the rest of the class, making sure to pointedly look at Henry. “No other questions about my love life?”

A deadly silence spreads across the room. Henry sinks back in his chair but you watch a hand creep up from the back of the classroom. You sigh and call on the girl. She’s clearly surprised you even allowed her to speak, because the question is whispered to the point you can barely hear it. “Why do you have Mr. Chwe’s jacket?”

The inquiry is enough to throw you off the deep end. “Ok, I’m not teaching the rest of class. I don’t care what you guys do as it’s either A) not disruptive or B) asking me about my personal life.” 

Seungcheol is surprised when there is a knock on the athletic office door in the middle of 3rd period. Students should be in class and if it were a staff member, they would have just let themselves in. He tells whoever it is to come in and is slightly less surprised to see Maya standing in front of him. She doesn’t let him speak first, quickly letting out, “do you know where Mr. Chwe is?”

He raises an eyebrow at the girl. “You got a hall pass kid?” he fires back. Maya waves the piece of paper around in his face. He rolls his eyes. 

She puts her hands on her hips and looks pointedly at him. “Seriously though. Do you know where Mr. Chwe is? It’s supposed to be his planning period or something.”

Seungcheol is still confused why she needs to see Vernon in the middle of 3rd hour and how she managed a hall pass for it. “Why?”

Maya plops down on the chair in front of his desk with a sigh, clearly this conversation was not happening without a little bit of a fight. “Ms. y/n sent me to ask him a question.”

The athletic director can’t help but let out a snort at the girl’s comment. Maya is suddenly interested in his reaction. “Why is that so funny? Do you think they’re dating too?”

Seungcheol is surprised yet again. “Do you think they’re dating?”

Now Maya snorts. “Obviously. Ms. y/n is wearing his lacrosse jacket today.” She laughs when the man’s eyes practically bulge out of his skull. He rustles around his desk, grabbing a notepad and writing another hall pass for the girl.

After scribbling for a second, he passes the note to the girl and tells her, “Mr. Chwe is in his office, room 218.”

The girl grabs the note from his hands and gleefully gets up to skip out the door. She stops midway through and calls out over her shoulder, “thanks Dad!”

“I’m not dating Ms. y/n, Maya. You know that.” Vernon sighs exasperatedly. “Why are you even asking me this?”

He knows he’s in for trouble when she smirks. “She’s wearing your coaching jacket today. Care to explain that?”

Vernon knows he should’ve asked for it back sooner rather than later. But he was secretly hoping that he would be able to see it on you one more time. And the longer you have it, the more likely it’s going to come back smelling like you (not that Vernon cares anyways right?). He doesn’t miss a beat though, explaining to Maya that he lent you his jacket for a game and that you probably mixed it up with your own. She’s not impressed, but she knows it’s an explanation that’s most likely true. This doesn’t stop her from interrogating Vernon further. “Do you want to date Ms. y/n?”

His silence is incriminating. He can tell by Maya’s mile wide grin. Trying to put an end to it, the lacrosse coach stands up from his desk, telling her that he’ll walk her back to whatever class she left from.

One tiny important detail he forgot is that you teach 3rd hour honors chemistry. A class that one of his players, Henry, shares with Maya. And he’s currently standing outside your door, watching as you type away on your computer. Sure enough, “Mr. Chwe” is embroidered across the chest. Vernon thinks he might combust on the spot. His student clearly picks up on this, muttering something about how she’s “seen middle schoolers with more balls.” 

He waits outside your door as Maya enters the room. There’s only a few minutes left of the period, so he figured it would be better for both of you to talk away from prying eyes. As the bell rings, he patiently watches the students trickle out your door. When he’s sure that everyone is gone, he steps into the doorway. What he does not expect is for you to walk straight into his chest, stumbling back with the cutest “oomph” he’s ever heard. 

Vernon is stunned but you look completely mortified. Probably because you just ran into the man whose jacket you’re wearing basically without his consent. His assumption is correct because you start mumbling out apologies. “I’m so sorry I thought this was my jacket when I grabbed it this morning. I didn’t mean to wear it today, I made such a mess of this. I shouldn’t have even asked for it in the first place. I was just about to change, give me a second I…”

The lacrosse coach cuts you off in the middle of your little rant. “Do you want to go out with me after your game on Friday?” 

You blink at him, not even processing the words he just said. When you finally do, your cheeks flush and you glance down at your watch. “Do you think you can ask me that in like 4 hours, Chwe?”

Vernon has no idea what you mean by that. He gawks a little bit. Do you need time to think about it? Are you not interested? Do you already have a boyfriend? Shit, he should’ve thought this through.

You break him out of his little trance with a small chuckle. “We’re on the clock Vernon. And you have a class in three minutes.” 

He glances at his watch. His freshman PE class is probably waiting for him. He mumbles something about meeting him on the main field before practice. Then he’s out the door. You’re left there, stunned, still in his jacket. You don’t bother to take it off the rest of the day.

A few hours later, Mingyu and Seokmin are watching you both converse from afar. Vernon’s cheeks are the reddest they’ve ever been. You’re fidgeting nervously but also smiling. It seems to be going well. Seokmin turns to the assistant coach before saying, “took them long enough.”

They hear someone approaching and turn to see Seungcheol. “You both owe me $20.” 

Both the teachers roll their eyes at him but reach for their wallets. Maya pops up from their other side, walking up to her father. “I should be getting at least half of that. I did all the work.” 

Seungcheol grunts, pondering her proposition. He turns to her. “What about this? You can either get $20 now or $200 if y/n is Mrs. Chwe before you graduate college?”

Maya’s eyes brighten and that sinister smile spreads across her cheeks once again. “Deal.” (She’s $200 richer at her college graduation).

[coichii]

winter ✭

—(🎧)—> when han realizes something’s wrong with you before you realize it yourself

pairing - newbf!han x fem!reader

genre - comfort, cheers to me failing a test !! ☻

word count - 0.8k

warnings - implied seasonal depression & post hiatus writing

Maybe it’s the winter air, maybe it’s the warmth of the beach being replaced with snow fall of small ice crystals in the sky. You don’t know, but it’s making you feel off.

It’s a feeling quite indescribable, but if there were a you could equate to it, it would be numbness. The source? No idea.

It always comes and goes during the cold, a shiver cold air radiating through your body as the feeling of winter does.

It’s hard to stick to a routine during the winter. Getting up at 7:00am, taking walks, exercising, drinking water? You can pretty much say those are all in the garbage.

The only sense of consistency left in your life is Han, and even that is a fairly recent addition. Knowing him isn’t, but kissing him and cuddling him? Yeah, that’s different.

It hurts so say the feeling doesn’t go away with him. It definitely gets lighter and fades away, but it’s still there lingering.

It could be school too, and you’ve already noticed the A’s slowly fading into B’s, into C’s, and slowly but surely, D’s.

To say it’s taking a toll on you would be an understatement.

< —— >

Fuck. No no no.

31% is what the computer screen infront of you reads. A final score for a critical quiz in your major class.

A buzzing starts in your head, one that rings your ears like a gong had just been hit next to them. One that is so heavy that it begins to blur your vision alongside the fresh hot tears in your eyes.

As if it couldn’t get worse, a faint knock is soon heard on the door of your college dorm room. You begrudgingly get up, groaning as you quickly shut your laptop and wipe the moisture from your eyes.

God I swear. I can’t deal with my roommates right n-

“Y/n? I’ve been wondering why you weren’t answering my text. It’s been days.”

Definitely not who you were expecting to be on the other side of the door.

“O-oh hi. Come in.” You usher, pointing him and softly closing the door behind him.

“I didn’t know it’s been that long, I’m sorry, Hannie.” You say half heartedly. You did genuinely feel bad, but you can’t muster up the energy.

You move to peck a small kiss on his lips, but he places his hands on your cheeks to stop you. He places his forehead on yours, eyes staring into yours as if he’s trying to read what your lips won’t give up.

“Is everything ok?”

You can feel a sting make its way through your body, but you ignore it. You have to ignore it.

“Yeah, I am. I promise I’ve just been b-“

“Baby, don’t lie to me. I’ve known you for long enough to know when you are. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been building up for so long, or it’s the look on his face or the tone of his voice. Whatever it is, it’s coming out.

“I-I really don’t know. I’m sorry Han, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.” You choke, a feeling of helplessness escaping its way from your heart.

“It’s like everything that I’ve been working for is falling apart in front of me, and it’s scary.” By now, he’s already wrapped his strong arms around your body, enveloping you in a comforting scent of lavender and love.

“I know. I know it’s scary. But you want to know something?” He proposes, and you sniffle and look at him, eyes filled to the brim with sincerity.

“You’re doing so well. You’re so smart, so strong, so independent. It’s okay to take breaks, it’s ok to struggle. Especially, it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to have moments where you feel like every thing is falling apart, but it’s important that you know it’s not.”

Have you ever felt a feeling like an immense weight being lifted off your shoulders? A feeling like a deep breath even though there’s no oxygen? If not, that’s surely what you’re feeling now.

“I love you. I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.” You sniffle, scrubbing dripping tears off with your fist.

“Don’t say sorry. I forgive you. Forgive me for not coming sooner.” He says, rubbing the silk of your hair in a comforting manner.

“You have nothing to be forgiven about.” You mumble, clutching a fist onto his shirt where you hold yourself, still in the same area from where he had come in.

“Now you know how I feel when you keep saying sorry.” He teases, a small chuckle coming out as well. “Cmon, let’s get you something to eat and I’ll help you with anything you need.”

“Ok” you nod, following him as he opens and walks out the door of your room.

That’s what it will be. Everything will be okay when you have him.

[phykios]

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!”

[eternaldesi]

⌗nerd!matt x . sorority girl!reader ﾉ

─── Matt meets your sorority sisters for the first time, and while they grill him relentlessly, he wins them over with his quick wit and charm.

THE KNOCK ON THE SORORITY HOUSE DOOR WASN’T JUST LOUD —it was thunderous. You jumped, almost spilling your drink, as your sisters erupted into giggles around you. Matt was here. “You sure about this, babe?” he’d asked earlier, his voice tinged with a mix of nerves and disbelief. “I feel like I’m walking into a lion’s den.” You’d kissed his cheek, trying to reassure him. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself, and they’ll love you. Probably.”Probably. Not exactly comforting. Now, as you opened the door to find Matt standing there, holding a box of cookies and looking adorable in his navy sweater and glasses, you knew the next few hours would be… interesting. “Hey,” he said, smiling nervously. “I brought cookies. Thought it might help my case.” “Good call,” you teased, leaning in for a quick kiss before pulling him inside. The chatter from the living room immediately ceased as your sisters turned their attention to the newcomer. Matt hesitated for a moment, glancing at the group of girls lounging on couches, all staring at him like he was the main event. “This is Matt,” you said, trying to sound casual even though your heart was racing. “My boyfriend.”

“Hi,” Matt said, giving an awkward little wave. “Nice to meet you all.” “Cookies? Really?” Brittany, one of your more outspoken sisters, raised an eyebrow as she sauntered over. “Bold move.” Matt held up the box. “Oatmeal chocolate chip. They’re homemade. Thought it might be a safer bet than flowers.”Brittany eyed him for a moment before taking the box. “Alright, he gets one point. Let’s see how long it lasts.”“Britt,” you hissed, glaring at her. But Matt just smiled. “No, it’s fine,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “I figured I’d be under a microscope tonight. Might as well lean into it.”“Oh, he’s self-aware,” Taylor quipped from the couch. “That’s two points.” You shot Matt an apologetic look, but he seemed oddly at ease now. “So, what happens next? A pop quiz? A talent show?” “A Q&A,” Brittany said, motioning for him to sit. “We have to make sure you’re worthy of our girl.” “Got it,” Matt said, taking a seat beside you. “Fire away.”The questions started out tame enough. What’s your major? (Computer science.) How did you two meet? (In the library—cliché, but true.) What do you like about her? (Everything, but mostly her laugh and the way she always knows what to say.) But then things started to get… creative.

“Would you still love her if she shaved her head and got a face tattoo?” Matt didn’t miss a beat. “Of course. Though I’d probably ask what inspired the look.” “Do you know her Starbucks order by heart?” “Caramel macchiato, extra caramel drizzle. And if she’s in a bad mood, cake pops are mandatory.” “What’s your stance on sorority parties?” “I think they’re great,” Matt said. “Though I’m probably better at trivia night than keg stands.” The girls laughed at that one, and you couldn’t help but smile. He was holding his own better than you’d expected. By the time the interrogation wound down, most of your sisters were looking at Matt with a mix of amusement and approval. He’d answered every question with a mix of honesty and humor, and it was clear they were starting to warm up to him. “Alright,” Brittany said finally. “I guess you’re not the worst.” “High praise,” Matt replied with a grin. “But,” she added, “if you hurt her, we’ll make your life a living hell.” “Fair,” Matt said, nodding. “But just so you know, I’d never do anything to hurt her. She’s way too important to me.”The room went quiet for a moment, and you felt your cheeks flush. Matt glanced at you, his expression softening. “Alright, nerd,” Brittany said, breaking the silence. “You’re in. For now.” “Thanks,” Matt said, standing up. “And, uh, thanks for not eating me alive. I appreciate it.”

As the girls laughed and started to disperse, you turned to Matt, who looked both relieved and exhausted. “See?” you said, slipping your hand into his. “That wasn’t so bad.” “I don’t know,” he teased. “I think I aged five years in there.” “Welcome to dating me,” you replied with a grin. And as you pulled him toward the kitchen to grab a drink, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the boy who was willing to face the lion’s den just to be with you.

۶ৎ — layout Creds : @pearlzier

[callme-naomi]

You Mess with Her, You Mess with Me

Your daughter had just joined sixth grade, and it meant even more studies and wild experiences. While it wasn't that much of a hassle for her initially, being the studying kid, her father instructed her to let him know immediately should she face any trouble.

At that time, none of you suspected anything should go wrong.

One day, she came back home nearly in tears, and she refused to talk about it on the way back, letting the energetic younger brother do the talking. Once safely back home and in your arms, she told you about the event that happened today.

The sciences teacher was absent, so a substitute had taken over for the day. He decided to hold a quiz contest between the girls and the boys, and the topic was 'general knowledge'. When it started, he asked questions about cricket, football, computers - to sum up, all questions boys could answer.

And when the girls lost the competition, the prize for the boys was announced - that they could humiliate the girls any way they want, publicly, for the rest of the lesson, and the girls cannot retaliate.

And when the girls protested, the teacher merely shrugged, saying he doesn't care even if they complained to the headmaster.

Your daughter, who had tried her best to win, was also insulted by the boys, who called her with horrible nicknames and humiliated her on her appearance. A few of the girls had begun crying, seeing nobody could save them and the boys were all laughing at them.

While at first she was crying in your arms, apologizing for not winning, your heart breaking every time a sob escaped her, you told her not to tell Papa yet.

You thought he was already too tired from his daily overtime working, so worrying him on something like this made no sense, especially when the real teacher will return tomorrow, and this was something you could handle. But you did instruct her on telling you if it happened again.

So that evening, no complaint was registered to Kento, and the next morning you went and had a word with the headmaster, who assured you this won't happen again.

But the next week, the same teacher was given to them, the same game was played, and the results and the winning prize was repeated.

When she came back home, that day you decided to tell Kento and ask if you should have a word again.

So on the dinner table, after your son went off to play with his friends, you and your daughter sat beside him, his eyebrow raised at the serious expression on both faces.

"Did something happen at school, sweetheart?" he clocked what had happened immediately.

She nodded, and told him all about it. All the while you watched, Kento's dinner long forgotten, his attention totally focused on his little girl, silence ensued, but you did not fail to notice the fisted hands, knuckles growing whiter and whiter as his face showed more of his anger.

Once she was done, you asked him, "should I have it complained again?"

Very slowly, he turned to you, and in a quiet voice he said, "you've talked about this before?"

You nodded.

"And still, it happened again?" Clenching his fists together, he sighed. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"I thought I'd handle it," you mumbled, not sure of your answer anymore.

"No. You won't talk to them tomorrow." He set his elbows on the table. "I will."

You two watched stunned at his angry face. In all your years with him, you'd seen him annoyed, not enraged.

But if there was something Kento Nanami would not tolerate, it was his loved ones getting humiliated. Especially his princess.

And for the first time ever, you heard him swear. Not the usual 'shit', but a grander one. "That [curse word] needs to be taught a lesson. And I'll take care of it."

And then he turned to his daughter, holding her hand. "If anything like that happens again, you will let me know. Clear?"

She nodded.

And the next day, everyone watched as your daughter was followed by her father, in his suit, giving the look of someone calm and composed.

And calm and composed he was all the time, as he had 'a word' with the headmaster, and then the teacher in question separately.

So of course, everyone was surprised as to why that teacher was fired, and why did that teacher have a slap mark on his face.

What nobody knew was that teacher had messed with a daughter, and as long as the father was there for her, nobody could dare mess with her.

[starlvcied]

₊˚⊹♡ rin itoshi x f!reader " FRAMED RIVALRY " CHAPTER 002

in which your academic rival, aka the captain of the soccer team, sneaks his way into the photography club with you. ꨄ︎ CHAPTER 002

cw: swearing (a lot) , rin definitely needs therapy wc : 1.8k

if someone had told you a week ago that rin itoshi would willingly join the photography club, you wouldve laughed in their face. yet here he is, showing up to every meeting like he belongs, sitting in on discussions, and most annoying– actually being good at it. 

it doesnt make sense. rin is the the type to dismiss anything that doesn't revolve around soccer, the kind of person that scoffs at having to do anything that doesnt serve his ambitions. but every time you try to pry into his real motives, he gives you the same flat responses.

“i told you, i just like photography.” or–

“can you piss off?” or–

“mind your fucking business, lukewarm.”

but noone else seems to question it. the club members welcome him in without hesitation (except for livvy and daria, who you specifically warned to stay the hell away from him), is probably more impressed by the fact that the soccer captain is even acknowledging their existence. it gets on your nerves, especially when people start treating him like he’s some kind of prodigy. well, he sorta is– but thats besides the point.

“he’s a fast learner,” daria comments as you all review recent shots on the clubs computer. “look at this framing– i cant believe he did that.”

you barely glance at the image before skipping them with a scoff. “anyone can take a decent picture with the right settings. he’s just copying the techniques i already explained to him.”

rin, whos leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. he doesnt even react to your dismissiveness. “jealous?” he asks, his voice as indifferent as ever. 

you slowly turn around, facing him with a scowl. “of you? not a chance.”

“well thats not a pretty face.”

it becomes a pattern. rin attends every meeting that doesnt get in the way of his practice or his games, participating just enough to remain involved, and occasionally throws in dry, insulting comments at you and your clubmates, mostly you, made to push your buttons. and unfortunately, it works. you’d expect him to lose interest within days, to get bored and drop the act. but he doesnt.

and thats what bothers you the most.

you dont usually mind morning classes. if anything, you enjoy them– mostly due to most of the students being too tired to be rowdy, so mornings at your school are pretty peaceful. but that was before rin itoshi started making them unbearable.

ever since the debate project forced you to work together, things have only escalated between you two. its like a silent war– every test, every assignment, every question posed by the teacher turns into an unspoken battle for dominance.

and neither of you are willing to lose.

so when your first period teacher walks in, announcing an impromptu quiz, you already know exactly where this is headed. you get a glance at rin through your peripheral and find that he was already looking at you. obsessed freak. 

“i’ll be grading these on the spot,” the teacher says, handing out the papers. “no multiple choice– explanations are required. show your reasoning.”

you glance to your left once more, where rin is already twirling that stupid ballpoint pen between his fingers, the epitome of nonchalance. but you know better. you can feel the competitive energy radiating off of him.

the moment the papers hit your desk, it begins. you dont even bother writing your name, nor the date, nor the period.

the only sound in the room is the scratching of pens against paper. you work quickly but precisely, mapping out each answer with clear, logical steps. you’re writing harder than usual, your lead breaking a few times, and your palm begins to burn. you refuse to give rin the satisfaction of finishing before you.

a flicker of movement catches your eye. rin shifts slightly in his seat, leaning forward as he writes, his stroke sharp and decisive. he’s fast. too fast. it reminds you of how he acts on the field.

you grit your teeth. hes rushing. that has to be it. theres no way hes double checking his work at that pace. (unless he doesnt have to. maybe he is as perfect as he presents himself to be.)

your pencil moves faster.

you finish just as rin sets his pen down.

both of you look up at the same time, locking eyes.

theres a moment of intense silence. then, without a word, you both flip your papers over and slide them toward the edge of your desks, waiting for the teacher to collect them.

the rest of the class finishes at a normal, more human pace– less like a factory machine. but you and rin remain frozen in place, the unspoken competition still lingering between you.

the teacher grades quickly, making occasional sounds of both approval and disapproval. you watch as she pauses at rin’s paper (you knew it was his because you had already memorized his stupid handwriting, and got a glance at the moment she picked it up). her eyebrows lifted slightly before marking something. then she gets to yours, tapping her pen against the desk thoughtfully before moving on.

finally, she returns her focus back to the class. “excellent work from most of you,” she says, “but per usual, our top scorers were neck and neck.” 

you sit up straighter. rin remains still.

the teacher glances between the two of you, lips quirking slightly, as if she finds this amusing. “one of you scored 100%. the other, a 99.”

your breath catches.

you whip your head toward rin at the same time he looks at you. his expression is unreadable, but you could see it in his eyes– hes waiting.

the teacher places the papers down on her desk. “the perfect score goes to…” she paused. you felt as if she was creating suspense on purpose. she finally flips one over, revealing the name scrawled at the top.

and to your surprise, its not yours.

for a second, you just stare at it. the weight of that single point settles uncomfortably in your chest, and embarrassment bubbles in your stomach.

slowly, you turn to look at him. he’s not smirking, not outright gloating, but theres a flicker of triumph in his expression. the way his lips press together, the way his fingers drum lightly on the desk as if to say, i win.

you inhale sharply. one point. you lost by one point.

it shouldnt bother you this much. its just a quiz. its not like this is the first time one of you has beaten the other.

but it does bother you– no, it enrages you.

so when the teacher move’s on, discussing the correct answers, you lean slightly toward rin and mutter, “enjoy your fuckin’ moment. this wont happen again.”

he doesnt look at you, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “thats not very head of the student council of you.”

that stupid fucking smirk made you want to strangle him and leave him to the rats. you pursed your lips before responding, your tone the opposite of polite. “shut up, dickwad.”

he didnt seem to take it to heart. all he gave was a simple eye roll and a breathy laugh, if you could even call it that. “sounds like someones mad they lost.”

and just like that, the war continues.

rin itoshi is an annoyingly fast learner. 

that much becomes obvious after only a few days in the photography class.

youd hoped he would get bored, that the frustration of being a beginner would drive him a way. but rin treats photography the same way he treats soccer or school– like a challenge. and rin doesnt lose.

which means hes actually trying.

and, worse– he’s getting better.

you watch as he crouches low, camera in hand, adjusting his focus with practiced precision. as of right now, the photography club was taking pictures while the student government set up the school to become more valentine's day themed. currently, you had rin practice by taking a photo of a boy hanging up heart-shaped decor on the walls. he clicks the shutter, barely pausing before reviewing the shot.

you dont want to admit it, but the composition is good. the depth of field is balanced, and the framing naturally draws the eye to the subject.

he stands, his frame towering over you as he turned the camera toward you. “better?”

you tilt your head, pretending to scrutinize. “..its fine.”

rin frowns slightly. “thats what you said last time.”

“maybe you’re just ‘fine’ at this.”

his lips press into a thin line. “lukewarm critique.”

you roll your eyes. “you want real critique?” you snatch the camera from his hands and point at the screen. “your subject placement is predictable, your angles are too rigid, and you rely too much on symmetry. it looks… controlled.”

rin raised an eyebrow. “and thats a bad thing?”

“its a safe thing.” you lift your own camera. “photography isnt just about control. Its about instinct, feeling natural. feeling the shot instead of just calculating it.

rin doesnt look convinced. “feeling doesnt win anything.” 

“tell that to every award winning photographer literally ever.” you step past him, snapping a picture without even looking through the viewfinder. then you turn the screen toward him. “see?”

rin stares at it for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “so youre saying i should just take random pictures instead? thats stupid.”

you roll your eyes again. “i’m saying you should stop treating this like a competition.”

he gives you a look that is so blatantly unimpressed that it makes your blood boil. “you think im competing with you?”

you stare at him. is he fucking serious?

rin doesnt react. no denial, no confirmation. he just watches you with that same impassive expression, teal eyes unreadable. then he tilts his head slightly.

“or maybe i just like photography.”

the way he says it– so deliberately, so casually– makes you want to shove your camera down his throat and watch him choke to death.

instead, you step closer, voice low. “say that again with a straight face.”

rin blinks. then, like the shitty little menace he is, he repeats with a deadpanned expression. “maybe i just like photography.”

you swear he’s fucking with you.

the moment is cut short– the bell. the club members begin packing up, and rin, as usual, moves on as if nothing happened. you watch as he slings his camera strap over his shoulder, leaving without another word.

and you– you are left standing there frustrated beyond belief. 

because of the rivalry.

because he’s improving too fast.

and because you're starting to believe he’s damn near perfect, and you hate it.

what does this mean for you?

001<< >>003

i got lazy w this so its kinda bad sorry!! also i dont know jack shit abt photography lol just roll with it.

tags: @mixolya @x3nafix @rinniebinniebay @levihanmyotp @anqelkoz @megumismyhusband @aisqka

[randomdwellerr]

A/N: i think I’ve fallen victim to the A03 writers curse as I dropped my beautiful computer down the stairs early this week. Anyways I hope yall enjoy a nice slow burn because I was 3500 words in like “I STILL HAVEN’T ADDED THE SMUT.” I think I did dumbification justice here but lmk ofc. Anyways this will be on A03 soon enough.

Office hours

Warnings: Dumbification, DubCon, Power Imbalances, cruel Zhongli lowkey, Spanking, Degradation. Lmk if I missed anything ❤️

Make sure to study chapters 9-10, 13, and 14 in your Geography Book and come prepared to discuss your findings next class.

Yeah right, if only the reading was comprehensible! The paragraphs about climatology jumbled together before flying off the pages, toward different corners of your room.

You’d studied so hard that when you squinted your eyes, it didn’t provide you with a clearer look, but instead blurred further. Only when you blink rapidly would the fog temporarily dissipate from view. At this point, you were one eye rub away from convincing yourself that this was a visual impairment, not a school related mental breakdown.

And that wasn’t the worst of it, your hands had begun to cramp from gripping your highlighter or pen while you frantically tried to write to retain some of the knowledge. That’s when you knew things were going downhill.

And to the surprise of no one, that didn’t work.

What was once a well organized notebook was now filled with scribbles or yellow streaks— and occasionally tears— as you continued to hunch over your desk.

You were— are a good student. B average, nice scholarship, advanced placement, everything had been going nicely but a stupid geography had been your downfall.

You didn’t intend on doing anything related to the subject when you took the class, and you surely weren’t now that you had a taste of the stress, but you had signed up for the class with a bit of peer pressure from your friends.

It was easy they said, we’d see each other more they claimed. If you could go back in time, you would warn yourself that only the latter was true, and only for a while anyway.

The first day of class in the crowded auditorium, you’d secured a plush seat with your group of friends. You’d figure the class would be easy enough, you’d taken a handle full of history classes through high school and now college.It didn’t hurt that Professor Zhongli was easy on the eyes—and the ears. His deep, rumbling voice paired with sharp hazel eyes was enough to distract you. And then there was that long ponytail, somehow managing to look both professional and a little magical when it caught the light. Oh, and an empty ring finger.

Honestly, if the whole teaching thing didn’t work out for him, envisioning Zhongli as a model wasn’t hard.

Everything started out fine. The first quiz had been easy enough, based on the contents of the syllabus Mr Zhongli passed out on the first day of classes.

After that, the harder stuff started. Climatology, Geomorphology, Hydrology, every single horrific

topic, that you couldn’t comprehend. The first couple class days, you would joke around with your friends, listen to music, anything else but study in the designated time. Your teacher however, never said anything, never called on you to answer a question, read aloud, nothing. If you doubted before he knew your name, you were sure he didn’t know it now.

When the second test came around, you knew you’d made a grave mistake, not only by not taking the class seriously but actually signing up for the class in the first place. A fat F, circled in red ink, rested at the top of your paper. When your friends sports low to mid A’s and B’s, you knew something had to give. And apparently the solution was simpler than you’d thought, as written in neat handwriting below the F was a note.

Perhaps you should try sitting up front, away from potential distractions.

Maybe instead of blindly signing up for the class you should have looked his name up on ratemyprofessor, even now you wanted to leave a scathing review on his surprisingly perfect record.

The paper was promptly balled up and thrown into a small corner of your room, probably next to your syllabus.

How utterly ridiculous. If he could notice you getting distracted during his lecture, he could also realize that you had stopped talking to your friends in class a long time ago.

But that wasn’t the real problem anyways, and you knew it. His class was too hard. It was deadline after deadline after deadline, whether it be of assigned reading, essays, peer review, and God forbid you attempted the extra credit.

There was bonus work to boost your grade so

of course you didn’t expect the work to be easy but hard was a true gross understatement.

The directions were simple enough, do this, this, this, a little more of that, and this again. As expected of a college course, but how could you manage to do all of that if you couldn’t finish— let alone understand the work you were actually required to do.

Soon enough though, you tossed your pride aside and moved to the front of the class. And true to his advice, you had been able to comprehend more, not a lot more, but something was better than nothing.

And it seemed he noticed too, his eyes began to actually find yours in class and his smile seemed genuine too. A polite, encouraging grin that never ceased to make your efforts seem worth it.

The next test, however, reminded you of your standing in the class. A cursive D+ sat like a black hole on the front of your quiz packet. Progress like that was truly no progress at all.

If you hadn’t already wasted water crying during the test itself, you would have broken down when he returned the paper to you. Face down.

With the actual exam coming up, you knew you needed to see Mr Zhongli in person. Under no circumstances could you fail this class, even if it didn’t help you further your career you still couldn’t flunk it. Lest you want to lose your scholarship.

The bag crossed over your chest, felt extra heavy as you trekked to Zhongli’s office. Maybe it was the computer, or the spiral notebook, but most likely it was the 319 page Geography book buried somewhere inside it. The physical copy was paid for by your scholarship but the online copy was not and being the broke College student you were, it definitely was not affordable.

Your knuckles brushed against the oak door, below the golden name plate that read Dr Morax. The name seriously fit him, it sounded just as professional as he was.

After a firm come in you found yourself inside his medium sized office.

He gave you time to take in your surroundings, multiple diplomas of varying degrees and schools hung on the cream walls. The wooden desk that separated you two was an organized mess, numerous stacks of papers, some graded, some not. Other nicks nacks were neatly placed on the desk, the school mascot bobblehead, newton's cradle, a small wooden globe, the things usually expected to see on a teacher's desk. This room was definitely bigger than most professors work spaces than you had seen.

“Please take a seat,” Mr Zhongli motioned to one of the plush seats in front of his desk. His own position was relaxed as he leaned back in the chair, hands folded neatly on his lap, one of his long legs sat draped over another. His slim ponytail was draped over his white button down, so long that it almost reached down to the black slacks he wore.

“Nice of you to finally stop by.”

Now that felt underhanded. Your eyes snapped up to him ready to say something back, but the words died in your throat at his look. HIs gaze was half lidded while he sported a lopsided smile that bordered on a smirk.

“Finally?” You sank into the seat, dropping your satchel onto the hardwood floor beside you with a sigh.

“Oh yes, your grade in my class is far from satisfactory.” Zhongli’s grin became tight while he spoke. The once playful glint in his eyes was taken over by a serious demeanor. Professor Zhongli.

You shifted forward, crossing your own legs to mimic his attitude.

“Yes sir, I’m sure you figured that’s why I’m here,” your voice sounded a lot more pathetic than you expected it to. It reminded you of the one time in high school when you begged your PE teacher to let you skip the FitnessGram Pacer test.

Let’s just say the second worst grade you’ve ever gotten was gym.

“I do,” Zhongli drawled, he now placed his arms on the desk, one hand remaining still while another gripped a pencil, “but truly, I’m not sure there’s much I can do for you.”

That was not what you had wanted nor expected to hear and your face reflected that. The whole wide-eyed mouth open shabang.

Zhongli released a breathy laugh at your expression, "there's nothing I can do for you but I believe you could help yourself.”

The anger you felt at his first dig was now bubbling back up, with more force. How many times could someone slyly insult you in one sitting?

¨And how could I do that sir?” Zhongli matched your attitude, pushing himself fully under the desk. His expression remained pleasant though, a nice albeit thin smile stretched across his face.

¨You could start by actually paying attention in class.”

Really? Like you hadn't just moved your seat to sit in the front of the class, mind you, BY YOURSELF. And all he had to offer is that your focus was still waning, it was though, only because you had the sexiest teacher ever though. Not from lack of effort on your part, so it’s not like it was truly your fault to start with.

Zhongli patiently waited for you to begin a retort before cutting you off with a demeaning wave of his hand, ¨Yes, yes, you moved. Like you should have from the start, you don't get a high five for doing what is expected of you. What I’d like to know is why you still struggle in my class, it’s definitely not from lack of opportunity.”

¨I assign plenty of extra credit, so I’m assuming it's not that.” Zhongli’s eyes flickered down, no not to your hidden bust, but to an open planner on his desk, before they met yours again. ¨Perhaps you should consider dropping my class.”

That finally made you bristle, visibly too, your eyes widened again as you recoiled. His words might as well have physically struck you. Being a good student meant that most teachers never had to criticize you, let alone act so sharp. His Zhongli’s blunt statements hurt in a way only a prideful student like you could feel.

You needed to act unbothered and hopefully, get under his skin too. Fixing your face into something a bit more stoic you started again.

“Doesn’t it reflect badly on a Professor if they have failing students?” You found your nails to be more interesting than meeting Zhongli’s intense gaze, his eyes seemed alight from the fierce way he stared at you.

What you didn’t expect was a throaty laugh from him, that pulled you from your nail inspection.

“Students, yes. One singular student, not so much.”

Negotiations had definitely fallen through.

Outwitting people was something you were good at. One thing that hurts more than having your ego bruised is having it body slammed when you find out you're not as good at something as you believed yourself to be.

Reading your reaction Zhongli chuckled again, “oh dear, not the answer you wanted was it?”

Your eyes couldn’t lift from the floor now, but even that served as a constant reminder of the stage you were hoping to walk on. Before any of this happened.

Zhongli’s voice pierced the silence, “Well, I have some time to help you study now, is that fine with you?”

Really there was only one choice, but you contemplated both regardless. You needed his help to bring up your grade and hopefully pass the upcoming exam but also, you didn’t want him to belittle you any further.

Maybe you could study on your own. In high school you reviewed for biology tests using the Amoeba Sisters. Did they even have anything like that for geography though?

When you found the courage to meet Zhongli’s eyes again, now lounging in his chair with his hands braced behind his head. Your ears tinted pink when you saw his lips, still in a smirk but not as wide.

Maybe you could deal with his taunting for an hour or two. For your grade of course! Not because he was gorgeous or anything. Although it helped.

“Fine,” decided to lighten the mood a bit you added, “hopefully you’re better at this than in class.”

Zhongli let out a breathy laugh while he leaned further back in his chair to glance at the clock. “Perhaps, though you may find my teaching methods unconventional.”

“Oh?” You dug into your satchel to find your textbook, “how so?”

Zhongli crossed his arms in front of himself before releasing a thoughtful groan, one that had your pupils blow open a fraction wider. “How about I quiz you, and for each question you get wrong..”

His gaze flickered from the sky of contemplation to you, “I could use a more… tactical approach. Like consequence and reward.”

As his smirk seemed to stretch, the air in the office became heavier. You blinked, believing you were imagining his suggestive voice.

“Consequence?” It’s not like your grade could get much lower so what could he do to harm you?

The pause that followed was thick with unspoken meaning, you didn’t dare move either. You were frozen in the plush chair, pinned by Zhongli’s half lidded stare.

“For each wrong answer, I could bend you over my knee and spank you.”

You blinked, then blinked again. Did he really just say that so calmly? Like he asked you to make a batch of flashcards. Heat rose to your already rosey cheeks, and you quickly looked away, feeling your heartbeat just a bit faster.

“You can’t be serious!”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s a straightforward form of discipline, it may even work on you.” The way he said the word you sent a chill down your spine. The word felt heavier, like he was implying that even someone of your caliber could understand.

You swallowed, hard. But you didn’t stand up from the chair, nor did you threaten to report him. Instead you stayed seated and actually considered his suggestion.

“What if I get the answers right?”

You seemed to be endless entertainment to Zhongli as he laughed again before retorting, “as unlikely as that maybe, we can come up with a suitable reward if that happened.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you completely ignored the ruder side of this comment.

Zhongli leaned in slightly as he gestured to the study materials laid out on his desk, “shall we begin? Or are you not going to be attentive enough again?”

He was challenging you, skillfully he goaded you

into playing his game, to participate in something where you both knew you were likely to lose. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that caused you to act so desperate. If you told on him now, you could probably drop the class without it being on your record, but a deeper desire helped guide your answer.

“I can focus,” you said, a little sharper than you had intended, “what’s the first question?”

Zhongli reached for the discarded textbook on his desk, flipping to a random page towards the middle. His smirk deepened as he read over the line.

“This is something we went over in class rather recently. Describe the process of orographic precipitation.”

Before you could catch yourself, your face fell. Your mind had blanked on you. And given the cruel grin Zhongli bore, he knew you wouldn’t know the answer.

Even though you vaguely remembered the name written on the board in class, the words didn’t arrange themselves in your head for you to create a clear answer with.

“I don’t remember,” you quickly added before Zhongli could speak, “this isn’t fair, you knew I wouldn’t know this.”

“I just opened the book, I didn’t choose the page at all.” His smug tone was nothing to match the satisfacted grin proudly stretched across his face.

“I also just mentioned we went over this in class so maybe it’s not any fault of mine anyway.”

No use in arguing with him especially because you did somewhat recall him going over it.

“Next question.”

For five whole minutes, Zhongli asked you question after question. Each of which you got pitifully wrong. As time went on you itched for Zhongli to end this sadistic game, which he was no doubt dragging out. Maybe to humiliate you, or maybe to tally up each incorrect answer and actually hit you for each of them.

Your face began to blush at the possibility of him actually spanking you. He probably only said it to get under your skin and hopefully get better results. If that was the case, you’d be very disappointed but also relieved, you didn’t want to get hit that much.

“—paying attention.”

“Latitude!” You exclaimed before shrinking in on yourself. You knew for a fact that the answer to whatever question he asked that ended in paying attention was definitely not latitude and nor would an answer be so simple with him.

Suddenly Zhongli stood up, dropping the textbook closed back onto his desk. His expression was somewhat pleased but also very annoyed. Once he reached your side of the desk, he grasped your wrist, pulling you to your feet. And with a gentle yet steady hold, he guided you to his side where he once again sat down, only to look up at you expectantly.

Zhongli’s black trousers made it hard to see any depth in his pants, but from the visible bulge you could make an educated guess on how he was feeling.

“Must I spell everything out for you? Lower your pants and bend knees over my legs.”

Face falling again, you tried to ask why that was necessary before Zhongli cut in with a sigh.

“How will I know it truly hurts if I’m not hitting your skin?”

That was almost a logical explanation if it wasn’t so sadistic. Your face must have been bright red with embarrassment as you unbuttoned your slacks. His honey eyes tracked your every move, as you lowered the fabric down your legs, then stepped out of them all together.

Feeling a bit relieved at your choice of black underwear, and not your hot pink ones, you slowly draped yourself across Zhongli’s lap.

Only a few seconds ago, you were speculating on if Zhongli was actually hard or not but now you could tell he was as his erection poked your waist.

You could feel his heat from his palm warming your plush flesh as he rubbed small circles on your ass above your underwear.

Then came the first hit. A sharp pain stretched across both mounds of soft tissue, the ache rippled down your legs and to your toes. Rebelliously, you bit your lip to hide any noises of discomfort or the subtle pleasure.

“Oh? After being shown just how pathetic you are, you refuse to even take your punishment correctly?”

The hand Zhongli had used to hold you flush against his lap, slipped to your face and squeezed your nose shut. In shock, you opened your mouth to protest but before you could, a much harder slap landed against your ass. A loud cry of pain— definitely not pleasure, tumbled from your lips.

Heavy tears traveled down your face and wet Zhongli’s pants.

“Two hits and you’re already crying?” He softly kneaded the skin before slapping it again, “no matter, I assumed if you weren’t good at school you’d be good at this.”

“But I am good at school! It’s just your stupid class—.”

A slap rang out in the room as Zhongli delivered the harshest slap yet. This time he didn’t rub the skin, instead he lifted you off his lap and placed you on the cold hardwood floor of his office. The coolness soothed your burning bottom.

“You may surprise me yet with some skill.”

You took only a second to wipe your tears before you heard the sound of Zhongli removing his belt. Instinctively, self preservation won because you scrambled back, hitting your head on the edge of Zhongli’s desk in the process. But shockingly enough, he didn’t wrap it around his hand to hit you harder.

Instead he placed it on the desk as he worked on undoing his slacks button and zipper. Once he finished that, Zhongli reached into his pants to pull out his penis.

Truth be told, you weren’t a prude, you’d had sexual encounters before, none that went past giving or receiving oral sex but still. Zhongli’s dick was pretty too though, a thick underside vein ran from the scrotum to his tip. The head itself was flushed, apparently the blush he lacked on his face his cock made up for.

Still, the size itself was impressive, you couldn’t tell how long it was but at least your fist and a half.

From the angle you sat on the floor at, you couldn’t tell if he had any hair but you doubted a man as well kept as Zhongli would be anyways.

Suddenly his hands shot out and grabbed you under your arms, turning you around and placing him on his lap. In this position his thighs rested between yours.

“I had considered making you suck me off when you eventually did come to see me about your grade but to think you were such an… abysmal student, we’ll just do this for now.”

Zhongli lifted your ass before sliding your panties to the side and thumbing your clit.

“You couldn’t even take your punishment honorably, not that I expected you too anyways..”

Zhongli droned on as he rubbed same circles on your pearl. Though you hadn’t heard a single word he said, not that you had the capacity to do so anyhow, his fingers skillfully manipulated you to putty in the man’s hands. His middle finger slipped to your entrance as he began to lethargically massage your g-spot.

You had heard of that area but, you nor your previous partners had been able to stimulate it the same way Zhongli was now.

Reached a new height as he introduced another finger, further pressing into the velvety zone.

Maybe it was because you hadn’t been touched in so long that you came so quickly but it happened regardless. Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave as Zhongli allowed you to ride it out. The pleasure was kin to a hot shower (that you would definitely be taking once this was over with) after a long day. One of those showers that you sit in the tub and let the water trickle down from your hair to your toes.

Once the pleasure was over though, it was done completely. Zhongli removed his hands before pushing you down into the desk, half of your face buried into a stack of ungraded papers. His hand pressed down between your shoulder blades effectively pinning you to the wood.

You heard the chair roll behind you as Zhongli stood up, his penis slipping in between your folds.

“Now that you’ve had your pleasure, I will be taking mine.”

Without further warning, Zhongli began to pierce you, inch by inch he sunk deeper in your quim. He wasn’t rough, nor was he forceful as he pressed on. His hand still remained placed on your back but his other trailed down your side before grabbing your hip and pulling you back onto him. So now not only was he entering you, he was pulling you back to meet him halfway.

Your lower body ached at the intrusion, as low moans of pain and contentment left you. It felt weird to be filled up like this but also so natural. Now you hated not going further than oral sex with anyone else.

When Zhongli was completely inside you, he stopped moving to sigh, “truly made for this. If all were to fail, you could always sell yourself. I’m sure you’d make a nice sum of mora.”

Words of protest were turned into lewd moans as Zhongli began to grind into you, not not thrusting but slowly rolling his hips. Remembering your setting you bit your lip again, in hopes of not drawing unwanted attention.

“Don’t,” Zhongli began to pick up the pace, no longer rocking but instead coming all the way out before pounding back into you, hitting that special sponge inside you. “Everyone has already left for the day.”

Your gasp was turned into a high pitched moan as Zhongli rammed into you particularly hard. Him knowing that no one was there let you know just how in control of the situation Zhongli was, with that came a shocking revelation. He probably planned this all along.

You weren’t given anymore time to think about that possibility as Zhongli slightly lifted your chest from the desk. Now that one of his hands no longer had to hold you down, it wrapped around to toy with your nipple.

The harsh pulling on the soft nub brought out more yells from you as he didn’t relent of his intent to bully his way into your womb.

“Look at you,” Zhongli cooed, “drooling on yourself.”

Although his words were embarrassing, they didn’t register in your mind as you tried to bounce in tandem with his thrusts. At least you attempted to before his grip on your hip tightened in warning.

That hand also slipped to the front and sloppily rubbed your clit, leaving you to support your rocking weight on unsteady arms. The sound of his hips meeting your sore ass sent resounding sharp claps into different corners of the room.

It felt like hours upon hours of Zhongli’s grunting in your ear, the sudden sharp pain shooting up your spine from your butt, him pinching your sensitive nipple.

Now his movements were a bit choppy as, you assumed, Zhongli was close to reaching his orgasm. As opposed to traveling faster, his cock was going deeper, looking to bury its head in your cushiony womb. Merely seconds before him, you came. A second mind numbing euphoria, almost as rich as the last one covered you like a heated blanket. Your eyes squeezed closed as you were captured in bliss.

Just as sudden as it had started, it ended, as Zhongli emptied himself inside you. After a few seconds of his warm seed spurting inside you. The room was still hot with both of your gasps as Zhongli’s musky cologne permeated your senses from behind you.

Following your shared daze, he pulled out of you, allowing his semen to also drip onto the floor. You collapsed face first onto your geography textbook. Behind you, Zhongli’s leather seat creaked as he fell onto the chair. The sound of a draw opening made you aware enough to open your eye a little bit.

Zhongli's fingers came into view as he held a small tablet, “It’s a plan b.”

Opening your mouth to allow him to place the pill on your tongue you shut your eye again. You wanted the moment to never end, the nerve damaging pleasure you experienced tonight was truly life changing, but your momentary reprieve was ruined by the sound of Zhongli redoing his pants. In the midst of cleaning himself up, he rubbed up and down your back gently.

“You’re earned an A for the quarter by the way.”

~

Quick end note. Do you think Zhongli have a plan b implies that he’s done this before or that he prepared for you really well?

[forthelostones]

𝚙𝚝.𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆

⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡

synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby, domsub!abby, sexual themes, jealousy, fluff, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.

an: guys. this has been such a crazy ride, thanks for the support on both of my stories. it means so much to me. sorry for the wait... lets get it.

CLICK HERE.

(no y/n)

Abby watched from the row behind you, observing how you chewed on the end of that neon #2 pencil. She could tell by the bobbing of your leg that you were nervous and stuck on a specific question. It was the same during studying — chew, bob, sigh. Almost on cue, a frustrated sigh left your throat. She knew it was her fault that this was happening.

She knew neither of you studied long enough for you to feel confident on this exam. Well, that’s what she kept trying to convince herself, she was already finishing up the last page. Although her pencil glided on the paper effortlessly, she couldn’t help but be distracted by your indecisiveness on the math equations and multiple-choice questions. The once full eraser had been subsided to pure metal scrapping into the pages.

The time on her watch read ten minutes left until the end of the exam and you were only on page two. Studying had become harder for you with Abby around. It wasn’t only the dating component it was mostly the difference in your skills. Her ability to memorize vocabulary and complete math problems without thinking twice about them made you academically insecure. While you averaged low B’s and high C’s, she had a 4.0 and made it look easy. The clock's ticking distracts you from the problem you are trying to solve. It was one you and Abby worked on multiple times, yet you’re frozen, unsure how to solve it. As everyone flicks their pages to finish, you just … froze. 

“Okay. Pencils down.” Your professor said just moments after you started a new equation. Your jaw dropped slightly and you squeezed your eyes shut. Abby shook her head, not at you specifically, but herself. You had practically moved in and the nights that would typically be spent studying were now used to learn more about each other beyond your friendship. Realistically, Abby understood that those moments would be worth more than a grade in the long run. But a part of her also resented getting this comfortable, ultimately impacting you. The feelings clashed within her. The heat forming inside of you could only be described as embarrassment. Why was it like your brain suddenly lost all power to its systems? It wasn’t unusual for you to skip a few questions but this was completely unlike you. 

You chew on your cuticles and fold the mostly blank pages and pass them down to the front, doing the same for your classmates. Their pages crumbled with computation answers and confidently filled bubbles exposed your shortcomings. You should feel relieved that the test is over but you don’t. A heavy anchor grounded you but you were still floating. Abby met you down in your row where you saw her concealing another A-plus smirk. Once you both exited into the hall Abby’s hand finds the center of your back and she begins to pet it slowly. You shrug her away gently. 

“Don’t.” You sigh. 

Abby knew it would set you off but she did it anyway to show you she sees you. The blonde’s brain was moving at a rapid pace. She so deeply wanted to ask you about the challenging problems and the scenarios on the quiz. Her translucent lashes tapped frantically as she imagined the sheet of paper behind her eyes. 

“I feel good about this one.” She finally says. 

“Good. I really did not do well. It’s — whatever. Right?” 

Abby looks to you and she couldn’t lie and tell you that it’s not just whatever. It’s your future. Both of your futures — together — it was important to Abby that her partner was just as successful as her. 

“You should be happy that you did your best but understand that if you did do as bad as you think, it’s worth asking for a makeup to understand the material.” She suggested. 

You hated when she got like this, rigid. Her posture was straight, her mouth set hard, and no softness found anywhere on her face. The regime her father instilled in her stayed and it was evident in moments like this. 

“Abby, sometimes I really need you to just listen to me and be rational later.” 

A chill followed down her spine following your sharp comment. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t study together anymore.” She muttered.

Part of you wanted that to be a joke but knew it wasn’t. The night before proved itself to be deeply uneventful for the both of you. 

“You’re distracting me.” You groan as you’re reviewing flashcards on Abby’s bed, the first mistake. She was wearing a thin, white tank top and a pair of loose black sweats, untied, on her hips. Her hair was drying from the shower you two just took and so was her body. The outline of her features was accentuated by the water being absorbed by the cotton. She was so casually beautiful and simply yours. The bed shifted behind you, her weight bending the mattress inwards, as she crawled towards you.

“Am I?” She asks, using the tip of her tongue to playfully lick a stripe of slick up towards your lobe. An instant bubble of relief popped inside of you. “Okay. Okay.” 

Abby couldn’t take her eyes away from you. She had seen you in this robe every night now but it was something about how it was gliding with you. As well as your skin's glint from your body oil makes you look regal. You sat at the base of the bed while Abby retreated towards the headboard, leg tucked under her butt. She took off three inches of hair and it looked so fresh, carving out her face perfectly, and highlighting her stiff jawline. “How about we make a deal?” She said brazenly. 

“What?” 

“For each answer I get right you remove something?” 

“Abby,” you chuckle, not denying her advances. 

You thumb the index cards in your hand and turn to tie your eyes with hers. 

“First question, the section is Anatomy and Physio. What best describes endocrine glands?” You ask. 

Abby taps her chin as if she’s searching for the answer. “They secrete chemicals into the blood, growth, metabolism, sexual development and function.” 

She raises her eyebrows and shoots her eyes towards your robe. A deal is a deal so you remove the silk, leaving you in your two-piece pajama set. Abby notices the goosebumps lining the outsides of your shoulders and can’t help but desire to rub them warm. 

“Question number two. Anaerobic respiration can lead to a burning sensation caused by which molecule?” 

“Easy,” she scuffed. “Lactic Acid.”

Her teeth appeared behind her Cheshire grin as your top found its way onto her floor. 

“Good job.” 

Your words made her cunt pulse. 

“The mediastinum is located within which cavity?” You ask. 

Abby’s face fell instantly. The outline of your nipples looked delicious and icy, she needed them in her palms immediately. “Fuck. I don’t know.” 

You lift yourself off the bed and bend right in front of her to retrieve your shirt, Abby’s shadow overcame you and her hips thrust into your ass in one motion. She spins you around to face her, mouths inches away. “Do you think you’re going to actually put that back on?” 

Her index finger traced the outline of your lips with her eyes following. You grip her wrist, halting her movements, “And if I do?” 

Abby gently places the index cards neatly on her bedside table and presses you into the wall behind you. Usually, Abby is submissive but the stalking woman imposed her strength on you, like she’s been wanting to do from the first time she saw you in clinicals. 

“I’ll just rip it off you.” She giggles. 

“Would that be so bad?” You reply, bringing her finger into your mouth, sucking it then adding another. Abby huffed a keen groan as she bent down onto her knees, immediately pressing her mouth into your cunt. She lapped at the fabric separating her from you and didn’t even ask for you to remove them. 

You insisted by beginning to take them off but she tore them off you and hoisting up one leg onto her shoulder following the other one. 

“Abby.” You gasp. 

“I got you, hold onto me.” 

She was flexing her skill by fine-tuning your pussy with her tongue while she slowly hoisted you up towards the ceiling. Not only did you feel as if you were floating, you actually were. She was a show off but you fucking loved it. 

After that, there was no more studying done.

“Do you think we should cut down on the time we're spending together?” You question, as the night replays in your mind. 

Abby’s face scrunched up in immediate disapproval without hesitation at the suggestion. She pulled her bottom lip slightly in her mouth and looked around as if the walls suddenly grew eyes. Abby wanted to tell you no but she knew what had to be done. 

“We can.” She grimaced with a shrug. 

Despite all the time you spent together the girlfriend conversation had yet to come up. She thought about it the most when you were in her presence. She didn’t comprehend how you liked her so much and yet, you refused to make it official. She truly believed that once you ditched Ellie she’d be over the moon, but right now it’s feeling the same and Abby doesn’t do stagnant. 

“Abby, we can still study together, in the library, several feet away from each other.” 

She forced a smile. “Fine. Does this mean you’ll still sleepover?” 

Before your crush on Abby developed you were denying yourself the fact that it was possible. But during this time, before the dating, your grades had been the best when you were alone, and you know for a fact, that it was because of her. You may not be as smart as Abby but you do want to come out on the other end with a degree too. 

“Why don’t we come up with a schedule?” She suggests.  

“That would be perfect.” You said. 

The schedule consisted of dinners at Abby’s during the week, sleepovers on non-clinical days which were Wednesdays and Fridays, and studying every day at the library. Abby liked the organization but her body had gotten so used to you beside her. A week into implementing the new schedule Abby felt an immense amount of anxiety without you around. She didn’t know how to break down the feeling and why it was so persistent. Although you two were next door to each other, text messages still provided a temporary cushion for her sadness, but it wasn’t enough. 

Abby clicked the icon that was the home for your name and called but there was no answer. Dinner was stewing on the stove, and in the middle of mixing a cocktail, Abby called to find out if you could taste what was missing. Another call led to another one and soon Abby was sitting with a candle flickering silently in front of her. Your plate sat untouched and she just picked at the remnants of hers. 

Little did she know you were closed off in your room after studying, panicking. You knew yourself more than you wanted to. The schedule was needed for you to clear your brain on the feelings you had for Abby. With upcoming exams and graduation where would that leave you? She'd move across the world while you were huddled up in your small town's hospital circulation? It was coming in so fast and before you could mix in a girlfriend you had to know what you wanted. The pages of your journal turned soft as you tore your pen through the book. 

A part of you wanted to hear the rapping of her fist against your door, ready to envelop you and reassure you that you would figure it out. She never came and because of that, a piece of you died. Conversations with her have turned short and passive since the last exam. It wasn’t just the exam it was a culmination of multiple things that either of you were ready to talk about. 

Abby put your dinner into a glass container and waited outside your door trying to gain the sense to knock. One of the many nights you spent together gave her a reason to knock instead of sulk in her bed, thinking about all of her shortcomings in the relationship. You were both lying down and Abby lit a candle that night that you bought her. The sweet scent of peaches and cream cut through the bitter smell of her pine products. She loved it. Between the sheets were your naked bodies damp and lazy. Abby had brought a glass of cold ice water and set it on the nightstand beside the candle. You took turns taking sips. 

“Thank you for the water.” You smiled. 

“Don’t mention it,” She nudged you. 

You twist your body onto your stomach and look up to her glimmering, post-sex face. 

“Abby?” 

“Yes, beautiful?” 

“You still make me nervous.” 

She cackles and brings her hand to your cheek and massages away your imperfections. With the roll of her eyes she licks her lips before curating a snarky response. But she quickly realizes you’re being serious. “Why?” 

“I care so much about you and that’s something I haven’t felt before. With anyone.”

A kind pause swells between you both. 

“I care about you too. I don’t want that to make you nervous.” She said. 

“I know you see me differently but I am a little insecure.” 

She leans down and kisses your forehead tenderly without a breath. 

“That’s normal.” 

“But I burrow. I distance myself when I get like that and I don’t want to subject you to that. I don’t want to hurt your feelings again. If I do that, get distant, don’t hesitate to just tell me to get out of my own head. It’s not your fault or your responsibility.” 

Abby’s fist banged on the door with your words echoing in her mind. The thuds startled you out of the sleepy daze you fell under. You shuffle to the door to see the goofy blonde in her pajamas and slippers holding what was supposed to be tonights shared dinner. 

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Her voice was more welcoming than usual. “I was worried. Are you okay?”

Shoving her way past you and nearly tossed the container on the kitchen counter. Without hesitation she opened her arms and you couldn’t help but to run into them. Although she didn’t say anything the affirmation from her presence was enough. 

“All too much in your head again aren’t you?” 

A sob escaped into her chest and she gripped you tighter. These past few days have been a blunder of confusing thoughts. A part of you knew getting together with Abby would make things unclear in your life. But if she was willing to get uncomfortable and support you, you were obligated to do the same to her.

“Abby, I should’ve answered your calls.” You pull away to notice how unswayed she is of your state.

“You should have but that doesn’t matter right now. We need to talk.”

You nod your head shyly and she grips your hand and takes you to your bedroom. Abby pats beside herself to welcome you.

“I’m so scared.” You blurt out.

“Me too,”

Abby was scared for the complete opposite reason. When she was with you it seemed like all the decorative things such as school didn’t matter. She wasn’t familiar with how that felt. To have an identity outside of her accomplishments or care about someone. With you, she could flunk out of nursing school, move back to her home town, and still be satisfied. That scared her — that one person could allow her to have such a paradigm shift.

Hearing Abby say those words made your heart settle.

“I care so much about you. I didn’t think I would, this much. I should’ve known because on orientation when I saw you I thought, ‘I need to know who she is’ and I am grateful for that thought blossoming into my mind.”

You couldn’t muster any other word but her name. She picked up your hands to bring them into her lap. She leaned in to place a soft kiss on your mouth and lingered there with her forehead pressed against yours.

“When you moved next door, I just thought maybe this is the sign I need to do something different. To not let my ambitions lead me but instead my heart. And my heart loves you, Dummy.”